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.

TY: A window into my childhood.

Folk Fest and that guy from High School.

Room-Dweller.

Today in my teenage angst, I join the 30 odd-% of 25 year olds that live with their parents. My parents are really nice people. They re-opened their doors to me when I was 23, when I burned out after eleven semesters of college. After a semester off, they were open to having me stay as I transfered to a college close to home to finish six more semesters of school. Two semesters later I can't even believe I have two years left. Not because it's bad. It's actually so great, but because it's two whole years and I'm learning that 25 year olds aren't meant to live with their parents. That or parents aren't meant to live with their 25 year old kids. I've become somewhat of a room-dweller living with them because I'm a TV addict and they mostly only watch re-runs of the Big Bang Theory while falling asleep on the couch. I don't really want to do that so I watch Netflix alone in my room. I'm over it.

Last month my parents went on vacation. I was so pumped. A whole house to myself! Woo! Plus, during the ridiculously hot days of summer, I could sleep in their room in the basement, saving myself the trouble of falling asleep sweating. They were gone for a day short of two weeks. The whole time I was in this limbo of wanting to enjoy the house to myself and mostly just wanting to watch Monk. The best part about it was that the house stayed pretty clean the whole time because I'm pretty good at taking care of the mess of one. The other best part about it was that I was pretty allowed to walk around in whatever state-of-dress I wanted, because there was no one to be offended by my skin.

The worst part about it was the silence. The worst part of living alone is always the silence. I hugged them both for a long time when they got home and scheduled myself two nights a week to make dinner so I would start feeling like a valuable part of the household. I just appreciate it so much, you know. Like how many 25 year olds like their parents enough to make use of their willingness to take care of them rain or shine? Maybe there's a reverse of that statement too. How many parents are willing to provide food and shelter for their 25 year olds no questions asked? Not that there aren't questions. Oh there are. But that's pretty normal for parents I think.