Sculpted, beautiful nudity

Oh, how I have missed you my blog! I'm pretty much my own biggest fan (convenient, stalking oneself is so easy) and was disappointed at my lack of writing over the past two months. I fully blame myself; I've been trying to go to bed earlier which takes away from late night writing time. I have also been a bit sick for the past 10 days and spent most of my time either working or laying in bed spooning my pillows. Related: I'm an expert Big Spoon (or Spooner). If you are a fantastic Little Spoon (or Spoonee), drop me a line. Just be warned you'll wake up with me latched onto you and possibly drooling on your back. In some cultures drool is a sign of respect and admiration, and like passing well wishes onto someone in a very special/literal way. I'm not sure which cultures, but surely there must be at least one... Ideally, candidates should be male.

The downside of being sick (apart from actual being sick part) is that it's so isolating. Days and nights are spent either alone in ones office or alone in ones bedroom. Then you hear about a news story that eventually makes it to press that someone died in her apartment and no one realised for five months. You start wondering why people don't miss you and realise it's only been, like, three days. One friend who knew I was sick brought me popsicles ("This is the weirdest request I ever heard from a sick person,") which was more symbolic and meaningful than the birth of babies via stork delivery.

But anyway, I'm almost better. On Thursday I will be 100% better, tomorrow 96.4% better. Frankly, sleeping up to 12 hours a day/night is wasting my time and I am accomplishing nothing other than supporting the pharmaceutical industry through my dependency on cold/flu meds and cough syrup. I am so sick of the taste of cough syrup. My disgust alone should be enough to will away the last bits of cold particles.

On Saturday night/Sunday morning I kept having dreams of rejection. "You aren't good enough to be in the club!" "You can't hang out with us!" You kind of feel like garbage when you wake up from dreams of people telling you that you suck. How it related to life at that moment was so obvious that I felt like rolling my eyes and saying, "Really, dream? That was the best you could do? Get a bit more creative, please." Then the next night I had a dream that I had before long ago, shortly after a break-up/departure of an ex-boyfriend. This time in my dream I recognized that I had been there before, saw the ex-boyfriend there, and knew I had to change the ending of the dream and trick him into leaving. I'm not sure if I succeeded or not, but I woke up a bit confused to what year it was. ("Aloha 2009!")

Since I like to have some sort of point to posts, instead of, "My name is Jennifer and I like to write about my feelings!" (note: I actually don't like to write about my feelings, I would rather you leave with a smile on your face and a chuckle of laughter burning in your throat) today's post is about naked statues.

Oh, Poseidon - so manly! I want to bite you.

Featured above is Poseidon - Greek God of the Sea, Neptune in Roman Mythology. He bears little resemble to my first experience with someone by the name of Neptune: Sailor Neptune.

I am Sailor Neptune, not Poseidon. I am focused and determined and this is not the star crystal you are looking for. Move along.

I'm not a huge art fan. I respect the talent required to create a painting, and I enjoy standing extremely close and looking at the many layers required to create depth, colour, shadow, etc., but I couldn't spend all day happily strolling through an art museum. I do, however, like statues. In museums, on street corners, where ever. But I do sometimes wonder why Greek/Roman Gods and Goddesses are often naked. I can't imagine someone approaching me and saying, "I admire you, you do wonderful things, you must be remembered forever in a replicated stone carving of yourself..."

I, bashful yet proud, concede that yes, I am a wonderful person, and the people must remember me.

"Wonderful!" says the Sculptor. "I will create a naked, 8-foot tall tribute to you. I may save you some embarrassment and place a small maple leaf over your left nipple and a piece of seaweed over your lady bits, but I will still leave unflattering rolls and your ass crack. People will love you!"

Maybe it's harder to create a naked person? Does doing so give you more credibility as an artist? I know from drawing that it was always easiest to draw bodies covered in clothing, and the hardest part was always hands and faces. Clothes can look like anything, people parts have to actually look like people parts since we all know what they should look like. In fact, I can't help but wonder if the Nike statue ever had a head. Maybe the person creating it got frustrated and lobbed it off in anger.

Heads and hands are hard to perfect.

(I think this statue is beautiful and apparently it's housed at the Louvre, which I skipped on all three of my visits to Paris. Only now do I feel guilty. Sorry, Goddess of Victory, I am unvictorious in seeing you.)

To the person who may eventually create a naked statue of me, I have a few requests.

First, I want a lot of hair. Massive, wavy, voluptuous hair with side-swept fringe. It needn't be long, just wide and tall. I must be wearing my Jesus sandals, for they are part of my soul. I would like to look powerful and brave; this can be accomplished by giving me a war wound on my upper right thigh and claw marks on the left side of my core. If you are having trouble making my rear look flattering, I am not opposed to wearing a cape.

You don't need to include the scar on my back. It's from having a mole removed. Not very exciting. You do, however, need to include the long scar on my thigh delivered by Kitty 17 years ago. If my teeth are visible I wouldn't mind having braces. I never had braces and I think they look kind of cute on adults.

While I don't need six-pack abs, I wouldn't mind you taking a bit of artist creativity and shearing off a smidgen of my beer belly. Also, don't give me a belly button piercing. I don't like them. If you must be creative, give me wings or a keytar. Me riding an elephant would also not be discouraged.

Above all, do not sculpt any ingrown hairs. They hurt and leave scars.

Thank you.

"Let's do coffee!"

Sometimes I wonder if I'm missing out on something by not being a coffee drinker. When someone is curled up by her window, mug of coffee twisted into her hand, watching the rain pour down, she looks happy and warm, enjoying the mood of the weather. When the non-coffee drinker is looking outside at the rain through the window, she looks crazy or depressed.

At my first temp job in Scotland I learned about how important coffee and tea were to them. I was offered coffee - "No thank you" - tea - "No thank you" - and invited to join on smoke breaks - "Coming out for a fag?" "Uh... what?" "Cigarette?" "Oh, no thank you." I got blank stares.

"So you don't drink tea or coffee?"
"No... I don't really like hot drinks."
"And you don't smoke?"
"No..."
"So what do you do? Everyone has to have a bad habit."
"Umm, I like beer?"

So I managed to keep some level of respect in my admin role due to my intake of hops, barley, malt, and water - all mixed and fermented to perfection.

I find myself a little envious of the coffee drinkers during mornings. I struggle to wake up in a natural ways, such as changing the standard beep beep (which I too often slept through) of my mobile phone alarm into a peppy song, eating breakfast, showering, generally walking to work, and brushing my teeth with intensely flavoured cinnamon toothpaste. This is all temporary and seems to be enough to get me to work by, oh, 9:30 or 10:00, but then I'm forced to sit still by myself in front of computer screen which tends to make me sleepy all over again and give me poor posture and wrinkles from squinting at the intense glare of the screen.

I also function awkwardly at "Let's do coffee sometime!" and then find myself starring curiously at a menu in a coffee establishment trying to figure out what to order. I have changed the meaning of "let's do coffee" to "let's do fruit punch". You can't really gossip and mingle over fruit punch in the way one can with coffee.

The pleasure of indulging in a warm beverage after being outside in the cold is also foreign to me. Yes, I join in on hot chocolate outings post sledding (which didn't happen this winter which is fine by me as I'm secretly scared of sledding and don't like hot chocolate that much), but that's more so for the social ritual than love of hot chocolate. Hot chocolate is generally far too hot when served causing me to flail my arms about like a penguin trying to fly. So I wait. Then I down it all in the span of four minutes while it's at a consumable temperature.

Did I mention that I once accidentally drank a glass of hot water when I was, like, 2? And by hot, it was probably actually luke warm and I completely over reacted and cried? And then spent the next six years being scared to operate the taps in the bathtub and would spend two hours playing in increasingly cooling water with wrinkly purple fingertips? The real, deep, psychological reason why I don't like coffee and other hot drinks. Oh, how the mistake of my past haunt my present self.

PS: I want to change careers to stunt car driver. More on that another day.

Welcome, temporary spring!

Saturday, March 5, 2011 was officially declared the first day of spring - by me. After a series of international debates among northern countries it was decided that calendar entries for season changes are not an accurate way to establish a new season. Instead, it was agreed that each region would have a season decision maker. After numerous rigorous interviews, blood samples, x-rays, and hot dog eating contests, it was decided that I was the best candidate in the PEI region. I declared the start of spring, but so far it seems to be accurate only in regard to the weekend. For example, this weekend the weather was darling and the sun was blowing kisses to all in Charlottetown, people were outside, and suddenly half of the city decided to become runners. I, of course, prefer mounting sexy things and chose to rides my bikes instead. That way I can play in traffic and let out muffled groans of pain when I miss avoiding one of Charlottetown's 6,482 potholes that developed over the winter. [Three hurrahs for living on a constantly shifting sandbar!] I'm pretty sure some of them are so deep that were we to drop something in them someone in China would trip over the object.

What would be the advantages of such a deep pothole all the way to China? I'm glad you asked, as I believe this to be a worthwhile venture and will seek government funding to accomplish this engineering feat.

1. Reduced importing/exporting costs for small goods. If you think Dollar Stores are full of junk now, wait until importing costs drop as transportation involves throwing the product down a hole. Note the quality of the products will not improve. Keep this in mind when you buy your pregnancy test from the Dollarama. (Photo taken at an actual Dollarama in Halifax by a concerned me. I was later told that these are just as accurate as their $20 counterparts.)

2. Tourism. Relating to an academic paper I proofed for a coworker, mainland Chinese residents are starting to travel more. How cheap - and convenient - would it be to simply hop into a hole through the centre of the Earth to reach your destination of McPothole Street, Charlottetown? Set up a small customs office at the end of a driveway (sorry, no room for your lemonade stand this year, kids), a few metal detectors, and all is good. Of course, this is all pending further research on the effects of through-the-Earth's-core travel on the human body. It's slightly possible you would melt.
3. Environmental consequences. As demonstrated in the two previous points, pollution created via transportation of goods and people would be reduced dramatically. However, again, it must be stressed that more research needs to take place on how this giant pothole through the Earth's core will effect the planet's structural integrity. I think Environment Canada and Transportation and Public Works Charlottetown would be pleased to fund this experiment.

I would also like to apologize for my miscaluculation in summer's commencement. While I expect a little bit of back and forth iffiness, the snow has been softly falling from the sky all day. Very softly and almost not noticeable, but still. However, spring has left a lasting effect. I judge snow depth by the toys and playthings in the children's playground I can see out my window. There is a bridge for them to play on and I can see at least 15 inches more of it than I could see even a week ago. I can also see a little bit of grass which has burst through light dustings of snow.

See you in China! 中国见你！

An Open Letter to Winter

Dear Winter:

Ah, still here? Your presence is never subtle. As a guest in my life, I find you take advantage of my positive attitude and kind soul. I let you into my life, and even tried to embrace you. I had to put out financially, purchasing more wool socks, snowshoes, skates, a car, and an icescraper for my car.  But I put in a very solid effort to building our relationship.

You are being to exert a physical and mental tole on my body. You never pick up after yourself (the driveway has been full of snow for two months; I haven't seen a blade of grass in weeks), you're causing dry-skin grossness ick to my beautiful face, and you insist on whipping through the air like a hijacked train. You are making me neglect things I love. My sexy bicycles are giving me the cold shoulder; my dresses are so limp in my closet. My sandals are giving me sad looks and wondering why they are collecting dust in the entryway.

I find you are also a demanding guest. I tried to be patient and shovel out my car one day so I wouldn't get stuck. But you insisted I didn't shovel enough, and I got stuck anyway and ended up being too late to get to my destination. You are also making an absolute mess of the hallways at work. I find myself having to change my footware much more than I deem acceptable on a daily basis. And let's not get started on how you are rude and sometimes trip me. I was gently wading through snow to work and you made me fall. I wouldn't make you fall if you were rushing to get somewhere.

And think of the children! You are denying them of their education. The schools close because you get so arrogant and insist on making your presence known. Many already loved you, do not get so bold that you do not find our love to be enough.

I have your things packed.  You may leave at any time.  You are welcome back next December, but I'm expecting you to behave a little better.

Yours sincerely,
Jennifer

PS: I do appreciate your lack of bone-chilling temperatures, however.

Theoretical Snow Day vs. Actual Snow Day

Last Monday the University shut down at 5:00pm due to snow blowing through the air and whipping people in the face and winter being, you know, winter-y. I was a little disappointed as after mingling with (eating) a few cookies at our Valentine's Day potluck I was planning on going to the gym and abusing myself to the point of movement causing throngs of pain the following day. Instead, I walked home and did sad things like clean the kitchen, vacuum, and wash to-be-painted walls. Luckily I had plans for later so the threat of becoming the Old Maid featured in my least favourite card game ever (called, "Old Maid") did not loom too largely.

Tuesday morning arrived (usually a safe bet following Monday night) and despite still being mildly blustery, the radio and the vast metropolis of the Internet insisted that the uni was running as usual. I walked to work because it gives me a superiority complex (and I missed the bus by about four seconds as I stood in awe on the other side of the road dragging out the waste bin) and was pretty sure Zeus had filled each individual snowflake with a small blade that were causing my face and eyeballs to bleed. "Flurries" at the university was a slight understatement. The winds were howling and the small children at UPEI's daycare had to be chained down to prevent blowing to Newfoundland. The snow was piercing faces and students were falling trying to pass the sidewalks and snowy walkways. Most of us survived and exploded through the doors like weakened champions. I unlock my office door and am immediately told, "UPEI has just announced it is closed for the day!"

Usually snowdays are met with cheers and champagne popping, but given the effort I put into getting to work I wasn't feeling the need for a bubbly drink. Just a face-to-face apology from whoever made the decision about two hours too late and ancient weather Gods and Goddesses.

The Sunday prior I had thought about how useful a snowday would be. I would paint my room, protest the slaughter of left-handed chimpanzees, solve the mystery of ancient crop circles, translate the third Harry Potter book into an ancient form of gaelic known only by a top-secret organisation, and perhaps watch a little bit of tv if I had time. My snow day took the following itinerary:

1. Sit on bed. Play video game on phone.


2. Find phone to be extremely heavy; curiously, much like my eyelids. Fall asleep for 1.5 hours.


3. Wake up. Read. Eat lunch.


4. Watch tv. Laugh.


5. Twiddle my thumbs. Go to car (PS: I bought a car!) to retrieve Nibs that I had hidden from myself.


6. Eat Nibs. Read. Give myself 19 cavities.

At this point I had fallen behind on my planned activities. I had no paint to paint walls, did not have the proper ingredients to cook my desired food of the day, and could not find my ancient-gaelic->English dictionary. I was eventually productive in that I fixed a formatting issue for someone in Word, ate supper, and watched a wee bit more tv.

In a related note, if winter doesn't end soon I'm driving to Cuba. It was pointed out to me that one cannot drive from PEI to Cuba for Cuba is an island without a bridge link. However, I have not yet fully explored the variety of buttons in my car and I suspect one of the buttons converts my car into a small-but-zippy watercraft. Hopefully this doesn't affect trunk space.

Let's go car shopping!

I'm in the process of buying a car. So far I am at step one - selecting the car. I have been at step one for about a month. I haven't even figured out a brand, company, line, whatever they're called. At the rate I'm going, step 5 (driving the car home) should take place on June 23, 2013. Let me know if you need a drive anywhere on that day and we'll have plenty of time to plan ahead and make arrangements.

Set the scene, mate: 28-year-old female. Doesn't like spending money. Doesn't have a big interest in cars. Tends to be indecisive about 99% of most things. Likes quirky, un-safe colours.

Car preference: something that doesn't have only two doors. Something that is not grey, light blue, white, yellow, or sad. (The colour "sad" tends to vary, but is a weak hue that offers no inspiration in life. If the poor outlook of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh were a colour, this would be it.) Round as opposed to linear. (View interior of Matrix vs. Corolla for further example. Bubbles = good, rectangles = bad.) Ideally an automatic. There should also be an eject button for when I am escaping from bad guys and need an emergency exit and am willing to sacrifice the life of car for my own well-being. Hieroglyphics should be etched onto the hubcaps. Interpretation of these drawings will lead to the whereabouts of an undiscovered tomb, housing hundreds of Egyptian and alien artifacts (alien artifacts were stolen by the Egyptians, then hidden as to not disturb the calm of Egyptian society). The back seat/trunk/hatchback area must be spacious enough (when seats are folded down) to place a manatee wounded by poachers.

It is also critical the car is of a colour that can show off these awesome stickers I plan to cover it with: Tiki Toes.

The car should also match my skin tone which is making the prospect of silver cars awkward. Instead, I present to you, the Orange Accent, which is currently making my heart throb. (Link will be broken if the car is sold, which it was not at the time this was posted.) Sadly, you will note the lack of hieroglyphics on the hub caps. Shoot. (Also, silver is not a real colour. It's an element on the Periodic Table with the abbreviation Ag. If mangnesium, plutonium, helium, and lithium are not colours, neither is silver. The colour "silver" is actually shiny grey.

Oooooh, frustrated. Secret: the car I actually want is a shiny red Honda Fit. But even used ones start at $12,000, plus $6,894,987 in taxes.

Maybe. I think. Maybe not. It's kind of funny looking on the outside. But so are anteaters but people still like them.

Sigh.

French words that give special insight

Today at work I was working on French translations for two surveys. Huge parts of them have been professionally translated before (I only translate simple things like "Are you a banana?" = "Es-tu une banane?") but they are mixed up in a whole bunch of different files. One of these days when work slows down a bit, I plan to execute my organisation skills and make a master file of questions in English and French. It will be beautiful... provided I print it off and bedazzle the hardcopy and cover it with ribbons and glitter. Otherwise, it was not be beautiful, but "useful". Which is good, as most workplaces other than modelling agencies prefer useful to beautiful. Myself, I aim to be strong in both adjectives. Usefully beautiful, or beautifully useful, depending on the day.

Your French vocabulary of the day, brought to by myself (applause!) and our translator (applause! but slightly less applause than for me).

Also, I have my keyboard set to English Canada bilingual happily ever after mode, and I CANNOT find the open arrow head things that one uses for html ANYWHERE. How is it that the following symbols take priority over them? £ ¢ ¤ ¬ ¼³²¦ }<>... oh look, I just found them. Complaining works every time...

• "Je voyage trop pour des raisons d'affaires." - I travel too much for business purposes. Note that BUSINESS (affaires) looks suspiciously similar to AFFAIR, a popular past-time of the Global French community.


• "Le bouche-à-oreille" - word of mouth, or more literal, from the mouth to the ear. This is good because it reminds us part of communication involves being a good listener.


• "Vivant en union libre" - living common-law.. or, living in a "free" (as in non-restricted, NOT relating to cost, although that would make me wink too) union. How liberating and non-legally binding!


• "Célibataire" - single. Seems to be a take on celibacy. Moral preaching?


• "Moteur de recherche" - search engine. The word is so common now (probably more so than 'telephone book' for younger generations) that one tends to forget that it is actually two separate words combined to make a new, special word. English places the emphasis on 'search', French seems to place the emphasis on 'moteur' (engine). As I'm currently car shopping (an ongoing area of confusion for my confusion-free life), 'moteur' reminds me that I should be reading more about cars and figuring that stuff out. I told my brother that by the time I decide on a car all roads/autos will have been replaced with high-speed light rail anyway.

C'est tout.

The Worst Guilt of All: Catholic

I'm not Catholic, but one of my Catholic friends insisted Catholics are raised to feel extra guilty about everything. Thus, anytime I feel extreme guilt, I label it "catholic guilt".

Things that Deliver Guilt to my Soul - in no particular order

• Reading chick lit. Everytime I dance home from the library with a Meg Cabot piece of literature you can be sure to note that I have also checked out a book on economics, international development, the environment, history, saving the world, etc. Sometimes I'll even read the whole second book. But mostly I read bits and pieces of it so I'll have something to talk about at work if asked what I'm currently reading. ("Princess Diaries 10, but in French!" doesn't sound so impressive.)


• Napping on Saturday or Sunday afternoon. The guilt is less Catholic in the winter and more so United (United Protestant or whatever I am experiences less guilt). However, in the summer it causes me to slightly panic, particularly if it's a sunny day. Exception to the rule is sleeping outside on the grass letting the sun kiss my bronzing skin, or at the beach. Which brings us to...


• Not going in the water when I go to the beach. I'm scared of jellyfish. That pretty much explains the only reason I wouldn't get in the water. And it's a frickin' good reason, friends.


• Buying pineapples. They travel so far to get to wee PEI. Maybe if I start participating in the 2.0x10^4-mile diet. But sometimes I miss eating so much pineapple that my lips feel like they are bleeding and full of botox. (PS: use of scientific notation = +1 point.)


• Bringing pre-made food to a potluck. I generally try to make something, I really do, but sometimes I don't have time pre-event and I bring something easy (yet delicious!), like cookies or popsicles. That being said, popsicles have yet to EVER disappoint.


• Using the dryer. I don't use the dryer for regular clothes (see note written in early January about my struggles to make it look like a tornado hasn't destroyed my bedroom) but do use it for bedsheets and towels sometimes. Somewhere, somehow, I have caused death upon an innocent squirrel. Research has yet to prove that dryer use is directly related to squirrel death, but I have a hunch.


• Staying in more than one Saturday night in a row. So anti-social! .... and boring.


• Not voting in the municipal election. It's just not as exciting. And I forgot.


• Not knowing the names of different kinds of trees. But it's okay, trees are deaf so they don't respond if I call them by name anyway. Ha! How I laugh at my funnies.

Good night, a happy Monday to all!

Lessons Learned: 2011, week 1 & 2 edition

There is a famous PEI proverb that states, "She who stops learning will suffer in rust."

Note: Proverb not famous, I made it up, but if we work together we can make it famous!

I have learned a variety of things thus far in 2011 that I think I should share with the world. Some of these were learned in late 2010, but the lesson is still fresh and reinforced into my soul on a daily basis.

1. When hiring people to do data entry, do not assume data entry is easy and almost anyone can do it. Instead, treat the job candidate like he/she is a drunk driver. Provide a series of tests, particularly on eyesight, and ability to recollect information. Assume this person has the potential to ruin three straight weeks of work because you will have to correct all of their work. This will be extremely painful, time consuming, and irritating. This is the biggest lesson of EVER. WRITE THIS DOWN.


2. Do NOT swipe yourself in the eye with an earring. This will result in a very watery eye, pain, and struggles to open the eye. Your vision will be blurry, and the glaring white of the snow will make your struggles and wincing comparable to an animated character about to be "dipped". (Who Framed Roger Rabbit? reference = +1 pnt.)


3. Skate! 2011 marks the first time I have owned skates since Junior High. I think I had skated on ice twice in the past decade. Getting on the ice was slightly terrifying at first, but also super fun. No falls yet *knock on wood*


4. Giving up chocolate for a year is ridiculous. Very unrewarding. I had someone look at me awkwardly and say, "Why would you give up something that can give such pleasure?" Hannah said that New Year's Resolutions were made to be broken, so I broke mine. Now I'm just like everyone else! Yay! Really, giving it up just meant gummie bear massacres were going to overtake 2011.


5. Workmates are a reliable source of weather information. I LOVE weather. Extreme weather. Humidity at 99.9%, rain falling with such force that it bounces back up off the ground, snowfalls that require goggles if outside, sunlight so strong it makes you feel like your bones are being sauteed. Today/this evening there is supposed to be some wild weather going through parts of Nova Scotia, but PEI was expected to miss it. I checked out Environment Canada's website at about 3:00 because I suddenly really wanted to know how our daily highs and lows were comparing against the average temperature in other years. (Did you just yawn? Yeah, probably. But I swear it's fascinating.) Nothing was posted about a weather watch. Apparently a heavy snowfall warning went up at 4:00pm and I got an email with a link about fifteen minutes later from one coworker, and a verbal message from another about five minutes later. UPEI staff are fierce weather monitors.


6. The first week back to work after Christmas is evil. (ceteris paribus.) It just is. And I say that with no negative energy towards my actual organisation. It wouldn't matter where I worked.

Knowledge is power! Time to eat peanut butter!

Hey 2011, welcome to the party.

Oh, PS, in case I forget, I'm giving up chocolate in 2011. Apparently I confuse New Years with lent, despite not being catholic and always unintentionally doing that chest/forehead/shoulder touching thing in the wrong order.

In 2007 I boycotted non-sandwich related fast food. 2008 was Wal-Mart, but then I went when out of province so stopped after I bought Skittles and sunglasses at an Albertan Wal-Mart. 2009 was FRENCH FRIES (the ketchup cravings were overpowering my logic). 2010 was going to be the Bulk Barn but that got boring and meant I was buying giant packages of candy at the grocery store as opposed to small servings at the Bulk Barn.

This will be my most challenging year to date. In terms of fake lent. My most real challenging year was 1983, when I could only communicate by baby noises and was unable to sit up on my own. I overcame those challenges and can now communicate using real words and can generally walk long distances without falling. Generally. Not guaranteed.

Footnote: Chocolate fake lent does not exist when in Europe.

Oh, and if I order non-chocolate cheesecake and the plate comes drizzled with chocolate syrup on it that's okay because that tastes like crap anyway.

Or if it's a matter of life or death. (Robber: "Jennifer, if you don't eat this piece of chocolate I will shoot all the Shetland ponies in the entire world!!" or, Doctor: "If you don't eat this piece of chocolate your heart will erupt!")

And to clarify, the subject of this post will be read, "Hey, two thousand and eleven...", not, "Hey, twenty eleven..." because twenty and eleven is actually thirty one. In roman numerals it is MMXI, not XXXI.

You're welcome, and good night.

Fooooocus, my wee right brain

Sunday night phone conversations:

Hannah: Hey Jen, wanna come to a Christmas caroling event thing at 7:00?
Jen: No, I know the next week or so will be busy so I think I'm going to clean my room hardcore for an hour. I really need to focus. Otherwise I'll have no clean clothes to wear. Come over after, I'll be done by then. (*****epic lie, will obviously not be done but am secretly hoping Hannah will see I'm hopeless and will keep me company during my internal struggles*****)
Hannah: Okaaaaaay.

Later...
Sheena: Blah blah blah, I'm home! blah blah blah
Jen: Blah blah blah, yay! Blah blah blah.
Sheena: What are you up to?
Jen: I'm trying really hard to clean my room. So far I am making piles of recyclables with two paper piles: to be shredded and not to be shredded.
Sheena: Have you ever actually finished cleaning your room?
Jen: Yes, once, when I subletted while I was in France.

Sheena used to sit in my room and watch my lame attempts at organisation and structure (comparable to watching a single ant attempt to carry a concrete slab - painful). But at least I had company so didn't wander off looking for attention or socialisation.

After an intense almost two hours, this is what my bedroom looked like (and to give myself some credit I had cleaned the kitchen earlier):

First thing to note is that my ceiling is slanty and awesome. Second is that I have a skylight. Both of these features combined make my room suited for royalty of the most purest, bluest bloodline.

You will also notice that my room is still "a smidgen" messy. But looks can be deceiving. Since I took that photo I have removed TWO piles of stuff to recycling bags downstairs. If you are my family, I suggest you save the image and zoom in to see your Christmas presents. HINT: it is NOT the can of chickpeas which is residing under my laundry rack. Those are there because they were hiding in my backpack when I was unloading groceries into my cupboard. Wee bastards tricked me and eventually ended up upstairs! Oh, you crazy chickpeas! Hearty laughter!

My room would look much less cluttered were the laundry rack not there, but I'm saving the world (and my clothes) by hanging my clothes to dry. Your future, currently unfertilised grandchildren can write letters of gratitude to my estate in 95 years.

Notes of success: my garbage can, which you can see part of, is getting full, but is not quite full. Once I asked an at-the-time-on-good-terms ex-boyfriend what I sucked at. I like constructive criticism. He gave me some crap about being perfect and beautiful (yaaaaawn - clearly I'm not perfect, I eat the inside of my mouth and bite my nails off until they sting in throbbing pain - but other than that and the odd comma splice...) Eventually I pulled out from him that I would let my garbage in my room get overly full (very true) and leave empty food boxes in my cupboard (also very true).

Success no. 2 comes with a space you cannot see in the photo, between my bed and nightstand. The wee space was full of books and miscellaneous papers. It's all cleaned out now, though some still on the floor - but different areas of floor than before. Really important things, like my $7.00 "The Complete Guide to Boston's Freedom Trail". Clearly I need this right on hand while laying in my bedroom in Charlotte-not-Boston-town, PEI.

But why are you telling us this? We don't care!

This is actually a public service announcement in support of right-brained individuals who can't accomplish large tasks. Small is okay. Breaking up large tasks into small tasks is also good. Saying, "Jennifer, do your laundry," or, "Ms. Maki, put your books on your bookshelf," is good. Saying, "Clean you room!" makes the cogs in my right brain grind to an overwhelmed hault. Particularly with PEI's waste management program. In my childhood my parents would shut me in my room with a giant garbage bag. This was actually a poor idea because they would always want me to go through old magazines and throw out the ones I didn't want. They eventually realised I am physically incapable of doing that because I just neeeeeed to read them in order to determine if they should be thrown out - all 195 issues. Flash forward (weeeeeeeeeeeee! - that was fun!) to present day PEI, and not only do I struggle with the distractions of the wonderful, magical things I have in my room (I found a Bahama Breeze billfold I stole out of LOVE!), but I have to SORT all rubbish into compost, waste, recycling bag no. 1, and recycling bag no. 2.

Frickin' impossible, aye?

In other non-related news, I took apart bits and pieces of one of my bikes yesterday to clean a season of grime off wee bitty parts. They are sparklin', but there is a good chance foreign curse words and mass frustration will erupt from my soul when I try to reassemble. Wish me luck.

(Secret PS: I would like rubber boots for Christmas but would like to get them early - like in 7.5 hrs when I go to work - because it is raining lots and I forgot my boots at work and they have holes in them anyway. Thanks, Santa! I LOOOOOOVE YOU!)

Help yourself to a piece of Mac Pie, please

I was Googling myself just mere moments ago to see what bits and pieces of information people could find out about me easily on the Internet. For full name + PEI the first three results are work related, the following two are biking related (fist pump for having an Internet-noted hobby!), then a piece I wrote on our now defunct work blog, and then Summerside's newspaper when I was unknowingly, but happily, quoted in an article. Result eleven is something I wrote on an online form about working at Disney World a few months prior to Florida departure.

But Jen, what does this mean??!!

Well, inquisitive reader, it doesn't really mean anything. It means I work, ride bikes, and speak to reporters on the phone sometimes. Oh, and, like, one time I worked at Disney World for a year. Have I mentioned that?

Jen, did you truly believe this discovery was worth writing a blog about?

That depends how we define "worth", really. The actual subject which made me excited enough to start a blog instead of reading the book sitting by my side... UPDATE: apparently I forgot the book downstairs? FAILURE.... right, is what happens when you make a typo and accidentally search "jen mac pie". First search result: Big Island of Hawai'i Adventure Guide. I'm taking it as a sign that Hawai'i is where I'm meant to be.

A "mac pie" is apparently similar to a pecan pie, but made with macadamia nuts instead. It absolutely sounds like something I would eat. I'm also more than open to marrying someone with the last name Adamia and we can combine family names. MacAdamia! Also looks similar to Academia, which I think will give potential children a huge adventure in school. Or at least our pet zebra will be easier to train. ("No, Matizza, don't eat the newspaper, bring it to us!")

MacMobile - I'm a big girl now!
Over the summer someone implied that my awesome, ghetto Nokia made me seem unprofessional. (The actual quote was more similar to, "Get a Blackberry man, be a professional.") I don't recall my response, but it was probably something mature like pointing out the very useful flashlight feature on Wee Baby Nokia and encouraging shadow puppet fun.

Alas, the sturdy Nokia was not meant to last forever. It still does work, but the buttons are requiring more pressure, the phone randomly shuts off when places on a hard surface, such as one where one might place the phone when not in a purse or backpack. I activated a new phone a couple of weeks ago that a friend gave me. This phone is a slight upgrade and, like Baby Nokia, also features a colour screen, a battery, and buttons.

So far we are getting along well. We have some problems with International texting and the buttons are small so I can't wear mittens or gloves and text, but the fact that it doesn't randomly shut off and is about 38.6 lightyears ahead of ol' Baby Nokia is kind of nice. So I'm all set at least for a wee while. That being said, I still feel compelled to look at all mobile phone displays in every store I'm in. And not just look at, but if my hands aren't full I don't even bother surpressing the burning urge to touch every single phone. The silly things don't even turn on! Yet I pick up the display phone and always do the same thing: type my name using the keypad. Doesn't matter what type of keypad or that it's not actually doing anything - muuuuust... type... naaaaaaaame.

Oh, and my new phone also has a flashlight function. Nokia? You are gooooood.

PEI's Indentity Crisis as the Disappointing Child

Oh, PEI. I ragged on you pretty hard when I first moved back to Canada four years ago. (Yikes - time flies. That was supposed to be for only two months.) But I eventually grew to like you again. It took awhile, but summers, some time apart, cheap ice cream, and improved flight schedules from the Charlottetown Airport helped re-cement our bond.

I was about to go to bed, thinking, "Wow, nothing on the internet is interesting me right now. Will I be a grown up and fall asleep before 1:15am?" Then something caught my eye on CBC PEI: PEI students score low in international tests. Poor PEI. Are we the disappointing, underachiever child?

PEI gets sucker punched. We don't ever seem to claw our way to top of any positive list, other than population density. (Yay. Break out your pompoms!) We have the highest PST rate (or GST + PST when compared to HST) of all provinces and territories - though Nova Scotia has almost caught up. Only PEI and Quebec has the quirky practice of taxing GST with PST. Taxing tax! Robin Hood - help us!

But that's not the point of this. Sometimes I wonder how PEI and its residents would be if we didn't hear about how terrible we are so frequently. It starts to dull your reaction. We have the highest unemployment rate again? Shrug. You kind of just don't expect things to improve. So, perhaps, we don't try? Our children doing poorly in math again? Well, we've always been bad at math. We expect it thus accept it as the norm.

I think we need a kick in the pants.

I was researching a few things for writing this (I originally started almost a week ago and never finished) as I originally wanted to support my now bland thesis with some fantastic facts. Sadly, I slightly lost my mojo for writing this as my monkey brain has hopped onto other bananas. However, I invite you to look at these charts by Manitoba Hydro depicting electricity bills across Canada. We have the highest bills (with one exception of high usage rates in Englehart, Ontario)! Yaaaaay! However, I am very pleased to report that obesity rates for Islanders are on par with the National average. For men. Women don't fare so well: 30% compared to 23%. Whoops. Any hypothesis on why our men are average but not our women are welcomed. Feel free to reference the delicious amount of cheese I ate this evening within your statement.

That's all. I need to go to bed.

You have been approved for 28

I'm older soon! Well, I'm always getting older [so are you]. We age in microscopic units of time that can't even be measured. It's my birthday on Wednesday. In traditional birthday fashion, I spent one or two days last week concerned about getting older and then kind of snapped out of it. (Apologies to anyone who saw/spoke to me those few days.)

It's not so much that getting older is the problem, as I'm about one minute older now than when I started this post. I can feel the extra wisdom I developed during that time starting to pump through my aorta - it feels sooo good. I feel when a birthday, or end of the year comes, one should be able to look back and say, "Wow! That was good, look at the great things I accomplished!" but I couldn't quite piece that together for the year I turned 27. So I moped. Then I stopped after I got my new-to-me mobile to work and was forced to get a new phone number. I suspect most people would be a bit annoyed to get a new phone number, but I was excited for some reason. So symbolic!

Good Things of this Year
I celebrated my birthday a few days early in Edinburgh. I was visiting a friend doing a residency rotation there and had a ball visiting her (and her flatmate) and being in Edinburgh. They gave me a lovely b'day celebration, and la vie was belle. Real birthday was uneventful with me working on something all day/evening long. I think I went on a bike ride and, as South France doesn't seem to understand the concept of birthday cake (which is fine), had a tarte a framboise, which was, shock, delicious.

And fa la la. The reason I had to work a lot on my birthday (on a Tuesday!) was because I was departing for Paris on Friday, the last leg of my French adventure. There I was reunited avec ma soeur francaise (aka French roommate from Disney World dates) for a few days prior to flying to my Ohana in Ottawa.

More good things: coming home right before Christmas to bunches of friends and fun, starting the year off by plunging into the icy harbour (this makes me more fun than you! Sorry.) Then played at the levees all day.

Other highlights of being 27:

• January: Trying to reach the peak of PEI and failing due to poor preparations. Got a haircut.


• February: Jared, who eventually became one of my most favourite housemates ever, moved in. BONUS: Culinary student. Olympics! Both them being on tv, and my last minute decision that I JUST HAD TO BE IN VANCOUVER for the rest of the event.


• March: Had fun in Victoria, BC, just before returning to PEI. Break my left ear and live three weeks in awkward silence.


• April: Went to Florida and visited friends I had not seen in far too long. Also went to San Fransisco, for free! Frosty Treat opens. Summer explorations begin.


• May: DANNY BHOY. Hire new person at work, use his smoke breaks as excuses to sit in sun and drink slushies. (Omitted on rainy days.) Enter the Red Island Relay, blow my rear tube on the road portion, rock out on the trail section. Learn to canoe on-the-fly. Have a nap. People start to move home!


• June: Dune's fashion show! Meet new people! Wine Festival (RIP stain-free dress. See previous, tragic post for details.) Start finding myself spending, possibly, a bit too much time at the Globe. Soft Stranger (the neighbour's cat) moves in!


• July: More people come home for visits!!! Have parties! Welcome visitor from my Disney days! Souris Relay! (Notice how everything in the summer has explanation marks?)


• August: More fun! Bike 175 km in one day! Jump in the Charlottetown Harbour! (Whoops, was that supposed to be a secret?) Beach! Cape Breton! Lose my keys. (No explanation mark.)..... people start to drift away...


• September: more people leave.. WAIT! This is supposed to be record of good things. Umm....? Hurricane Party! Donkey on the beach! FIND MY KEYS!! I find a large, stuffed horse at the end of a friend's drive-way and take it home! (Soft Stranger replacement - she got hit by a car. Epic sad.) Saw Hairspray and spent the next three days listening to the music over and over again.


• October: People left. Wham BAM. Three people moved away in the same week. It was like the sequel to August 30, 2008, when three good friends moved away in the same week. Dune's closing party! Spent oodles of money on plane tickets! Body paint! (Hallowe'en.)


• November: Vacation! Saw people I haven't seen in months/years! Got new boots! (Yes, a highlight. Hmph.) Won "Best Costume" at a friend's murder mystery party at her house. I think that's it. Found my mysteriously vanished cell phone that I "lost" in Ottawa.


• December: You know... stuff. (Notice the difference between summer months and winter months.) Road my bike yesterday...? Went to the library and geeked out?

Also, I'm not even going to bother fixing it, notice how I called them explanation marks? (!) I always thought that's what they were called up until a sadly recent year. Playing the deaf card on that. And it's habit to keep calling them that.

So yes, 27 may had not been my best year, but it was still pretty good. But this year shall be better, because I like to constantly one-up myself.

One housemate said once he doesn't like birthdays because it's basically being closer to the end of life. But I think it's nice to celebrate with people, we celebrate out of the excitement of people being happy you're still around.

One random goal this year is to say lovely nice things to people about themselves. I realised that you don't very often recognise the impact you may have made in someone's life. The stories come out so very rarely - weddings and funerals.

Dear readers: I like you because you make me feel like I could possibly be a writer someday and not starve, e.g., make a few dollars and be happy. I also like how many of you apparently keep coming back and keep reading. Apparently I like you for selfish reasons. But I hope I make you smile, chuckle, and maybe brighten your day.

les biz,
J-Mac

Wardrobe Fail of the Day

I felt very productive this morning. I got up, showered, pulled out handfuls of hair (I am a sexy shedding beast), figured out what I would wear to our work Christmas party this evening, figured out what I would wear to work, seemed to get everything in my backpack, and happily pranced out the door after a strong shot of orange juice. (Note: I don't advocate skipping breakfast and had plans to eat breakfast at work.)

I arrive to work, change, and go about my day in a regular fashion. I hang up work party dress on the back of my door, feeling very adult-like that I remembered to take it out and not allow it to become a wrinkled, frumpled glabbered piece of fabric. Later in the day I was maquillaging (variation on French verb for putting on make-up that I like better than the English word) and needed my eyeliner sharper. Yes, I wait til I get to work to put on make-up. The colder air and the Uni's winds make my eyes water, resulting in a make-up DISASTOR! AHHHHH! I thought I had tossed the sharpener in my coat pocket and was searching in it. My dress was hung on top of my coat and I noticed a wee speck of wine on my dress. Not a big deal, one wee speck of red wine on the side of a red ruffly dress isn't very noticeable. THEN the fluorescent lights of my office illuminate my dress in a different way.

The one speck of red wine was foreshadowing. Wine alllllll over. Well, not allllll, but more than ten splashes. The last (and first!) time I wore this darling dress was at the wine festival in June. So the stains have been coiling around each individual strand of fabric for FIVE AND A HALF MONTHS. Me thinks dabbing water on each one and lightly blowing is not going to help. Putting it in a trough of bleach and letting red dress slowly turn white all over may be the only means of having a stain free dress again. Except it's weird fabric, and I think the bleach would actually eat the fabric with a gentle fierce-ocity previously seen only when I find the leftover cream cheese icing in my parents' fridge after Mother makes carrot cake for holiday dinners. *droooool x infinity*

You probably find yourself scolding me mentally, how foolish she is to be spilling wine all over herself! However, I am very careful with red wine, and I was not the only person at the event. Proof exists that not all (perhaps most!) were not caused by me: the stains on the BACK OF THE DRESS. There is only one hypothesis fore there need be no more...

...someone was trying to sabotage my beauty.

Or it could had been Charlottetown staying classy and teetering about with alcohol at the festival. Or it could had been going to The Globe after the wine festival. Sometimes people spill their drinks at clubs, or drops of liquor splash over the sides or tiny tumblers. I know, shocking. Why we all don't wear smocks is beyond me.

So now the dilemma is to wear the dress, or wear my work clothes and be stuck wearing them until 2:00am when I expect to arrive home. Long-sleeved, lime green dress shirts may not be bar appropriate. Plus, history shows that someone (65 of my closest and dearest friends!) will likely splash booze all over me. SO (!) may as well wear the already stained dress rather than ruin more clothes?

Next year I wear a dress fashioned of saran wrap to the wine festival. Sexy factor = +7

The Mysterious Case of the Vanishing Bobby Pins

Generally when I lose something I usually find about 3 bobby pins while I'm looking for the object I lost. Every time I pull something from my pocket a bobby pin is generally attached. The darn things just find their way EVERYWHERE. A package of bobby pins usually contains about sixty of them. One probably thinks, "Wow! Sixty bobby pins! That is more than anyone could ever use in her entire life!!!"

But somehow, a package of bobby pins lasts only about a year. The things constantly vanish. I have a few theories:

• The inventor of the bobby pin (or her/his estate) gets $0.000000001 for each bobby pin sold. At that rate, it would be worth paying someone to go out and steal them from users so they would have to buy more.


• Bobby pins are part rabbit: they breed at intense levels (which is why when you look for one you suddenly find 15), but need solitude to do so. They leave your home for a few months, and suddenly you find numerous of them in a box under your stairs. The ones that have lost the little plastic bit on the end are ready to reproduce.


• Magnetic forces of gravity. Scientists don't care so they never bothered to look into it, but the speed of the Earth's rotation around the sun combined with a thinning atmosphere has created an environment where bobby pins are pulled from their natural resting place and down to the ground... possibly even pulled down as far as the Earth's core. THIS is the blame for global warming: the finely crafted, metal bobby pins are heating up and shooting rays of heat to the Earth's surface. While scientists have been looking up to the sun for the cause of our warming Earth (oh, PS, it's below seasonal here), they really should be looking down... You heard it here first, Friends.


• Elves. The wee wankers are running about at night (or the day if your sleep schedule is a bit off) stealing the things. Originally the elves used them to create a large metropolis entirely of bobby pins. They did this after their original kingdom of popsicle sticks burnt to the ground in the Tragic Fire of 1939. In fact, some say this triggered the invasion of Poland and lead to the commencement of World War II. This is usually omitted in history texts due to the difficulty of obtaining photographic proof.

If you find constantly updating you stash of bobby pins to be too time consuming and is eating into your budget, maybe I suggest you look in the following places to replenish your stock:

• Girls' washroom.


• Hole in purse.


• Locker room floor.


• My floor. Actually, pick any room in the house.


• Church. While you're there, skim through the bible. Let me know how it ends.


• Follow around someone with an up-do. Bobby pins dribble out of hair like mushy squash from a toddler's mouth.

May your hair be fancy and grand.

Ewww, exercise.

Apparently I'm a little stuck on the English language lately (see previous post berating self-depreciating usages of the word 'just'). Disliked word of the week is exercise. So bland. So un-fun. I'm not opposed to exercise in what it is (physical movement providing health benefits?), but it undermines the activity at hand. It sounds so, "I'm going to do an activity that I don't enjoy because I have to for the benefits it offers my cardiovascular system." Once you call the activity by name, it generally sounds much more enjoyable. I don't consider biking exercise at *all*, I think of it as biking, something I love to do. Once you find a form of exercise you actually *like* doing, it starts becoming a hobby or an activity. Basically this all runs through my brain as I start going to the gym again in the winter and feel like I'm going an exercise factory or industrialised fat burner. Yawn.

Not to 100% knock on the gym. In an effort to keep myself motivation (yawn), here is a list of things I like about the gym:

• Sweating, having a bright pink face, hair frizzing out - basically looking out I was outside in the summer and having fun.


• Watching fearless boys dive off the diving boards in the pool area. (Note: I don't just stand there watching them in freaky Jen fashion, big glass windows by some of the cardio equipment look out over the pools.)


• Reading magazines.


• Occasionally watching a good tv show. Why sometimes five of the six TVs are showing sports (particularly as there are only two or three sports stations) is beyond my comprehension of basic reason. But sometimes there is good stuff on the tellies.


• Watching the guys train for whatever team they are on jump onto really high steps without falling. Seriously. Saw this for the first time a few weeks ago and they were easily (or so it appeared to be easily) hopping from the floor with their feet together onto steps three or four feet high. Actually incredibly impressive! I might hop up my stairs later and see if I can do it without falling and getting a concussion, smashing my nose, cracking my ankle, etc.


• It's pretty convenient, as far as gyms go. It's about 3-seconds across campus. AND if it's cold I can cut through one building for temporary shelter from the brutal winds that plague the university like a cheap virus in a Doctor's waiting room. (Of course, inconvenient is packing extra clothes, sneakers, etc. to take to work everyday and never showing up with just a purse and perhaps a lunch bag like everyone else. Non non, Jen Mac shows up with a kitbag containing one-third of her wardrobe. Those who don't know me appear baffled when the girl with the stuffed-full red backpack and biking helmet actually walks into an office instead of a classroom.


• Something to do. Let's be honest, hibernation levels tends to increase in the winter. Our inner bear comes out. (Apparently I would be a polar bear according to the quiz I just took. I was not pleased with the result so took a different quiz - apparently the Internet is full of "What kind of bear are you?" quizzes - and am now a black bear due to a preference of berries and fish and tailoring my answers so I wouldn't get polar bear again.) I sit in my office by myself all day. No need for me to rush home and, oh, sit around. Fuuuuun. Such a life would force me to be cautious - don't wanna have too much fun doing nothing and wear myself out. Tragic.


• Uggh... running out of points.


• Spin bikes have pedals fitted for both regular sneakers and bike shoes. Sometimes I feel like uping my geek level and bringing my biking shoes so that people have something to stare at and make fun of. I entertain in small ways.


• That's all. Even getting this many points was a stretch.

Bleh.

Plot summary: basically I go to the gym so I don't feel lazy. Laziness is vile. I understand not everyone physically can or even wishes to go for a walk along the beach, splash about in a pool... but not doing it now prevents you from having the ability to do it later. Blah blah blah.

(PS - someone in the movie I'm watching - which was released in 2006 - just had an old school printed airplane ticket that she was looking at on the way to the airport. Didn't they stop making those about a decade ago? Pfft.)

Telephone... what?

Last night au pub Shannon was explaining the game of Pictionary Telephone. I started listening to the rules, but then was overcome with distraction of memories of the original telephone game and started to get mildly stressed. For the unfamiliar, Person 1 whispers a word or phrase into the ear of the person next to her. That person whispers it to the person next to her. Rinse, lather, repeat. Eventually it gets to the last person who announces what she heard. The originator announces what was originally said. Sometimes it matches, sometimes it close, or when I played, completely different.

I hated that game.

We played it at Brownie camp with a huge group of girls. In case you missed the memo/childhood, about 5% of girls are actually mean dictators of evil, disguised in the body of a prissy 7-year-old girl. Then they recruit unsuspecting friends into their group of evil, and thus develops a group of bitchy girls that make fun of others and everyone hates. Brownies was no exception. When the word returned to the original Telephone-er one Spreader of Evil just *needed* to know where the word/phrase got so off-track and how something to stupid could had happened.

Oh, Evil Girl, it's not so necessary to be an awful person. It was obviously me who completely changed the word. The rule was you could whisper it into the person's ear only once. I don't think I had my hearing aid yet, and I don't think I yet knew to always have someone whisper in my left ear, and never my right. So I ruined the game. And it was great to have that pointed out to a Gaggle of Girls. I couldn't hear the person next to me so I sent the word "abracadabra" around the room. Recently I had read someone that it was the longest word with no vowels other than 'a'.

Eventually I got better at the game when I learned to always have people whisper in my left ear. Even better, I didn't play. Now, usually when I can't hear someone I smile and insert random chuckles where I suspect to be appropriate. Or better yet, just tell them I can't hear them. Kind of a conversation killer though, particularly if asked a question.

MORAL OF THE STORY: Telephone is an evil, vile game.

Getting a MacCar

Once, a long time ago, (2008!) my car was dieing and refused to pass inspection. Of course, I drove Wee Red anyway. A fine would had been cheaper than a new car. (What's that you say? Dangerous liability?) In May 2009 I sold my car to someone who basically wanted it for parts. The battery was quite new, but he was probably attracted to the well functioning cassette player. You just know he had recently purchased a copy of Dance Mix '93 and was itching to blast it while cruising whatever road 55-year-old men cruise down while listening to "Jump Around".

Since then I haven't owned a car, except when my parents went away on vacation. So when my parents are away I have a car. How High School mature of me. Oh, and, like, there is totally a party this weekend. Can your older sister buy me some Mike's Hard Lemonade?

Randomly I'll decide that I should act like a grown-up and purchase a car. Usually this occurs when the weather is awful and laughing at me, when I feel a huge urge to spend the day frolicking in New Brunswick or Nova Scotia, or when I want to buy something awkwardly shaped that won't fit into my backpack.

For awhile there was a car plunked in my neighbour's yard that was for sale. I looked at it and approved, though was slightly hesitant on having a standard. Sometimes I still get a little nervous if at a red light on a hill. I thought about buying it, approved the colour, and even more important, felt the car "fit" me. Then I never bothered calling the phone number on the For Sale sign. I suppose I figured if it were meant to be, the owner would somehow magically know so and approach me? Riiiight.

Tonight I started the car search, again, for the 6,000 time. My searches either happen online or on one of my bikes. In the bike sense, usually I'm out enjoying myself and bike by a car dealership. I think to myself, "Hey! I should look at cars!" and pull in. And keep biking because I'm enjoying myself and stopping to look at cars wouldn't be very fun. The online search generally goes a little better. I open Kijiji or UsedPEI.com and select the car category. Being a mature adult, I select the "$5,000 and above" category. I then realise I don't know anything about cars other than what a few of my friends drive. Then I look at car colour. Instantly rejected is white and any shade of blue, because white gets dirty and is "wrong" for me and I hate the colour blue. Particularly dark blue. If you are a fan of blue it's okay, it means more blue for you because I don't like. Cars older than 2005 often get initially rejected. Why 2005? Because my new car should be at least a decade newer than my old car. Yes? Yes. I'm sure that's what a professional car salesperson would tell you.

My next step is usually sidetracked by undertones of distraction. My Google search history would show important queries like, "What kind of car should I buy?" which leads to some crappy quiz that I excitedly take and think will offer the solution to my problem of uneducated indecisiveness. Generally using Google to solve life's bigger problems doesn't work. Once I Googled "most fun job in the world" and was lead to a site about driving RVs from distributors to a retailers. It was in the US so I couldn't apply.

Another Google search will often be "environmentally friendly cars" since I'm a quasi-environmentalist except when it comes to airplanes and flying away to, well, anywhere really.

Tonight I made a GREAT STEP when I actually contacted someone on Kijij about a car posting. Oh, and what car was that, you ask? Only the wee red car that was parked in my neighbour's yard. Still posted online... waiting... for me...

After watching 49-million episodes of