Blood.

Today in my teenage angst, my french professeur asked me if I am Morrocan. That has nothing to do with this post, but it just happened. And it was weird. So I wanted to tell you.

The actual post is really about blood. See, it's about my little niece. See below.

She's seven months old now. And she's obviously the number one. Look at her. She's developed this hilarious forced smile when a camera is shoved in front of her face. See middle bottom. Hahaha. It's like when eight year old girls do tap routines at their year end dance recitals. It's just so forced.

These pictures are on Tuesday, when her best ever mom (aka my bff) decided an impromptu university visit was in order. Then on Thursday, Suzy was coming for a visit and who should end up coming along but Karlie and the Paisley! I like to call her 'the' Paisley because a) she's the only Paisley I know and b) she's really the only one that matters.

So we go over to the coffee shop and the lighting was really bad, so I didn't get any pictures of her. Which is a first for any of our interactions. Beth (my sis) held her for a good little while and then I got her. She kissed me. With her mouth open. It was kind of weird. We hugged. It was nice. Then she grabbed my nose. She grabbed. Dug in her tiny little nails, with her tiny little fingers and then she pulled her hand off my nose with surprising force.

Suzy saw it. Karlie was ordering coffee. I touched my nose. There was blood. She drew blood!

There was clearly no malice intent. She's seven months old. Noses are the best thing ever for her. They're just there for grabbing! But in the next few seconds when she was standing and holding the table, she tipped away from me, as I tried to prevent her from stuffing her mouth full of saran wrap, and in the process of falling, I tried to catch her. And in the process of trying to catch her, she bumped her nose on the chair. I've noticed that for a lot of kids, bumps like this take a second to set it. There was no refractory period for Paisley. It was bump and cry. Now, not only was this sad, because she was crying, though no actual tears were shed, but it looked like I had exacted my revenge!

As if. As if I would exact any sort of revenge on a seven month old. And it wasn't as though I actually thought Karlie actually thought I had done it on purpose. It was that I thought Paisley thought I had hurt her on purpose. I don't think she's able to make this kind of cognitive connection yet, but it freaks me out that there could be a point at which Paisley could ever look at me and hold me responsible for anything other than being awesome and loving her more than life itself.

Paisley, I hope that by the next time I see you, this wound will have healed and you will not remember. I hope we can return to our previous relationship; the one where your nose was never bumped. We needn't erase your fault though - scratching my nose that is - because you're seven months old; and I'm not sure you have any faults yet.

The sweaters and the things.

Today in my teenage angst, I reference in my post title that episode of 30 Rock where they try to coerce  Tracy back into work by having a guy from accounting call him and do an impersonation of Bill Cosby. Good lord it's funny.

Anyway, here are some things.

Craft Wars. 

Paling Around: Baby kangaroo and wombat share a pouch together.



Suzy made me a special Stars gif.

Orphaned spotted lamb adopted by a dalmatian dog.

Cry Me a River - David Garrett

Trampire: why the slut-shaming of Kristen Stewart matters for young women.

Cat takes off glasses to snuggle.

Why I will be a Girl Scout, even though I never was one.

How I had an entire relationship before my coffee went cold.

Lady Crush: Rayanne Graff from My So Called Life

Divine Pain: When Church Hurts
The author of this article does a weekly piece called Faith Forays, featured on Hello Giggles. If you're interested in the reconciling of religious faith to today's less than religiously inclined society, this is the place to go.



10 Precious Pumpkins 

Donna Martin Graduates (to prostitution): My favorite made for TV movies.

Universal Rules that You Should Break

Say Anything (But Really, say what?): Five teen movie scenarios that seem romantic but are actually really weird.

14-year-old Pakistani Girl Malala shot by the Taliban for being a Feminist blogger.

Canmore.

Important topics for the rest of the Presidential debates. (This is funny. So read it anyway because might not be as obsessed with the American election as I am.)

If the Presidential and Vice-Presidential candidates went to a typical teen-movie High School. (also funny and accurate)

ALSO! I entered a contest to win a Scholarship from a Jewelry company in Regina, SK - Hillberg and Berk who is in collaboration with writer, director, producer Jennifer Siebel Newsom, of the phenomenal documentary Miss Representation. We were required to make a video proclaiming our call to action in upholding the mission of Miss Representation - which you can read more about at missrepresentation.org.

IF I make it to the top 5 videos, which will be posted on Facebook, the public will determine the winner. Which I think is lame. But I'm obviously going to make the most of it. Scholarships are scholarships. SO! Here's my video, so you know what you're looking for. I'll let you know if I do indeed make the top 5 as I will require you to go to Facebook and do whatever have to in order to vote for me. Thanks a bunch guys.



Oh, also, feel free to laugh at my legitimate dance/lip synch. It's truly laughable. But come on. We do what we do for money.

Reprise: TC style.

Today in my teenage angst, I reaffirmed for myself all the truths presented in this video.


I just love. I just love all the things.

Every year Cineplex has a 'Community Day' which works as a fundraiser for their children's charity. Five movies are presented for anyone to attend, free of charge. Certain concession items are sold for $2.  It's such a great time.

When I saw that MI: GP was on the list, it became the only option. Luckily my dear friend Sonya-Rose, who I lovingly call SR, has the same fondness for action films as I do. It's a long movie, right, but I was there the whole time. Mind, body and soul. I'm just kidding.

Aristotle had a theory regarding the purpose of tragic plays - what we would now purpose as horror films. The fear involved plays a cathartic role in releasing us of those fears for our own lives. We leave the theatre refreshed, having seen the horrors we most fear displayed before us, we can move on with our lives, leaving those fears behind.

This is what action movies do for me. They are such a thrilling rush of excitement. The type of thrilling excitement that I would never seek out for myself. Watching my TC and Jeremy Rens and Paula Patton (bless you for being so kick-ass) perform those acts for me, is enough to take it out of my system. As I watched this film for the second time, I thought to myself, I could enjoy watching this regularly in the future, as I seek out that cathartic cleanse, courtesy of Jason Bourne, Ethan Hunt, and more recently Hanna (no last name). What a 90s diva.

Sickster.

This week, in all the teenage angst my body would allow, I got sick. It's funny because I often proclaim my body's rock solid immune system. But the flue that's currently circulating got me. It got me like an effing mosquito that I didn't know was there. And I was helpless against it.

See when I was a child I ate a lot of crap. Off the ground. Off the counter. Off the floor. If it looked edible, or tasty, or like something I wanted in my mouth, I put it there. You know that commercial, "Don't you put it in your mouth?" That was specifically directed at me. This habit may have only ended  a little over a year ago. I once found a mini-egg under my friend's couch and truthfully told her that it was kind of a miracle I didn't eat it. The point is, my body built up a resistance to whatever may have been accompanying that crap and as a result, colds don't come my way often, and neither does the flue.

Three days! Three days, I say, I was house bound. Weak, nauseous, achy, constipated (of all things) and greasy, because I couldn't force myself in the shower. This was my view, from the living room floor, for the greater part of two days. It was sad.

On the plus side I watched Manhattan Murder Mystery, a Woody Allen flick featuring a hysterical Diane Keaton. She is so boss. It was an absurdist comedy and just too wonderful for words. I also made my way through Thor, Baby Mama (a continued favorite. Please watch for Tina Fey and Amy Poehler goodness), and today I started The Big Year. Talk about an all star cast. I haven't finished it, but we have at the Library in addition to it being on Netflix. As such, I will be recommending it to everyone.

Today I am better . . . ish. I fell asleep shortly after my family left at 7.30 and slept until noon. I guess I needed that third day. My body still aches some but I'm certain I'll be able to go to work tomorrow.

It really just confirms for me, that I don't know how to be sick. I've been blessed to not get the flue very often in my quarter-life crisis. But it drives me to the point questioning everything I know about my body. What are these symptoms? How are they related? Do they indicate different things at different times? How should I treat one without angering the other and vice versa!?

Turns out this was exactly the flue that was circulating and exactly the flue that I contracted from working with the public. Sigh. But that's the story. I guess. I'll get better at this.

Tits. (an analysis of a colloquialism)

**This post isn't actually about Tits.

Today in my teenage angst, a male friend of mine uttered this statement: "If it has tits or tires, it'll give you trouble and cost you money but for the ones that are worth it, you won't care." Can we all identify the offensive and oppressive elements of this statement? Yes? Okay. Now can we identify the part of the statement that might allow the speaker to see it as an entirely non-oppressive statement?

When I questioned him about his use of these words and the compilation of them into this statement, he tried to hug me exclaiming, "I said for the ones that are worth it!!!" Sorry, friend, this doesn't make it better.

I have several problems to present.

Let's start with the word 'Tits'. I've never liked this word. It's like the word dick. It sounds vulgar and its usage is almost always unnecessary. I think people like to use these words because they're seeming less abrasive than 'nipple' or 'penis'; the actual anatomical elements to which they are referring. The word 'Tits' stems from the word 'tits' (pronounced 'teets'), which refer to the mammalian body parts that produce milk for the purpose of nourishing offspring. Since all female mammals have tits, the evolution of its usage into a word only referring to women - often negatively - makes sense. From a patriarchal standpoint anyhow. But let's remind ourselves that human males also have tits. They're just not life-giving tits. So when one refers to something that has tits, are they referring to all female mammals and human males, or do they really mean someone with breasts? Because this distinction needs to be made.

Then, if one who uses this word actually means a person with breasts, why is the assumption that the one with breasts will give you trouble and cost you money. Perhaps the one without breasts will give the one with breasts trouble and cost the one with breasts money. These statements are not mutually exclusive.

Furthermore, why is the one with breasts, compared to a thing with tires? I think this is the biggest problem. Because it assumes an(other) exclusivity of the male relationship with vehicles and with women. Males also have relationships with vehicles and other men. Females too have relationships with vehicles as well as other men and women. Beyond all of this, it reduces the one with breasts to the level of inanimate. I don't know where this idea came from; that the mode of transportation should be considered on the same level as a human. I obviously understand that people highly value their modes of transportation but the idea that the owners of those vehicles are actually putting them ahead of other human relationships, I see to be entirely false.

The point is, that for the complexity of male/female relationships to stop being seen through a patriarchal lens, we need to stop using oppressive statements like this one. I want the discomfort that arises from the presentation of a statement like this, to be understood. Because I'm thinking about it critically. And I'm not sure the user always is. This friend is an incredible husband and a very loving father. He's not the problem. Our twisting of the English language is the problem. When we use colloquialisms like 'tit' we infer things that we were never meant to communicate. We were never meant to demean or belittle someone because of their anatomical differences. This goes so far beyond breasts, people. But I think this is a good place to start.

Ugg.

Today in my teenage angst, I bring up a seemly meaningless issue. It's not an issue at all, really, but rather a phenomenon that never ceases to baffle me. This phenom, is Uggs.

Gleaned from the wikipedia page on the subject - because everybody needs to know the history of Uggs Boots -, the "boots emerged as a fashion trend in the United States in the late 1990s and as a world-wide trend in the late 2000s, yet in Australia they are worn predominantly as slippers and associated with "daggy" fashion sense, and "bogan" culture." Not that we know what any of that means, as we do not come from the land down under, as our friends the Men at Work, like to say.

My first encounter with Uggs came in the fall of 2005 when a friend of mine (and her boyfriend, oddly enough) got a pair of Uggs in a burnt orange. They were astounding. They were so ugly and yet I wanted them. She let me borrow them one day and I paired them with jeans, a white oxford shirt and an argyle sweater vest. I remember thinking I looked damn good. And I think at the time, I did. Oh I should also mention, they were two sizes too big and if you've ever worn Uggs, you'll understand that this was bound to be a problem. I could hardly walk and I seem to remember shoving kleenex in the toes. I was an exceedingly vain eighteen year old. 

This week, as I walked the halls of the University of Regina, I played a game with myself. Count the Uggs. On Tuesday, I saw 22 pairs. Today, I counted 38. It's kind of astonishing how common these sad looking boots are. It's not that I don't understand it. They're comfortable, they're comforting. They're like sweatpants for your feet. When my best friend was pregnant she literally had to wear her Uggs, because it was the winter and she couldn't bend down far enough to actually put shoes on, so she had to have boots she could just step into. 

I think my biggest issue is that I'm a footwear snob. I don't understand wearing shoes that make your feet look bigger than they actually are. I seem to exclusively wear shoes that are essentially slippers with soles. With the exception of my army boots. Which, is a true exception as it is the farthest from my seeming otherwise exclusivity. 

So, Uggs wearer, excuse me while I judge you in the hall. It's not you I judge for wearing them, for I understand your reasoning in full. It is the shoes I judge, for being so ugly in the first place. 

Roger.

Today in my teenage angst, I cruelly laughed at a classmate, - who's name I cannot for the life of me remember -, due to his obsession with and gratuitous (still the word of the post) care for Roger Federer.

If you're not a tennis fan or follower, you probably don't know that a foolish fan, known as a 'mystery blogger' (aren't we all mystery bloggers?) posted a death threat about Roger Federer somewhere online. I assume it was on his blog. 

As a tennis fan, I find this sad. Roger Federer is seemingly the nicest. And he has the kind of hair that he'll never cut, that just makes you want to hug him. He also has three year old twin girls and a beautiful wife who is frequently featured at his games. He has a life, you know? Everyone wants Roger to win, but we know that if he loses, he still goes home to his beautiful wife and daughters. Not to mention the fact that he's ranked number one. He's loaded. 

My classmate though, his reaction was not so tame. His reaction was one of patriotic responsibility. If there was an army for the united states of Roger Federer, he would have enlisted immediately. As he told me the news as soon as I arrived in the classroom, he was visibly concerned for the safety of our dear Roger. "I should be there! I should be flying to Shanghai right now!" he exclaimed, believing himself to be the best protection from the inevitable sniper weapon aimed at Federer's forehead. 

I tried to explain to him the minuscule probability of this horror actually coming to fruition. He found this insulting. Well, why wouldn't people want to kill Roger Federer? We argued about the differences between Federer and John Lennon. 

He assured me that if Roger was indeed assassinated, I would feel terrible for thinking it wouldn't happen. Also, in that case, he would be taking the day off of class to mourn and would I please take notes for him. 

Well sure, friend. Sure.

Linksies.

Today in my teenage angst, I'm not as cool as Nova. She just turned 30. Haha. By accident, just then I typed in 39. And then accidently put in 30. Sigh. Also, here is a gratuitous (it's the word of the post) picture of me, my best friend and my niece, who kindly came to cheer me on after my half-marathon. Paisley was . . . a little tired. But nice enough to pose for a picture.

Nova, just turned 30. And her blog is pretty boss. And she doesn't say things like boss. Anyway, she does 'Links' posts regularly and I regularly repost stuff of hers. It's like a non-automatic tumblr. I started doing links posts in August when I was far too tired to blog but kept finding all this amazing stuff online. I've been saving a whack-a-mole of links because I feel like doing links posts and nothing else is lazy. So I took a break from blogging at all. But I'm back at it because I figured out how to get internet at my school and my Critical Thinking class is a gratuitous waste of time. Good glory I hate it. 

So here we go! Oh. And I'm not as cool as Nova because she does links posts as a consistent part of her blog and I do them because I'm lazy. But this is intentional! I promise.

Pianist improvises the Harry Potter Theme in every style known to man.

I don't know why I'm crying. (Ps. If you're not on Hello Giggles, you should be. I get a lot, a lot, a lot out of the site. A lot. 

Probably one of the best ventriloquist acts ever: Nina Conti.

8 Magical Movie Montages.

And Now! Your day has been made!

See this was funny during the Olympics, which shows you just how long I've been saving these.

You have to watch this U.S. Gymnast's hilarious parents react to her bar routine.

Tap to Retry.

Trust Fall Attack.

Japanese Beatbox Girl.

Okay that's all you get. I just discovered I have an assignment due tomorrow that I wasn't aware of. Luckily it's for that gratuitous waste of time, Critical Thinking, so it shouldn't take too long. Ha. I'm a snob, I'm aware, leave it alone. 

T-Giving.

Today in my teenage angst, I made a huge deal of my favorite weekend of the year. I look forward to Thanksgiving (which I insist on calling T-giving, because I think it's cool) every year, because on the Thanksgiving weekends of the last two years of my first undergrad, I brought a million people home for the weekend and they were the best two weekends of my life.

The first year included friends Michelle, Charyssa and her sister Loreea. Michelle had never been to my house for a weekend before and spent the first hour inspecting our cupboards. Michelle really likes food. She says her love language is gifts of food. Charyssa and Loreea didn't arrive until late Friday, but we made the most of it. We went on several walks, ate a lot of food, did some homework, and laughed. We laughed. My parents, as I've said before, are very generous people. I like to make use of this.

The next year included friends Michelle, Charyssa (who graciously travelled seven hours to join us. I may have made her), Laura and Priscilla. The latter two were new additions to my group of people I dearly loved/still love and were equally welcomed into my home. I conned them into watching The Hours, which no one was prepared for, and wouldn't let them ask questions until it was over. That was mean of me. And a bad idea for everyone's psyche. That movie is a lot. Especially if you're not prepared. Priscilla, Laura and I all bought the same hat and wore them the next week.

Both of those years it snowed. Heavy, uncharacteristically wet, flakes of snow. They were gone a few days later, but we went out and reveled in their glory anyhow.

Both of these weekends seemed to last forever. Largely because they were four days long; practically vacations. But we seemed to pack everything into those weekends. So much so that when they were over, I couldn't wait to do it again.

I look forward to Thanksgiving every year because I'm desperate for it to be like it was. It never is. My Thanksgiving weekend in Newfoundland was less than awesome and the two I've had since returning have been sub-par, but good. I'm so lucky to have have the kind of experiences that when repeated, will be overshadowed by the greater ones past. Even so I long for my dearest(s) to return to me and help recapture the wonder of Thanksgiving weekend.

I'm grateful for so much this year, and I suppose that should include what this weekend used to be.

Lab Hair.

Last night, in my teenage angst, I went a little crazy.

I did online distance classes all last year, through a university in Newfoundland. A full course load. It was a great exercise in creating an awareness of my abilities. I didn't know I could own my education and balance working, child care provisions, and a band (of all things) on top of it. It was a good idea. I was very responsible and thought, distance education is a good thing.

So when I was registering for classes this fall and saw the language requirement on my program outline, I thought, French! Online! I did french in high school and found it not only valuable, living in Canada, but fun. French is beautiful, and I already know the phonetics, so GPA, up you go!

Online French, while still a good idea, is not as fun as anticipated. It saves me from the tedium of learning what I already know in a classroom setting. That would be a waste of time. But it doesn't save me from the tedium of our weekly online lab through Adobe Connect.

Adobe Connect is a brilliant program. Used largely for simulcast and business purposes, it also enables online education to add a distinctly personal element. This, however, undoes all of my selfish reasons for doing distance education. It's about me! It's only ever about me. Our weekly lab time, strips me of that anonymity and forces me into sad beginner French conversations with others students.

Last night, I had a massive headache going into the Lab, and as we completed the exercises and the 1200mg of extra strength Ibuprophen kicked in, I became increasingly hyper. I instigated hilarious conversation with my breakout-group partners, missed several points of instruction from my professor, and took these pictures. Note the despair that turns into madness that turns back into despair.  

The answer is to avoid online classes with labs that feel like a bad internet dating site. Otherwise you'll end up with a series of strange pictures capturing how poorly spent those 90 minutes were.

Fresh.

Today in my teenage angst, I looked upon a group of high-school age freshmen with a weird maternal love and pride. These freshmen are my Psych B classmates, who generally insist on texting, talking and doing their Chem homework during class. Not that I'm any different. I just don't have anyone to talk to.

We wrote our midterm today. A fairly average experience for myself, having survived three apparently untransferrable semesters of introductory psych. Academic Institution! You're already transferred in two  400 level psychs. Is another introductory 100 level credit really necessary? Damnit!

Annyywwaayy. I sat in the lounge below our classroom following the exam, texting and sort of (but not really at all) reviewing for my next exam. Several freshmen emerged and exclaimed their exasperation with the exam. You're welcome for that exemplary alliteration. "The true and false was so hard," they said, "Why was so much of it based on the textbook? I didn't read the textbook, did you?" I found this precious for a number of reasons.

First, because I have been there. Oh have I been there.

Second, because the group launched directly from that discussion, into a complex explanation of previously assigned Biology homework, and the scientific process there-in. Clearly these children had been High School science success stories. I was not student. I certainly survived my high school science classes, but not with the 98% that these kids inevitably got. It's funny how objective fields like Bio and Chem make a 4.0 gpa available to anyone who can kill their lab assignments. I was far too disinterested for this, but nonetheless admired those who found this achievement comforting and doable. One of the boys noted that the comma splice is a concept that he has no interest in understanding or applying. That too, I admire. He knows his strengths. He is also willing to identify his laziness. That, at the age of 18, or even 19, if I happen to be underestimating him, is admirable.

My highest hope for him is that he will not let his struggle in the humanities undermine his academic experience. I want him to fall into an area of study that allows him to excel, while still developing the 'nit-picky' skills he needs to fully succeed. Sweetie - speaking to that freshman now - that means learning how to avoid comma splices in your lab write-ups.

I don't really understand why people bemoan freshmen so much. Freshmen become seniors, who then bemoan freshmen. I'm grateful to be at a stage where I appreciate the process, right down to it's hilarious-to-watch beginning stages.

God bless freshmen, every one. I am currently agonizing about whether or not that's a comma splice.

PS. That pic is me as a freshmen. Yes, I am still a Diva. Though I'll deny it and be horrendously offended if you ever call me one.

Aubrey.

Today in my teenage angst I need you to watch this. All of you. Alllllll of you. Save it for later if you need to.

It's the beginning of Fall, which means all new TV. I watch a lot of TV. Here is an unnecessary list of the shows I watch in case you want to talk about them with me. I like to talk about television because obsession with fictional stories is easier than an obsession with my own.

Drama
- Bones
- Criminal Minds
- Grey's Anatomy
- Homeland

Comedy
- How I Met Your Mother
- 2 Broke Girls
- New Girl
- Modern Family
- Big Bang Theory
- 30 Rock
- Parks and Recreation
- Community

I'm probably forgetting one. I'm always forgetting one. I made a list of all the shows I've seen in their entirety. It's long. It's really really long.

Anyway, I caught up on Parks and Recreation yesterday and loved on Aubrey Plaza. She's kind of one note, in that whole dead pan, dead eyes, un-emotional and unforgiving kind of thing. But in the context of Parks and Rec, she's effing hilarious.

Then I saw this. In the context of this, she's effing brilliant. The viewer of this video is made to speculate on several levels about the situational context of Aubrey's character. But the emotion, in every situational speculation, is undeniable. Please watch. Be inspired. And then talk to me about how awesome TV is.