Travelling After University is not a Bad Thing

Recently CBC PEI posted an article titled Job cuts worry new graduates. PEI is losing about 8-zillion-shmillion jobs over the next two years (my own estimate) and the CBC spoke to the current UPEI student union president. He's concerned recent job cuts in both Provincial and Federal government will make it more difficult to find a job post-graduation. He also later mentions at the end of the article that his peers are settling for lesser paying jobs or, like him, will take some time to travel.

Proceed to comments. I like comments for stories that have many holes and are clearly missing information. Some of the commenters are able to fill in the gaps or offer another perspective. Opportunity to learn = good. Of course, there are also the commenters who make no sense and are disrespectful arseholes. Many commenters on this story are pffing about how the job cuts won't matter to students or say that travelling after university or college is dumb.

First brief point: job cuts are scary. Although most are supposed to be done through attrition (people retiring or choosing to leave) not all will be done that way. Not only does this decrease the likelihood of the governments hiring new staff, but those who have lost their jobs will likely also be flooding the market looking for work. More competition. Supply and demand, first-year economics, or even high school economics actually. The supply of job vacancies remains static, but the number of people wanting those jobs has increased. Thus, it is more difficult to get those jobs, more competition. I thought that was a bit more obvious. The problem is not that all those students were planning on working for the government, though I'm sure some were, but now more people will be demanding the few jobs available. As well, funding cuts likely mean fewer students hired for co-op placements leading to less work experience thus making it more difficult to secure a job after graduation.

Despite all that, the number of people discouraging travel is, well, discouraging. I'm rather biased due to multiple wonderful experiences of working in other countries. That's right, although I did travel, I worked as well. My goodness! I figure, without any backing other than many hostel conversations with travellers, that student travellers (or recent students) fall into three groups: those who go abroad for a semester of school, those taking 4 to 8 weeks off after graduation to explore and have fun on a whirlwind tour of Europe, and those who go abroad but work at the same time. I mostly associate with the third option and a wee bit of the first.

I can honestly say travelling does give you skills that are transferable to the workplace, particularly if moving somewhere to work. I'm basing this on moving to Scotland when I was 21 for 16 months, working in Florida for thirteen months right after that, and moving to France for two months a couple of years ago to take French classes. And as a quick side note, to anyone who says those adventures were a waste of money, I made more money working at Walt Disney World once I became a server than any job I have had since. Related, here is how you apply!

Skills improved by living abroad

• Problem-solving skills - Example problem, I just arrived in a new country, can't find my way around, and have no where to live. You probably don't have you usual support network and changing your mind and trying to escape (i.e., go back home) will probably be very, very expensive. There will constantly be unknowns, like moving to any new place. It takes longer to do things, and you sometimes need to be clever to figure out the system. You're just forced to think more. Thinking more is good. (I realise not having a place to live or struggling to find something doesn't seem like a real problem, but it kinda does suck when you're living out of your backpack, sleeping on a shite hostel bed, and screw up every time you try to count change in the local currency.)





• Talking to strangers - In the fancy schmancy business world, we like to call this 'networking'. In moving abroad, I call it speeddating for friends. I moved to Scotland with two people, one who I knew decently well (Hi Shannon!) and one who I knew well enough to say hi to in the hallways of the Kelley Building (Hi Keri!) To make friends and build any kind of social circle you need to talk to people, go outside of your comfort zone (for some people), and just talk. You go to events where you don't know anyone, in hopes of making a friend. You say yes to any social thing, because you need to meet people. I actually feel like I'm losing this skill the longer I stay in PEI because I know so many people here. After moving home from working at Disney World, I would talk to anyone with ears. Now, not so much because I sit quietly in an office all day. Good bye, skills. For many people, going to an event where you know no one is hard. Travelling alone or moving abroad forces you to do it.
• Decision-making skills - Living in other places improved my decision making skills. Yes, it's true folks, my decision-making skills used to be even worse. It's a shock I even managed to dress myself in the morning. I blame PEI being so familiar and unchanging, sigh. When you are used to being into a routine in a familiar environment, you barely need to make decisions for everyday things, you already know the answer. Strip your world of the familiarity in terms of location and people, and sometimes the decisions are a bit harder. You're forced to do more thinking for yourself.
• Sense of direction - Travelling on your own forces you to get really good at understanding maps and asking strangers for directions. That being said, don't get cocky, you will get lost somewhere.
• Self confidence? SCORE! - I don't want to say, "OMG! I WENT TO EUROPE FOR THREE WEEKS AND I CHANGED SO MUCH AND I REALLY FOUND MYSELF," because if you said that, I would laugh at you. Unless you did change, i.e., got pregnant or lost your arm in a drunken fall the the Eiffel Tower stairs. In that case, it's okay, you did change, OMG. However, moving anywhere forces you to be more in charge of yourself. Simple things become challenging (try getting a bank account or cashing a cheque in Scotland, seriously, it's like trying to build an aquarium on the freaking moon) and the little successes seem to count so much more than they did at home. And afterwords they don't even seem like that big of a deal. I found a room to rent in Aix-en-Provence, France for two months which I finally secured in the Toronto Airport waiting for my flight to France, enrolled for a month of French classes, and didn't know anyone within 200 km. Being outside of or even on the borderline limits of your comfort zone is a bit daunting, but rewarding.

The end. In a related note, my triannual "Can't take it anymore need multiple month adventure!!!" anniversary is coming up at the end of the year. I can feel the need for change creeping up, and so far I'm moving at the end of the month (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and eventually in with le boyfriend (!!!*infinity). One-year lease, then... Asia. Maybe. Africa!! I dunno. JUPITER.

In conclusion: if you want to, go travel. If you have student loans, get a working holiday visa and then go travel. Passports are your friends.

What I wished I learned in school and why I won't host a dinner party

Hi there!

Remember that time we went to school? That was fun. We learned so many useful things: analysis of 18th century poetry, logarithms, what time two trains leaving two different stations would meet, how we will instantly lose weight by travelling to the moon (mass vs. weight), and peeing on a handkerchief and holding it over our mouths would save us during a chlorine-gas attack in World War I (should we be forced to travel back in time).

This weekend I wished someone had pulled me aside in high school and said, "You know all those advanced science and math classes you are taking? Maybe instead of doing that you should take cooking class. I know all the teachers are encouraging you to take the science and math courses, and you think you are going to do your BSc in either math or physics, but you're not going to. However, you are going to consistently get angry in your mid to late twenties about your cooking skills."

(Note: I'm actually glad I took the courses I did in high school; it meant I hardly had to study during first and second year university and spent my calculus class studying Spanish and rocking verb conjugations. And I got scholarships and cash prizes. But not for English class which I why I am rebelling and starting sentences with prepositions.)

On Friday night I told a friend (with whom I had just cooked supper - I did important things like cut vegetables and placed things in the oven) that people shouldn't fear cooking. Gone are the days of an overwhelming $495 cook book requiring ingredients that can be pronounced only by masters of all Latin-based languages*. The internet and its users can inspire, coach, guide, advise, escort, educate, demonstrate, direct, nurture, and show us the way around a kitchen**. It need not be complicated, help has been provided in the metropolis of the Internet.

* slight exaggeration
** thank you, thesaurus.com. Also, if you have trouble remembering how to spell thesaurus, think of a dinosaur that specialises in vocabulary. Its species is called the saurus.

Unfortunately, my speech of the previous night did nothing for my confidence/skills/awesomeness the following night. I had previously told le Boyfriend that I would cook curry for us to eat on Saturday night and he would tell me he loved it. Actually, I didn't tell him he would have to tell me he loved it. It was supposed to be so flavourful and delicious and life-changing that he would not be able to control himself and would stand up tall, microphone in hand, and declare that he loved Jen's curry and eating it was like a dance party in his esophagus. In the slim chance it did not cause his tongue to burst in an eruption of flavour fantasticness, he should tell me he finds it delicious anyway. Lying is sometimes okay.

I decided I would take this recipe, eggplant mushroom curry, and be one step closer to becoming Kitchen Goddess of Beauty Happiness Triumph and Glory.

Now, things that wrong. First off, I don't like mushrooms. Second, after baking the eggplant as directed, I realised baked eggplant looks like cat intestine and the look of it makes me want to rip my own appendix from my body. The taste, while not awful, isn't on my top 200 flavours and I discarded the baked eggplant insides because they screamed 'murder victim' rather than 'divine vegetable of taste sensation'. Not gonna lie, I had never bought eggplant before nor had I ever cooked it. Turns out I probably won't buy eggplant again unless I'm in a water balloon fight against someone I hate or a ruthless dictator. In that case, the large, misshaped, colourful eggplant could easily be mistaken for water balloon. I would attack my enemy with the eggplant, and quickly retreat in my helicopter. My enemy would be blinded by the repulsive vegetable and I would be interviewed by Peter Mansbridge, Peter Jennings, and other Peter's on how it feels to have saved the world.

Third issue of the recipe: I am a disorganized mess and not very efficient in the kitchen. I'm getting better, but I'm still one of the few people who can't put 'organized' on the skills section of her resume. Since it took me far too long to scoop the intestines out of the gagging eggplant, the clock was slowly ticking away to the supper hour of Mediterranean countries. While I think supper is best enjoyed outside under the stars on a patio at an hour NO EARLIER than 9:00pm, le Boyfriend had declared he was hungry (in a kind and undemanding way, like, "Yay! Food! Can't wait to eat! Boy, am I hungry at this non-Mediterranean supper hour!") about 1.5 hours prior and I was getting angry and stomping on the kitchen floor because eggplant was put on Earth to destroy my peaceful life of butterflies and rainbows. So I felt like I was late, which makes me sweat and panic, and I was barely any further ahead than I had been 1.5 hours earlier due to eggplant of life destruction. Due to my dislike of the recipe's two key ingredients as mentioned in its name (eggplant and mushroom), I decided to just throw in a heap load of random veggies and rename it 'random veggie Jen MacCurry'.

Things went wrong some more.

Apparently coconut milk has a multiplier effect when in heat. In heat as in being dumped into a frying pan, not as in feeling eager to breed. I dump in more than the recipe calls for. After realising that was a poor decision, I lied and said to le Boyfriend that there was too much coconut milk because 'it fell in'. He looked at me curiously. I said it was lumpy. He sensed further interrogation would be bad, and he wisely asked no further questions.

Too much coconut milk turned into way too much coconut milk as the heat caused it to breed even more coconut milk. It was like chopping up one starfish and then watching it turn into 90 million hundred starfish.

The result of too much coconut milk meant the spices were useless, despite me dumping in so much hot chili pepper stuff that my tongue should had exploded. What felt like one million hours of work tasted like veggies swimming in coconut milk. They needed Life Savers candy to ensure they wouldn't drown. (Ha! Candy pun.)

Conclusion: cooking needs a Ctrl+Z function.

Looking back, this doesn't seem so bad and, in the least, gives me something to write about. At the time, I had already been in a sad/angry mood during the afternoon, but had successfully beat it into submission. Unfortunately the cooking thing gave a one-up green mushroom (i.e., an extra life in Mario Bros.) to the insecurities of the afternoon. I blame the eggplant. And a friend's really-OMG-so-awesome-and-insightful ex-boyfriend who basically told me that I wouldn't get a boyfriend if I didn't love cooking. Thanks, friend's ex-boyfriend. I wrote an appreciative card for your insight and put it in the mail, just in time for Valentine's Day. If you find the card a bit damp upon arrival, it's because I covered it in leftover coconut milk. YAY!

Yoga and cheap leggings

This title of this post suggests an embarrassing event occurred at yoga tonight as a consequence of wearing cheap leggings. That is not the case, but it does seem quite probable.

This evening I went to my second yoga class. In theory it should had been my third class, but I skipped class no. 2 because I felt like there was a small Tasmanian devil hitting puberty in my abdominal - so angry! I never expected to say this, but I actually like yoga. I thought I would be restless and demand something more sweaty that rips my muscles apart and reattaches them incorrectly, but apparently I can also appreciate something more relaxing. I think I determined the pattern for yoga success: do said muscle-destruction the evening before at kettlebell class. Then I spend the one or two following days looking like a duck when trying to go up or down stairs. This is actually a rather accurate visual because ducks don't have knees, thus stairs are difficult for them. While they can fly up instead, I don't have that option as evolution has yet to provide humans with functioning wings. So I don't bend my kness on stairs, because bending knees requires muscle contraction/expansion/whatever it is muscles do. As a consequence of muscle-destructive kettlebell class, stretching muscles the following evening seems like a logical recovery and, equally as important, feels nice. Plus, I like the part when the instructor makes us lie on the floor (in a slow, 90-step process with lots of deep breathing) and relax. It's like nap time for adults! More so, the instructor has a soft soothing voice so it kind of sounds like someone is humming you to sleep.

That all being said, I don't understand the purpose of really expensive yoga clothes (*cough* lulu lemon *cough*). Well, I kind of do, as I have spent the equivalent of a small country's GDP on bicycles, bike clothing, and bike accessories, but my sit bones and I are very confident it is worth spending extra dollars on better quality bike shorts. Maybe there is a different form of super advanced yoga that does demand proper pricey yoga clothing, but I certainly hope people don't feel intimidated and that they can't try it because they don't have "real" yoga clothing. Anything non-restricting will do (although I have avoided my previously discussed stretchy comfortable high-dollared bike shorts as the excessive crotch padding doesn't scream 'yoga' as much as 'weak bladder'). In actuality, I think yoga in a bathing suit isn't unreasonable. I was going to suggest naked yoga, and it probably does have its place among a few specific market segments, but that may discourage newcomers.

I also feel yoga has a place in office environments. Yoga seems to stretch you out, like rolling out dough and increasing its elasticity. Sitting at a desk all day turns your body back into the ball of dough. It would be wonderful to have a light yoga class at lunchtime, outside in the sunshine. (My imagination doesn't support winter. It's like an outdated version of flash and 'winter' doesn't load.)

During yoga I was also thinking about what it means in terms of body language. I was supposed to be clearing my mind, but apparently I don't do that very well. Typically one with 'closed' body language might be assumed to be disinterested, unapproachable, self conscious, etc. Yoga forces you to open your body, let you be seen, and hopefully helps some people feel more 'open' on the inside.

In laughing-dirty work humour unrelated to yoga, I was wearing a dress at work yesterday that had zippers on the sleeves. Someone chirped, "Oooh, easy access!" and I said, "It's a dress, all dresses are easy access." If it were possible to do a winky face emoticon in real life, I would had done that there ;) . What I didn't bring up is that after wearing new pantyhose for an entire four hours a medium-sized hole managed to materialize in my crotch. Touche, realllly easy access. Which brings me to my point de l'heure, that any 'designer' that puts a seam right between your legs is clearly a man, has never worn pantyhose, or has incredibly thin legs. You know how the packaging brags "double constructed toes" or whatever is it? How about quadruple constructed crotch. See previously mentioned extra padded bike shorts for inspiration. (Not really.)

Of course, the real solution is simple for the not-freezing days that I highly recommend: thigh highs. Thank you logical people of the fashion industry. My apparently massive thighs and I salute you.

Note: unlike the models in the photos, please make sure your dress/skirt/bottom item of clothing is long enough to cover the top bits of thigh highs or people may think you 'charge' for 'special services' that involve 'closeness' of 'genitalia'.

YYG observations

Interior shot of one of the massive
Halifax - Charlottetown planes.

I've been spending a lot of time at the airport lately. Unfortunately, this is not a result of long layovers en route somewhere amazing and wonderful, but is actually for work purposes. The Charlottetown Airport is special because it's tiny and kind of treated more like a train station. You could arrive 90 minutes before your flight, or you could arrive 25 minutes before your flight, provided you have no luggage to check and have already printed your boarding pass at home. Otherwise, you should be prepared to arrive 45-50 minutes before your flight if you are from away; 15 minutes if you are an Islander or have 'strong Island connections' (not as in flight connections, but as in having family in PEI, previously visited, or perhaps once ate a potato or at least strongly considered eating a potato). That being said, sometimes it can take longer to check in if you're from PEI because it must be asked how the family is doing. A detailed answer with some new gossip is expected.

During my time at yee ol' YYG, I've witnessed a phenomena that would probably almost never take place in the airport of a metropolis. It shall be called the Fly Away Support Clan (aye). I estimate that 80% of people flying out bring at least three people with them to the Airport for support. In some cases, the Support Group spends a bit of time at the airport while the flyer checks in. Flyer checks in, all is determined to be satisfactory, good byes are said. The second type of Support Group stays a bit longer until the flyer decides to proceed through security. Flyer heads to security, support group says good bye and leaves.

The remaining two Support Groups are a bit more irritating and surprisingly frequent. As part of my jobby-job, I approach people and ask if they are visitors or "currently live in PEI" (you have to be very careful with how you word this). This is a bit more difficult when the traveller is surrounded by a small entourage. The first remaining Support Group hovers by security to make sure the traveller gets through okay. They aren't exactly standing in line, but standing almost in line watching the exciting process of their person pulling off half of her clothing, pulling miscellaneous "dangerous" items from carry-ons, proving electronics aren't actually bombs, etc. This creates a bottleneck because new people end up standing behind the Support Group, surprised to find a line at such a tiny airport.

The last Support Group takes on the role as personal security guards to the flyer. They basically escort the traveller through the security line to the point they get asked for a boarding pass and identification. I'm sure this happens all the time in major international airports. You know, the ones where they don't let you in/near the line unless you're actually going somewhere. (Note that I appreciate in some situations it may be necessary, such as a child travelling alone, someone in need of assistance, etc.)

I mentioned above how careful one most be with wording when determining who is a visitor and who is a PEI resident. I made a critical error at first by asking, "Are you from PEI or were you visiting?"

"Oh yeah, I'm from here, just visiting." (I'm constantly relearning that asking a male an 'or' question is pointless.)

"Okay, do you currently live here?"

"No, I moved away 15 years ago."

"Great! I'm handing out blah blah blah blah blah to visitors."

"Oh, I'm not a visitor, I'm from here."

!!!!!

So now I carefully and politely ask people if they currently live in PEI or if they were visiting. It's still tricky but communication is improving.

And lastly, most of you are travelling with waaaaaay too much luggage. Keep it simple, friends. (MacPhail proverb. The end.)

Resolve me!

I've been trying to think of a new year's resolution. I realise that January is more than half over (woohoo!!!), but I'm late for most things so being late on a resolution is acceptable, unsurprising, and even expected.

I was strongly considering giving up pizza for 2012 and then realised I already ate pizza in 2012. On January 1st. I made it an entire 17.5 hours into the new year until I broke a (potential) resolution that I had been thinking about but forgot when the important test came. Thank God I'm not a smoker considering I can't even quit something that doesn't have addictive properties.

I toyed with the idea of eating properly. You know, using a fork or spoon instead of my hands or feet.

Ha!

Exercise more is common, but I don't really feel like that should be a resolution for me because it's boring. Plus I already am a rather active person and don't enjoy just sitting around. Last night and tonight being exceptions due to external factors. Actually, due to the internal factors of not feeling super well.

Another new year's resolution I have highly considered is the goal of being on television. It doesn't have to be anything significant, I just need to be able to identify myself somewhere on the screen.

How I Will Get on TV

• CBC Reporter - Le boyfriend lives with a CBC reporter. I'm sure he will eventually need extras or an opinion for something. I would be good for weather stories as I prefer to describe weather in terms of how it feels or how it makes me feel. Examples: "Shoot me in the face" is MacCode for "it's snowing a lot and I had to walk somewhere but it's not snowing enough that work will be canceled and my boot is leaking." "It's like being stabbed with needles in the eyeballs" means there is precipitation mixed with some form of ice and it's awfully windy. "I'm so happy!" means it's sunny and I'm sweating and rolling around on the grass in my front or backyard.
• Work - Sometimes it's a slow news day and something we do is determined to be noteworthy enough to share with the rest of PEI THE WORLD. I've been quoted in the newspaper, surely being on television is the next step. In fact, it's one of the reasons I keep make-up at work. That and freshly applied make-up doesn't always react well to walking or biking to work in most types of weather.
• Win something - This strategy came to me at a hockey game the other night. The 50/50 total value was climbing, climbing, climbing reaching a point that the winner would get around $2000. I bought tickets because I was actually quite sure I would win, make a small speech and thank "the man above" (person doing the lighting), and get on television. Unfortunately I didn't win the draw so I was unable to see this plan to fulfillment. Now, to win something of value.
• Go to the gas station - One morning the price of gas changed - I think it went down. My mum was at the pump trying to pump gas (it had been awhile) when she was approached by someone from CBC. Mystery Reporter asked if he/she could ask my mum some questions and Mama said yes (like me, she wished to be on tv). Unfortunately her response was not aired; one can only assume her opinion was wrong and not supported by the CBC. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation is not the voice of the people.
• Right place, right time - hanging out in frequently filmed locations, such as the province house when the house is in session.

In case this doesn't work, my back-up plan is to learn how to suddenly turn from skating forwards to skating backwards, and to be able to stop on the side and spray ice shavings up from my blades. So far zero progress has been made as I skipped skates on Monday and Wednesday. Apparently setting goals and resolutions really isn't for me.

New resolution: think of resolution for 2013.

Excuses? Excuses!

Hey Blog! Don't you look a little rusty and ignored like a pop can collection stored in a flooded basement?

Why the temporary abandonment? Well, a variety of reasons, readers. (All two of you. I love you both!)

• Christmas holidays - Although they arguably provided me with more time, people were home visiting and I preferred to completely overdose myself on holiday cheer in hopes of 'needing a social break' in January. It has never worked in previous years. Nor did it work this year. Instead, I have come to expect to be busy/eating all the time and get confused and unhappy when I have a free hour or twelve.
• Lost - You know that popular television show that aired for six seasons? During it's first season I was living in Scotland (aye) and although they started airing it in January 2005 (aye!) I didn't watch it (sad, aye) as I got in the habit of not watching television there because, well, it kinda sucked (super aye!!). I didn't watch season two as I was living in Florida and watched television even less there than in Scotland. The only channel I knew was the "What's on tv" channel (a good one to know, if one knows only one). I didn't watch season three because I just didn't, and by that point I felt too far behind and was busy having a lot of "Ugggggggggggh, I just moved home from Florida and I miss fireworks and cheapness and my friends and feeling warm" pity parties for myself. Finally, I saw the last Lost episode as a friend was having a viewing party. I did some homework before I went so I could at least enjoy it and know a bit about the key characters, and determined it was probably a show I would had enjoyed. A little over a year later I see the DVDs for Lost, season one, sitting quietly at the library. Of course, they have to sit quietly at the library for if they were loud, they would be asked to leave. I finished season one right before leaving on holiday in October and spent some of Christmas break battling a cold (battling = an excessively dramatic verb for something so minor) and watching season two. Now I have season three from the library (yes, it was also sitting quietly) and, well, am kind of getting sick of tv and Jack (aka Matthew Fox aka Party of Five character all grown up). However, given that I have the season rental for only a week, it's a lot of television commitment that has greatly reduced internet time over Christmas break and early January. Also, because I couldn't remember Matthew Fox's last name, I googled it and found this link quite quickly and had a nice chuckle. More also, I never watched Party of Five.
• Laptop - It's aging, takes a long time to turn on, has temporary freezes (I like to call them rest breaks) when doing complex things like opening a new tab, and stays a few words behind when typing something. So less laptop usage as less (laptop working well) = more (waste of time watching the hourglass cursor mock my efforts at productivity).
• Dating someone - Lately, I mostly just make him watch Lost with me. I'm sure he's thrilled with how our relationship is developing and how special our time is together, particularly as he has already seen the whole series. Only 2.5 more seasons to go! (=approx 60 hours of television as some extras must be watched, and if I recall correctly, the series finale was 13 hours long.)
• Work - Work was really, really busy right before Christmas. Intensely staring at a laptop screen all day makes me less likely to wish to intensely stare at it all evening.
• Trying to go to bed earlier - I tried three times. Didn't work.
• Twilight - For one week I read the first Twilight book. I haven't finished it yet because.... well, because I lost interest. The book is inefficiently written and things drag ooooout foreeeeever. Also, I couldn't help but laugh every instance 'beautiful' was written because it made me think of this by the Oatmeal. (Go read it, it will bring you laughter and possibly closure to lingering problems and issues from your childhood.)
• Lack of Bike Love - Although I don't write much in the peak of summer (all four days of it) because I don't understand the concept of indoor activity during that time, I (safely) daydream when I bike, increasing the probability that I'll think of something decent to send to the Internet.

That's all. This chunk of writing is all about not writing. Next time I will write about New Year's resolutions. Last year I wrote about giving up chocolate for a year (I was a little drunk post-levee and apparently full of terrible ideas). Of course, I meant a year as observed by a small village in Papau New Guinea that lasts for only a few weeks. Based on their calendar, I was very successful and am now a hero. This year I will not give up anything because it's a leap year. That one extra day without insert unhealthy thing could cause a dramatic, irreversible ripple in the sensitive space-time-water-earth-wind-fire-heart continuum. I don't want to put us all through that. Destroying your soul makes me sad.

Welcome home!

Woo, Florida-land!
I love arriving in Orlando, it feels like arriving at my other home. I love wearing summer clothes again, I love falling asleep in the sun reading, I love sweating, and I love two-hundred-thousand-million other things too!

I also have the nicest banker ever here. She remembers me from opening a bank account SIX (!!!) years ago, then pissing around with random investments, attaching family members to my account, etc. I've probably seen her four times in my life, but she's such a pleasant person!

Amateur traveller mistakes so far: blisters, and forgetting to pack band-aids and face wash. Apparently the sandals I wore for two summers straight now hate me and are slowly trying to eat my feet. I wish for them not to succeed.

I also had a tv dinner thing for supper sitting on the pretty bed in my hotel room while watching the Golden Girls. Living the dream, baby! GG was appropriate as the show is set in Florida (though I believe Miami, not in Lake Buena Vista with the I-4's traffic blabbering in the background). Note: I plan on eating excessively and blowing too much money at the Food & Wine Festival so don't think, "Pfft, some vacation," based on my food choices. At Epcot, I will eat ALL the food and drink ALL the drink.

Signs of being in Florida-land (adding 'land' to the end of place names makes them seem more fun and magical!):

- I was at a mall that I can easily see from my hotel room window. Getting there requires two bus rides or an hour walk.

- The frozen food section(s) of the grocery store had more product than a few convenience stores combined.

- Buffets everywhere. Coupons for $1 off also everywhere. Good chance indigestion and heart burn is also everywhere.

- People wearing jackets and pants in 25C heat. A few ladies were seen wearing proper boots with jeans. I was seen sweating and wearing as little clothing as legally possibly.

- The tap water tastes like pool water that a donkey just peed in. Delicious.

- Hard, prickly grass that is very uninviting for laying on and reading a book.

- Smile on my face. Like this --> :D

- A herd of people trying to get into Giradhelli's chocolate shop so they can get a free sample. I suspect 0.0005% of 'shoppers' actually buy something. Half of those purchases probably melt in the sun.

- Earl of Sandwich! (Erin - I'm waiting for you! Hence awkward tv dinner.) (Brother - I may order the chicken caesar in your honour.) (Everyone else - hello! Thanks for reading. You are beautiful in your own special way.)

- Pick Out the British Tourist - one of my favourite games. It's just so easy and obvious.

In an unrelated note, I advise against watching the entire first season of Lost right before boarding a flight. Every time I un-did my seat belt I pictured the plane dropping and me smashing into the ceiling, or when I was in the washroom, the plane ripping in two and me being stuck with the tail-end survivors. As I have not yet seen season 2, I'm not sure how they fare, but I know they exist due to my Lost/wikipedia addiction. I need to be stranded with a doctor, former member or the Iraqi Republican Guard, and former paraplegic, please. I have no survival skills and am scared of fire, I need those people.That's all, typing on my phone is annoying and the free wifi is rather cranky. Vacation rocks the body that rocks the party!

The Last Chapter

Big Fish, where the end is pretty good.

Note: not so well written, but sometimes revisions and rewrites can't capture emotional moments.

Deviating from my usual 'make the people laugh LOL LOL LOL OMG' objectives, something not so wonderful happened - my grandfather passed away a little over 24 hours ago. I missed the initial phone call as I was out embracing my secret weekend Bar Star identity. It didn't matter that I don't have caller id or voice mail, I knew right away what the call was when I saw at 2:30am that I had missed a call. Cue intense dreams for the six-hour sleep that followed.

Death has not really, fortunately, touched my life very much, therefore, when it does, I feel like a confused eight-year old and put on my brave face to cover my racing head. And, I tend to use a lot of commas and start sentences with prepositions (Bad Jennifer!)

Not being well versed in the 'ideal death', I figure this one went as smoothly as it could. Our Thanksgiving weekend trip to Quebec City was cancelled last minute (very literally), Big Brother was flown home as it was realised the text of Grampie's last chapter was starting to flow.

Old age...

The last chapter - the chapter that is written once you know the conclusion is coming - was long enough to come to grips that the end was presenting itself and to mentally prepare for good bye, but it was short enough that Grampie was (hopefully) not stuck feeling like his soul was slowly being taken for days, weeks, or months on end. It is also comforting to know he was ready to go and knew it was coming. He commented to my papa (his son in law) that when he saw his own reflection in the mirror he could see there wasn't a lot of life left behind his eyes. He expressed that he was looking forward to being with my grandmother again soon (who died in 1999). In a moment of discomfort, my mum said to him, "Don't worry, you'll be with Mom soon," and he responded,

"Yes, and I can't wait to see her again."
Upon my mum telling me this, my heart snapped into 846.5 pieces. It makes my eyes leak, but it was comforting. To see death not as an absolute end, but the gateway to another beginning.

Death is the one absolute question in life that you cannot answer. No one knows what it's like. You can see people die and react to it, but you can never get into the mind of that person in those last moments. Even near death experiences are probably not the same. A near-death experience may not have the final acceptance of your own death. And since you never know, you can create your own image of what death might be like.

I believe right before death, there is a very beautiful moment. It could be a flash, it could be a solid minute. Maybe it's in a dream. But a beautiful moment that takes place between the body's struggle to keep moving and it's acknowledgement that the fight is over - not lost, just over. That's when you have your beautiful moment. Knowing pain has vanished, awaiting your afterlife, and feeling free. I think in that moment you see beauty and feel the stress lift from you. I can't explain what the beauty looks like; it might not look like anything, but it's that feeling that washes over you when you're so happy you feel like your soul and heart are smiling. It's almost like arriving to the door of a house knowing what's on the other side is exactly what you want and taking a moment before you open the door to recognize once you walk in, everything will be perfect. It will be exactly how you want it, and everyone you love is waiting for you on the other side. That moment before death is like the moment outside the door. You made it and the success of making it lies on the other side. A celebration or a welcome home. Burdens, sorrows, and weights have been left behind. The faces on the inside will be happy to see you, not be sad with mourning washed over them.

Grampie knew what was inside that house and was looking forward to going there. Sitting at the bottom of the lane, waiting for the fence to open and invite him in. So now his fence has dropped, he has made his way up the lane, and I hope he's in the house and he's at peace and feels smiles, beauty and happiness in his soul.

In rambling, incoherent conclusion, I suggest you watch the most beautiful death scene from a beautiful, wonderful movie: Big Fish. I'm not putting words together very well because sometimes deep feelings don't translate well to bloggie blog text. (And yes, this video is worth ten minutes. It's worth twenty, even. Watch it twice. Oh, then watch the whole movie so the ending makes sense.)

Weekend predictions

The last time I was in Quebec City, for mere hours.

It's October long weekend! Thanksgiving weekend, for all the non-Canadian readers. Historically this was celebrated by Europeans giving groups of aboriginals small pox and burning their homes. Now we celebrate by eating too much, laying on the couch, and rolling around on the floor playing with the family pet. It's weird, no one questions it when Kitty is sleeping or stretched out on the floor, but everyone feels the need to turn it into a conversation topic when I do it. ("Fascinating, tell me, what was her childhood like?")

There is also another tradition among my immediate family over Thanksgiving and other long weekends - take off and play. Example: Easter is a four-day weekend. I have no idea when I was last in the same province country as my parents on Easter. Last year I road a camel on a desert safari on Easter Day. My parents were in Arizona eating tacos with illegal Mexican immigrants.

This Thanksgiving my wee family will all be in the same province! In the same hotel room, even! Dear Brother is departing Upper Canada, we're taking off from the Isle, and we're rendez-vous-ing (I'm practicing my French) in Quebec City. Or, as those from the province of Quebec call it, "Quebec". Confused? So are the anglophones who don't have the luxury of differentiating via direct pronoun or lack of direct pronoun. ('Le Quebec" = province, "Quebec" = city, "La Quebec" = MASSIVE FRENCH GRAMMATICAL ERROR)

PS: don't think this means you can break into our homes. People will be there. They will beat you with a baseball bat coated in rusty nails that have been dipped in gonorrhea.

During my 28 years on Earth, I've gotten to know my family quite well. Thus I have a fairly accurate idea of what will happen this weekend.

• My parents will want to toss me from the car for reading aloud every single sign we drive through Quebec (the province). I like reading French signs with an over exaggerated French accent.
• I will not be responsible for any early morning driving shifts because I don't understand things before 9:30am.
• Brother will dedicate himself to finding all the English television stations.
• At some point Father and I will wander away and secretly eat really greasy, bad-for-you food, washed down with a glass of goose fat. Brother will binge eat 90 bags of chips. Father and I will instantly gain 5lbs of fat, each. Brother will somehow increase his muscle mass and reduce his cholesterol.
• We will go to a mall. If it's sunny, I'll feel guilty for being inside on a nice day. If it's not sunny, I'll feel guilty for making Papa and Brother wait, even if we are planning on buying matching coats. (Although apparently double breasted coasts are bad for my body shape, which is so weird, because I have two breasts.)
• If someone brings cards, we'll probably have to play poker. I don't enjoy folding (folding = not playing and sitting silently) so I either win everything or lose within fifteen minutes and then roll around on the floor playing with the family pet. In this case, Pet won't be available so I'll just wander the hallways until I find a stray.
• Someone will vomit or not feel well. Traditionally that was me in earlier family vacations. Then Jeff beat me by developing, ugh, MONO while we dragged him all over Central Florida in 1994. We didn't know he had it until we got home; Parents thought he was just being grumpy and teenagerish; I thought he was going to slaughter me. This time I predict it will be Father because he has some weird elbow thing happening.
• Someone will lose something. Likely a sock. (Jennifer or Roy.)
• Someone will spill something (traditionally Jeffrey - see Milk Pouring Crisis of 1994-1997).
• Someone will get food on his shirt. (Roy.)
• There will be snoring (Papa!) - followed by yelling (Brother!)

I might turn this into a bingo game and distribute it to people around us.

I'm actually quite excited as I have spent minimal time in Quebec (both with the 'le' and without) beyond Gatineau and have spent minimal time with Brother this year. I also get to prove to my family that I'm not bilingual, but can usually avoid getting overly confused by the French language. Anything I don't understand I shall use the excuse, "Oh, I'm much more accustomed to the Acadian or South France accent."

Happy Thanksgiving! Give thanks, and thank that you are able to give. (MacPhail proverb written during the tragic years of prohibition and rum wealth.)

"A dream is a wish your heart makes"

Post named after a song from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs Cinderella. Whoops, apparently Snow White just sings about wishing in a more general way. Although both movies are somewhere in my or my parents' house, I was never a huge fan of either. However, I felt I had to own them after I learned the first release of The Little Mermaid on VHS was worth lots of money about five years after its release. I would buy all the Disney movies, then sell them for trillions of dollars.

FACT: most of these movies are on VHS and now worth about $3 at Value Village. Millionaire scheme of a 12-year old down the drain. Thanks, technology!

MORE FACT: some of those movies really, really sucked. Have you ever heard a child proclaim his/her favourite movie to be Fun & Fancy Free or The Three Caballeros? To be fair, both of these films were produced during World War II - not exactly a thriving era due to animators, staff, etc., being recruited to save the world. Or they had ulterior motives of strengthening US - Latin American ties.

I wish I could say I wasn't into princess movies because I was a feminist at the age of 5 when I first viewed most of them, but they actually all had scary bits I didn't like.

• Snow White: being chased into the woods by a hitman.
• Cinderella: evil, mean step-sisters who ripped up Cinderella's dress. As I side note, I thought the ripped dress was prettier than the actual bow-covered dress.
• Sleeping Beauty: I saw it when I was sick on the couch at a young age. Lots of fire. A big dragon. I hated it. And truthfully, I thought the first part was boring. I did, however, like how the ends of her hair were curly.

Based on Cinderella's wisdom that she sang to her mice and bird friends, my heart is currently wishing for (based on recent dreams):

• A visit to the dentist.
• Walking nachos on the ferry home from the dentist.
• An accidental pregnancy that turns out to be me just getting fat and not being pregnant.
• To win a free cruise to the Mexican Riviera on the Disney Wonder.
• To play in a frisbee tournament, and drop all the passes made to me while my parents watched, embarrassed.
• To win other prizes that I now can't remember.
• To go skating.
• To attend school on Victoria Row.

So deep, Heart, thanks!

Life isn't over just because September looms.

I feel like I'm coming into the last weekend of the summer. Although I'm not going back to school (although I think about it every year around this time - apparently you have to apply in, like, February pffft), a shift always takes place.

I feel like things revolve around PEI and I in the summer. So many friends return to PEI for at least a week, like an annual pilgrimage to a land of sandy, over-taxed glory. All that I need to do is sit still and let happiness revolve around me. Then mid September hits, friends have returned to school either as students or teachers, visitors have stopped coming, and I start desperately planning vacations to visit people near-far, kinda-far, and very-far away.

Islanders have been complaining about the weather a lot this summer. As Canadians, it is our duty to feel that Mother Nature is constantly trying to ruin our lives. It is far too common to hear, "Not much of a summer, eh?"

BUT IT WAS AN AMAZING SUMMER!!!

(Although I was in a bad mood one day in late May, and last Sunday night.)

But this summer has been fantastic. People people people everywhere! I don't think I was ever bored for more than fifteen minutes. I feel like I wasn't able to fit everything in. I wanted to see more of people, see more people, do more things. More ^ 3.

In an effort to be an optimist, here is a list of why [my] life won't suck between September and Christmas.

• Visitors! - People still come in the fall-shoulder season, just not as many. While this summer has been sprinkled with new visitors every fortnight, I still have one awesome former co-castmember visitor from Ottawa (allo Char!) still on the to-arrive list.
• Friend displacement. - Last year my friend inventory dropped rather dramatically at the end of the summer and through October. In response, I spent the equivalent of a small, under-developed country's GDP on plane tickets and actually made some new friends... and moped really hard for one whole weekend. It was boring. This year, although many people have already left or will be leaving soon, the distances required to visit most of these people have greatly diminished. In fact, most of them are even in the same time zone or one time zone away... and in North America.
• VACATION!! - I tend not to take a lot of vacation in summer months because I let the people come to me. This must be how Jesus feels every Sunday morning when people go to church! In late October I'm heading to the magical vacation world of central Florida with former co-castmember Erin. Why? Because my (our) heart throbs for rides, fireworks, pixie dust, and saving the US economy via retail love and duty-free booze.
• MORE VACATION TO PLAN!!!! - I'm looking at you, Central America and Aeroplan points. Voy a estudiar mis libros de espanol esta hibierno. (This is actually 2012, but prep-work will take place prior.
• More writing. - Evidently, I don't write a lot in the summer. I'm too busy having fun with visitors, friends, strangers, unrecognized strains of bacteria, etc. I quite like writing and feel not writing here actually makes my writing quality at work dwindle, and I find it harder to focus. So look forward (or not - though I suggest you do) to more postings. As I'm my own biggest fan, I also look forward to more posts and reading them down the road when I'm procrastinating about stupid things, like going to bed.
• Velo love. - I haven't biked nearly as much this summer as last. I attribute some of this to the fact I started [trying to] play ultimate frisbee once or twice a week. I attribute more of it to the fact that the Biking for Breakfast Challenge (aka PEI tip to tip in one day) was cancelled, so I wasn't actually training for anything specific. I expect life to die down a wee bit over the coming weeks, which equals more bike time. My summer velo bucket list needs some more items scratched off.

So remember, friends, life isn't over just because September arrives. Sure life actually does end for some things (fruit flies... f-ing buggers) but we should be able to trudge along nicely. First we get a long weekend, then a Beer Festival, ice cream (not to say you can't eat ice cream now, but I'm sure you'll eat it in September too), Thanksgiving long weekend, Remembrance Day long weekend, my birthday long weekend (trying to make it official with the provincial federal government), people start coming home for Christmas break, then it's Jesus's birthday, then we go skating and snow shoeing, and then it's summer!!!

Yay, semi-fake optimism!

Here is a picture of a donkey to wish you a happy weekend. (What do you mean it's only Wednesday? Tears.)

Things I learned in drivers ed.

I started writing this a few weeks ago. Summer is distracting.

Today is the six-month anniversary of me owning a car! In honour of Car's birthday, she is going to the garage to find out why her 'check engine' light is exposing itself. She has been driven about 40 kilometres and has gone through one third of a tank of gas.

Not really, but apparently I don't drive very much. However, the past month was record setting with Car creeping into Nova Scotia (her homeland), heading to the north eastern tip of the island, heading into Anne's Land, and getting lost/confused twice on the same day up Chelton/Crapaud/Summerside way (PEI = awkward road signs). I also drove downtown twice. In related news, Bicyclette is earning her some lovin' between my legs. In other related news, Lady Velo is not having nearly enough fun this summer. (Bicyclette = commuter, sexy hybrid bike, Lady Velo = zippy, sexier road bike.) I don't blame having a car for lack of bike love, I blame hyper-socialization and me saying yes to, basically, anything that won't get me pregnant, sent into space (I don't deal well with isolation), or cause a disruption in the space-time continuum.

All this driving and responsibility reminds me of drivers ed. The small, important things that some people might forget.

• Go faster!/"Keep up with the flow of the traffic." - One of our drivers ed class took place on the Trans Canada Highway. One student would drive out to the Confederation Bridge, and the other student would drive back to Charlottetown. I honestly don't remember if I drove to the Bridge or back (I think back?) but I remember very clearly the driver instructor telling me to go faster. The curves of the roads were designed to be taken at the speed limit and higher, I didn't need to slow down. She also said, "This is probably the only time you will ever hear someone telling you to drive faster." She was wrong actually, my papa was telling me the same thing in slightly different words ("Keep up with the flow of the traffic!") when he was driving me to get my beginners licence photo taken. Then he rear ended someone. He exceeded the flow.
• Who/what Jean Chretien really cares about. - Our in-class instructor was discussing the history of seatbelts laws and why they exist. He said, "You know what Jean Chretien [at the time Prime Minister] cares about if you slam directly into a telephone poll?" and my friend's older brother answered, "The telephone poll!" The instructor said Ellery was probably right, along with (the answer he was looking for) health care costs. I also agree Ellery was probably right. Bringing down a telephone poll causes phone line problems - this was 1998 so mobiles weren't common - and electricity problems. Given that it basically takes two people sneezing at the same time to put out the power in PEI, it is a rather valid concern.
• No moose here! - One chapter of our book discussed dangers of driving in Canada, with our abundance of wild life. The in-class instructor paused as the book specifically mentioned moose and prancing deer. A very valid concern for much of Canada, but not for us. He said, "Well, I guess you should watch out for Clydesdale horses or something?" I laughed (along with everyone else) and couldn't help but picture a clydesdale in show, with his mane all done up, trotting fancily down the road neighing, "Good day, ma'am," as I passed on my penny-farthing. For those unfamiliar with the clydesdale, think of the Budweiser commercials. I've also attached this photo below. I have added a stick figure to help you get a scale of how big the horse is. The scale may be slightly off, but when I was four-years old, this is actually what it felt like. Horse = giant killing machine.
  
  
  

  
  
• Blinkers! - You're supposed to signal when a passing lane ends to show that you're merging back into the single lane. A sign for other cars that the passing opportunity is over, and don't f-ing rear end me.
• The chapter that actually tells you how to operate the machine/car. - We skipped this chapter. We probably shouldn't have, as my car knowledge was quite non-existent. I assumed my parents drove a standard because the shifty apparatus was between the two sweats, and not by the steering wheel like their previous car.
• There is no such thing as an accident. - It's probably almost true. I'm sure 99.9% of car 'accidents' could be avoided if drivers paid attention more and drove properly, like they did in their drivers test so long ago.

With all these great lessons I learned from drivers ed, I am now a very competent driver. Although about six months after I got my licence I backed into another car in my drive-way. It was dark... and I was really excited because I was going out to buy a Halowe'en costume (a jedi... yes, I may had been a bit geeky). But my more so real accident was driving to school in grade 11 shortly after being licenced with Brother and a friend. I was KEEPING UP WITH THE FLOW OF THE TRAFFIC (just like my papa!) and rear ended someone. Just like my papa. Yay!

It's summertime! Booty shake.

It's summer!

Kind of.

According to Environment Canada, it's 8C. According to my window and the puddles, it's raining. So, it's kind of sort of possibly starting to be summer. Just a wee bit. However, since weather is a poor indicator of seasonal change that is merely based on a calendar date and the Earth's position relative to the sun, I offer you the following items that are actual signs of summer. Also, trivia that I picked up at Churchill Arms over the winter (note: also won a free beer for knowing Beauty and the Beast was the seventh longest running play on Broadway): in Sweden the change of seasons is actually weather based and not calendar based. Summer starts when the average daily temperature has been at least 10C for seven consecutive days. Based on this logic, it is still spring in Charlottetown. Spring starts with seven consecutive days of an average of at least 0C. That means even spring probably has not yet started in Charlottetown.

Just kidding! I referenced Environment Canada's historic data (one of my favourite geek-things to do), and spring started on April 24. Also, there is a good chance 'summer' will start tomorrow. This is where I have a minor problem with the Swedish method... Summer? Really? The standard should be raised to a mean of 15C for seven consecutive days. However, that would be depressing, because summer wouldn't start until July 23 and would end on July 48th (new day based on my calendar enhancements of extending July and August by 15 days each and eliminating the month of November).

I give you, signs of summer.

• Biking attire: can get away with not wearing multiple layers, full fingered gloves, and wool socks for at least three consecutive rides. Note: this has not happened yet.
• Rickshaw Guy: seeing him around town on weekend nights. Happened once so far on a Thursday, but clearly he shivered and left town for a bit.
• Patios: Old Triangle patio becomes very busy. I feel like I should get priority seating due to frequenting the establishment year round as opposed to on sunny days only. Also, watch out if you see my workmates and I there. Last time we somehow broke the picnic table we were sitting at? From now on we weigh people before we hire them. (Just kidding... from now on we don't stuff 9 people onto a medium-sized, frail picnic table.)
• Dresses, skirts, shorts: upon returning from North African/Middle East holiday at the end of April I decided I was not going to wear pants anymore! Summer had started. Well, that was an unfortunate, unintentional lie. But soon.. Soon! Right now we have to settle for capri season... occasionally with boots.
• June bugs: I hate them. A lot. They make me act girly and emit high pitch noises from my mouth and swot at the air. However, they haven't really appeared much this year, thus, it's not yet summer. Fact: Lady June Bugs spend about two weeks laying up to sixty eggs and do have a lifespan of longer than one day. Ack.
• "It's so nice out!" I can't help it, I say this about twice per hour on nice days. I probably said it 589 times last Saturday while a friend squealed, "I'm so happy!" in response almost every time. Wind blockage + direct sunlight = win(-sunburnlevel).
• Forgetting to wear clothes: I like wearing my bathing suit all day. Sometimes I forgot it's not appropriate to wear it into shops (PEI isn't Hawai'i?), particularly when stopping for ice cream on the way home from the beach. This also hasn't happened yet, thus, still spring.
• Urge to flash/moon people: I get funny tan lines and apparently want to share them inappropriately to the world. Unfortunately, male mooning is always hilarious, and female mooning tends to be looked upon as a lil slutty. The only way I can think to fix this issue is to draw a picture of a cute duke on the exposed skin. "Stupid, skanky chick... OH MY GOD! A drawing of a cute duck! She is amazing and we must be her friend due to her love of water fowl and the arts."

Note: I write this last week, updated it last night, and am now posting it today. Unfortunately it got too cold last night and it's not summer today. Today the seven-day count restarts at day 1. Hoping for summer start on June 24!

Let's get physical!

Nothing like stealing song lyrics when you can't think of a proper title.

As one of the my last posts pertained to the Red Island Relay and a few people asked me how it went, here is our very dramatic conclusion!

I biked. It went well.

I biked again a bit later. It went very well.

I kayaked right after that. It went pretty well.

Then I ran over the finish line and no one paid attention or clapped, so I thought about dramatically collapsing onto the ground in hopes someone would notice me. Instead I just walked back to the kayak to help Heidi with stuff and fetch my discarded clothing. No, I did not do the kayak naked (would I have gotten bonus points? Or at least more acknowledgement on our dramatic finish), but had shed my sneaks, socks, and extra long sleeves pre-kayak after my wobbly run down from the bike finishing area.

The end.

Ooooh, more detail requested? Okee.

People run goooood.


Weather was a bit chilly for the first couple of legs, but the wind was calm and not many specks of rain had fallen. I was powering on an awesome 4.5 hours of sleep (it's how I roll, baby cakes) but was feeling good. Unfortunately, I basically have no pictures of the event or participating, slight disadvantage of being on a two-person team.

First leg is the 7.7ish-km run. Heidi did that, and Heidi did wonderful! However, upon running back into the transition area, her devil horns popped out and she sneared at me, "Get this damn thing off of me!" referring to the ankle strap that had our timing chip. I obliged, waved, and cheerily biked away. Advantage of two-person team: if your partner (temporarily) hates you, it doesn't matter because you won't see her/him for more than thirty seconds anyway.

Second leg (Aka J-Mac leg no. 1) was about 27 km of biking on the road. Last year I didn't complete this leg due to an unfortunate flat tired (le sad), but this year, I am happy to report that my only flat took place before the race, and wasn't my fault at all. The lovely Sporting Intentions people were pumping up my bike tires (I had my own pump, but theirs cost about 6x as much as mine and was about 400x better than mine) and managed to rip the valve right off the tube when taking the pump valve off. On the plus side, they fixed my flat for me! And I was well prepared with spare tubes for both bikes. Anyway, my bike adventure took me about 1:01:19 (good enough to place 13 of 18 two-person teams, and second among two-female teams, which I was pumped about as I wanted to do it in about an hour, and figure I spent almost a minute in the transition area ripping the ankle strap off Heidi. I also passed people, which helped my self esteem. They don't say it in school during health class, but being faster can make you feel better about yourself. Write that down.

Next up was more running by Heidi. Not gonna lie, I was not envious at all and was so happy she was running. As previously mentioned to many people, I run only when being chased, or when chasing something ($20 bill blowing down the street). This run was about 10 km, which would be about 11 more than I would wish to run. Heidi was in good spirits when I got back, and took off, running of course.

While Heidi was off on her second leg, I did important things like sit in my warm car and listen to music while eating/rehydrating, changed into a completely new 'outfit' for the next leg, and stood under the warm hand dryer in the washroom because I was shivering and so chilly it was making my boobs hurt. Hence the new, dry clothes.

When Heidi came back from long leg no. 3, she stated that she hated me for making her do this. I, again, smiled, waved, and biked away. Once I reached kilometre 0.0003, my legs started burning and I kept thinking about the 2010 Olympics where suddenly every commentator had become an expert on lactic acid, particularly during the speedskaters' 5,000 M. This leg would be about 19 km and was on the Confederation Trail. I bopped along, panting (on both legs I basically sounded like I was developing asthma on-the-fly), singing a bit, and then panting some more since I lacked the lung capacity to bike as fast as I could and sing. In the end, my ride was 49:39 which is a bit slower than last year, but my parents still love me anyway. I came 7th (!!!!) in the two-person category, and first among two-female teams. I feel like I'm bragging, but I'm just excited because, oh, here is a secret, other than school and test marks, I've never been first in anything. Ever. Unless you count races against cousins within a month after they learned to walk. And I will admit, there were only four two-female teams. But I'm still excited anyway.

Last up was the kayak. I screwed up our time by "running" out the entrance instead of exit, and then got all flustered when the timer man glared at me with eyes of rage and anger. And by "run", I mean "pathetic jog" since my legs were a rubbery burning mess. Our kayak went well, and Heidi didn't hate me anymore (yay!). It's about 6 km, and took us 48:43 which we were both pleased with given our lack of kayaking experience. Annnnnd, here's the kicker....

We won medals for being third in our division!

Yes, third out of four teams in our division, but I don't care. The only medals I ever got weren't really 'earned', but received because everyone in the league got one at the end of season. Move aside T-Ball Summer 1986, your spot has been taken.

I love us!

PS: Heidi, I stole your picture and put it online for the whole world to see.

PPS: Bike outfit number one was much prettier and much more flattering. It deserved a first-place medal for "Hheeeeeey, baby!"

PPPS: I didn't proof read this as I missed my goal bedtime by one hour. C'est la vie. Like the bottle of wine I bought last weekend, called, C'est la Vie.
The end.

Jen & Graham's Magical Bike Ride Adventure

Let's ride bikes!


View Larger Map


That route looks good. Zoom out and it'll look a little more impressive. The entire route is about 67 kilometres and would apparently take 1.5 hours in a *le sigh* terribly boring, non-endorphin-releasing car. Little did we know upon leaving our homes (which are not at the grocery store like the map suggests) what great things would await us on our afternoon ride.

Kilometre 1: Bulk Barn stop. Bought trail mix as opposed to gummy worms and chocolate covered almonds because I wanted the cashier to think I am an impressive athlete.

Kilometre 3 -14: Bike into the wind, feel cold, and complain mentally to myself about how stupid June weather is being.

Kilometre 14.5: Get chased by a freakishly fast dog who doesn't understand basic English commands screamed by an angry woman, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" "Go away!" and "F--k OFF!!!!" Graham and I become unexpected sprinters and the dog keeps good pace. A car comes up behind us and starts honking at the Beast and it gets distracted. A car was also coming in the other direction and we can assume the dog is probably dead now or had at least had a near-death experience. Can't say I care, particularly as its owners watched it take off from the yard after us.

Kilometre 25ish: See that the road is ripped up at the National Park entrance and divert to what was an amazing experience...

Kilometre 31: Decide to stop at Stanhope Resort for a wee stretch of the legs and some trail mix gobble. However(!), come across an open house for the resort and instead eat half a cookie, mussels, and a few chips. I even have leftover chocolate in my pockets. Even better: sit inside and warm up for 15 minutes. Instantly shiver violently upon going back outside because I refuse to wear wool socks and a fleece while biking in JUNE.

Kilometre 32 - 37ish: Five kilometres of National Park bliss with a nicely paved trail parallel to the road. (Also rewarding: spelling parallel correctly on my first try. Oh yeeeah.)

Some other Point: Bike by a field of llamas (alpacas?) and they all turn and stare at us. Since Graham was already a bit ahead of me I didn't bother to stop and run up to the fence and become their favourite cyclist friend. Next time. By the way, also confused about the difference between an alpaca and llama?
The internet it here to help!

All the way home except Victoria Park "Victory Loop": amazing tail wind. Stop shivering.

Now: Come home, lay down on couch. Start shivering. Sit on the floor of my shower and let hot water rain down my head until I warm up.

I love weekends.

Goals for this Week

Hi friends!

Apparently lots of self-help "gurus"/"geniuses"/people-who-just-managed-to get-published suggest writing lists of goals. If it is written down, it is more likely to become a reality. I tried a slightly different twist on this and drew a picture of a beautiful birthday cake. I stared at it for awhile but it didn't turn into a real cake. When I ate it, it tasted like paper and pencil crayon.

Just kidding! I use markers, not pencil crayons.

Also, it took me three tries to spell crayon. Actually, just twice. I spelled it wrong and then spell-checked it and now feel the burning urge (not related to UTIs) to know the history of crayons and the word origin. But we'll save that for other day.

Goals for this Week - (many of which centre around the Red Island Relay)

• Firstly, of course, become a strong, black woman. Strong white women aren't nearly as impressive as strong black women. I'm either going to need to take a trip to the skin dying section of the pharmacy or may have to settle for trying to convince people my colouring is actually that of a Mediterranean woman. In that case....
• Become a strong Mediterranean woman. I just need to change my last name to pull this one off. And become strong. Very strong. Like Angry Italian Grandmother strong.
• Caress my bike tires seductively and convince them to protect my bike tubes... like a strong Mediterranean woman would. Last year I borrowed a beautiful road bike for the Relay that was about to be donated to Cycling PEI. I took the darling Blue Lightning (I just came up with that name - one year too late) on her maiden voyage the night before the relay and all was good. A wee bit of tinkering with the seat and we high fived in excitement. The next day during the 26-km road leg I biked over what must had been a giant boulder (no bike pun intended, and was actually probably a rock the size of a cheap, cruddy diamond) and pffffffft the air was gone from my tire. This was well chronicled in a blog post last year, but the pain still remains. Papa even said to me (in dry sarcasm as only a MacPhail can do), "I don't think we'll bother to go watch any this year, no point in driving all the way to Brudenell just to see you get a ride in a dump truck."



Cool! That's me and my borrowed bike in a dump truck, getting a lift to the finish line. Hi Jennifer!!


• Learn to control the weather. I don't even know how to approach this. However, I would like for the winds not to be ridiculous on Saturday, I would like minimal rain in the preceding days other wise my sexy hybrid tires will sink into the trail during the 'mountain bike' leg of the event. I also just want to see the sun more than once or (OMG!) twice per week. I miss it.
• Be in good condition after the Relay. Heading to the wine festival a few hours afterwards. Need to be in top shape so I can wear heels as flats will look awkward with my dress. I shall wear the same dress as last year, as it's now stained with wine and jagerbombs so may as well continue to destroy it rather than wrecking something new. =smart.
• Have an intelligent conversation in French. I get incredibly confident in my French skills when drinking wine, particularly French wine. I then talk to the French wine producers (though usually the booths are staffed by Canucks, but the odd person who has at least actually *been* to the winery is present) and attempt to seduce them with my stylings of a terrible anglophone French accent. Hasn't been successful yet - but could this be the year?!
• Incorporate more colour into my wardrobe. This is generally an on-going goal.. to blind everyone who looks at me.
• Potentially become an X-Men geek. I think I'd be good at it, but I would have a lot of years to catch up on. Basically this is directly related to watching Wolverine with Shannon last night, or, to quote me, "Ooh! The movie where Hugh Jackman is all hot and runs around naked in the woods!!" Shannon pointed out that particular scene was only a minute or two long. Apparently in my head I remembered that being most of the movie.
• Don't get hit by a car/beastly motorised vehicle. I'm starting to keep track of how many cars cut me off when I'm dashing about town on my bike. Today I almost got hit by a giant Trius charter bus pulling out of the University into the round about right in front of me. The driver was on a mobile phone and politely waved at me when I braked hard and threw my hand in the air in exasperation at him. Glad I was watching closely. I don't think Jen + Bike would had won the battle against a 16-thousand billion ton bus. F-bomb.
• Eat supper. It's 10:30pm and I haven't eaten supper yet. Whatever.

All these goals should become very true and real now, fore I have written them down. Hurrah!

I wish it were career day

Oh, hiiiiii!

Sometimes I go for stretches of time without writing. Generally this can be attributed to good weather, but that's not the case right now. Anyone who has been within 800 feet of me in the past 30 hours can pretty much feel the weather hate oozing out of my pores. Three days without seeing blue sky or sun, and having big winds pick at my hair pretty much means I have to be drugged in order to smile. Don't mess with my natural vitamin D intake and outdoor-playtime endorphin release. In a related note, I would never survive living up north during the darkest point of winter. You would find me sniffling in my bedroom hugging my blankets and pillows with a grip usually reserved for dictators clinging to power in a rebelling country.

Today I had a conversation with a friend and she told me a couple of the things she was told rocked about having children. We determined most of these things could be fulfilled through a pet (most likely a monkey), or dating Danny Bhoy.



(Specific clip selected due to out-siesta-ing every Spaniard on the planet during my last vacation. You napped for an hour? Well, I slept for most of a 7.5-hr train ride in the late morning through early evening. Take that, Juan y Laura-Maria!)

We didn't get very far in our conversation as I get incredibly distracted anytime Danny Bhoy pops up (if he ever pops up at my door and you have plans with me for that day, considered them cancelled). And subject matter changes quickly. We probably eventually talked about our feelings. I probably whined about the weather and collapsed dramatically on the floor due to rickets potentially developing in my legs as per lack of sun vitamin D deficiency. Then I typically feel guilty about whining since life is good and I have access to clean and always available tap water, have a [rented] home, a family, and two incredibly sexy bicycles.

In quite important news, I'm thinking about a career change. Ninja? Yes please!

Culturally insensitive? Yes. But dangerously beautiful? BIGGER YES.

When visiting Teachaah (not her real name... well, kinda) in Abu Dhabi, she showed me how to properly dress for the mosque we would be visiting the following day. While the face covering wasn't necessary, I asked her to show me how to do it. Instead of feeling like a shamed Arab woman (was that insensitive?), I felt like a ninja and felt the abaya (the main robe part) was perfect for hiding my weapons. But which Ninja Turtle to be inspired by? The grace of Leonardo and his slender katana swords? Useful for cutting both villains AND pizza. However, Donatello and his majestic bo staff (large stick) seems more traditional, like a fight in the woods again beautifully gingered vikings. Rafael has the fork things, which Wikipedia insists are called "sai". Say, what? While I admired Rafael's humour during my youth, one must get awfully close to her antagonist to effectively fight with only the large forks. Our last option is Michelangelo and his "nunchaku" (again, told to me by Wikipedia, we always called them "knunchucks"). While, as a ninja, I can hide many things under my "ninbaya" (cross between ninja and abaya), I think I will take the swords. They double as mirrors and can also be used for a quick hair cut when I meet that point of no return after not cutting my hair during the my eight-month long mission.

The Wikipedia write off also states who each Ninja Turtle is named after by stating, for example, "the Italian polymath, scientist, engineer, inventor, anatomist, and painter, Leonardo da Vinci".

I kind of feel like an underachiever. If something/someone were to be named after me, Wikipedia would say, "Named after Jennifer, the eater, writer... something or other. Didn't she have a CD or something? No? That was Jennifer Lopez? Okay, let's wrap this article up."

On that note, I should be using my time wisely now, learning how to hide quietly in trees, and making ninja stars from aluminum foil leftover from housemate's wing order.

Ta!

Oops, mild jet (train?) lag

Right, so sleeping is hard. It's about 1:ooam (4 hrs later than home) and I'm wide awake. Not quite jet lag as I've been in this time zone since Wednesday morning. However, being sleep deprived and being unable to keep my eyes open when in a moving vehicle, I managed to sleep for what seemed like most of a 7-hour train ride today. If only workdays would pass so quickly.

Apparently my French accent is bizarre to the Moroccans. It used to be a French territory so French is, supposedly, still the language of business and government. For me, the hardest part of French has always being comprehending what others say, listening. The accent here isn't too hard to understand, but I apparently sound like a dieing koala or something.

Conversation with lady at train station:
Jen: Nous avons besoin de deux billets a Casa Voyageurs pour lundi, svp.
Femme: Quand?
Jen: Lundi.
Femme: Demain?
Jen: Non, lundi.
Femme: dimache? Ou demain?
Jen: Luuuuundi!
Femme: What?
Jen: Monday. A treize heure cinquante.
Femme: ah, the 18th. Premiere classe ou deuxieme class?

Ah, franglais. My teachers told me it would never suffice; lies!

Then we had bizarre attempts at trying to communicate the credit card machine was down. I stopped paying attention since Devin was to pay for the train tickets. So we spent almost all our cash on train tickets and (probably) getting ripped off by our Petit Taxi to our Riad (accommodation). And the bank machine at the gare (train station) was down. Oh, right, and I had spent almost all my money getting henna on my hand/arm the night before in Crazyville. Of course, my MacPhail genes ensured I smeared it about ninety times  before it dried. Apparently it'll last about 3 weeks, which means my purse and dress should be clean in early May.  i actually kept smearing the same bit, so most of it is quite good. After getting it done Devin pointed out getting it on the left hand (I'm right handed) probably would had been smarter. Devin = wise. But neither of us were wise enough to think of it prior.

Attempt at sleep no. 3, commence!

Maroc(k) on!

I'm typing this from my wee phone so all typos *must* be forgiven, otherwise you are permitted to read no further... Unless we are blood relatives or have known me for at least five years. Then you get a free pass.

Morocco is amazing! Particularly the yellow food that is becoming a trend on this holiday. On the flight over from Montreal to London, Devin and I were offered, shock, chicken or beef. I went beef because I think chicken is far more popular than it deserves to be. My beef was in a mushroom sauce with tinned mushrooms served with neon yellow rice. The neon rice stained the plastic container neon yellow, making me leery. (quote of flight, Devin: "This dessert tastes more like a brownie!!" Jen: "Umm, Devin, it is a brownie."

For brekkie on the plane we were served cake. We were told right after take off that we would be served supper ("dinner", but I like to keep my terminology East Coast) and a "snack". I think it was supposed to be a tiny loaf of banana bread, and when it was served to us I said too loudly "Cake for breakfast?" and the air line attendant laughed. I felt it was European appropriate, trying to pass off pastry as breakfast. But it was cake, so it was actually American hotel chain continental breakfat appropriate. ("La Quinta doughnut, cake, cakey doughnut, or doughnutty cake?")

More neon yellow food followed. I made fun of my AC meal before pealing off my chicken container on Royal Air Maroc, only to be greeted by neon yellow chicken and potatoes. Cue (too loud) laughter. However, neon yellow potatoes seem to be a Moroccan staple and are, how do you say... Absolutely delicious. Also important, they match the shirt I'm wearing. And would look amazing in my bright bedroom.

Customs officer: "Anything to declare?"
Jen: *holds up duty-free whiskey* "An f-ing party! Wooooo!"
CO: "Uh huh... Anything else?"
Jen: "Yes, thirty pounds of cooked neon yellow delicious potatoes... And a small party."

Friday's neon yellow food came in the form of delicious veggie tagine. Tonight's neon yellow was with my delicious lamb chops. They could just put the word "delicious" in front of every menu option and I would nod in agreement. The only thing I don't like is the olives served with every meal. I've probably been served 50 olives so far, including on the plane. I have eaten 0.5 olives, which was 0.25 too many.

Better than olives but not as good as winning the lotto is the juice. Fresh squeezed! No canned crap here. I had OJ in Marrakech that was made about 8 seconds earlier. I had strawberry juice with lunch yesterday that made me want to get up on the table and have a dance party. It was like someone crush 800 sstarwberries in a glass and handed it to me trying to get rainbows to burst from my chest. Success!

Marrakech was not quite total chaos, but minor chaos that works. Everyone and their donkey (literally) is everywhere. People, cars, animals, bicycles, and motorbikes all somewhat yield to each other without yielding at all. A common understanding that you will not get more room than you need and we will not touch each other. If you are a visitor, do not even consider trying to participate in any way other than on foot. To hire a car would be akin to a person with a peanut allergy swimming in a delicious vat of peanut butter (yum). Also, based on our cabs, seatbelts are for losers who are SCARED and WHIMPY. Some cabs have the seatbelt part, but good luck finding something it'll buckle into. If you are squirmish in traffic, it's best just to close your eyes, though then you may miss the morning coffee delivered through the drivers window, the Moroccan version version of the driveway.

C'est tout. Not really, but I'm worried this won't even post as it's linked through an email due to Blogger not loading on my phone.

Bon voyage!

You Sir, are a no-good pile of rubbish.

Starting in 2002, PEI implemented an Island-wide waste management scheme. I don't believe it has evolved much since; though I think the proper placement of a Tim Horton's cup still can conjure debate. (It seems compostable, but has a waxy exterior. SO MANY OPTIONS.) We have a large black waste bin, a large green bin for compost, and two recycling bags - one for plastic/glass/stuff, the other for paper.

High five PEI!

Except when doing mass spring cleaning and sharing one bin among five or six people. I came home from the market on Saturday afternoon to find a large dumpster in my driveway. Some people may think, "Oh darn, eye sore," but I'm pretty sure my eyes lit up like a cat gifted a large bag of catnip. The chance to binge my house of garbage? And not cause my waste bin to overflow for the next month? Brilliant. Amazing. Sexy, even. Apparently my landlord planned to clean out our garage, which basically looked like a Home Depot graveyard with a series of miscellaneous appliances, wood, and the more odd industrial oven and restaurant supplies. I binged things and it felt good. And I will 100% admit to not sorting it. Guilty pleasure. I honestly do 100% support recycling, sorting, etc., but this was up there with the pleasure I get from the odd Saturday or Sunday-afternoon drive. I try not to drive a lot (boo! driving! bad!) but I actually love driving on country roads with little traffic or divided highways in New Brunswick or Nova Scotia (speed limit is higher there than Ontario and Quebec). If I behave well 98% of the time, is it okay to slack 2%?

(This is when I imagine someone scolding me and saying, "I misbehaved once and now I have HERPES!")

That's all. I wrote this post eight hours ago and don't remember the direction in which it was going.