Friday, December 25, 2009
Posted by The Grown Up Teenager at 12:01 AM
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
These signs seem to be cropping up more and more, at malls and stores in the bigger city where I go to school, and they make me angry.
I said it on Twitter the other day, and I'll say it again: Pregnancy is NOT a disability.
Yes, pregnancy creates discomfort. Swollen feet or legs. Sore backs, ribs. Fatigue. Etc etc. I'll never argue that. But women have been getting pregnant and giving birth for centuries and I'm fairly confident that walking a couple extra feet to a store didn't kill them. I'm also fairly certain most people know pregnancy isn't going to be the most comfortable experience of their life BEFORE they chose to get pregnant.
I had the pleasant experience of a woman, probably 6ish months pregnant, trying to cut a line at the mall the other day, while Christmas shopping. When someone, very politely, pointed out that there was a line, she angrily replied, "But I'm PREGNANT." I can't say I've got a lot of sympathy for that attitude.
Another logic point that I don't understand is this: If you can't manage to walk a few extra feet from your car to the store, do you plan to walk around inside? The mind boggles.
For me, it boils down to this. You chose to get pregnant (either purposely or by birth control neglect), so deal with the consequences. There are many many women out there that would kill to be in that situation. They're take every minute of sick and sore happily but they can't have kids. So be thankful, instead of entitled.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
"Seasons Greetings." "Happy Holidays." "Winter Break."
Its hard not to notice the political correctness sneaking into the Christmas season. And for me, its hard not to be annoyed. I'd like to meet the people who are offended when someone says Merry Christmas to them. I really would. I'd also like to bop them in the nose, but that's another story.
I don't know about you but when I wish someone a Merry Christmas, there's no asterisk attached to it that states that, by saying the word Christmas, I am tossing something religious at you. I'm simply verbalizing my hope that on December 25th, you enjoy yourself. I don't care if its at church, Disneyland or dancing around a fire at a nudist colony.
When did we become so religiously sensitive that something as friendly as "Merry Christmas!" is bad? I have a Jewish friend who sent me a text saying "Happy Hanukkah" yesterday. I wasn't offended. I smiled and replied wishing her the same. Its a nice sentiment. Its friendly. It's not my religion. SO WHAT? Merry Christmas? Same to you! Happy Hanukkah? L'chaim! Happy Kwanzaa? Well thank you very much!
Its a Christmas tree. They're Christmas presents. They're Christmas carols. They're Christmas lights. So...
MERRY CHRISTMAS, INTERNET! (Yeah, watch me be politically incorrect)
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Posted by The Grown Up Teenager at 1:52 AM
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The average age of a soldier in the World Wars is 23. Now think about what that means. Half of them were younger than that. On this day, and every day, never forget the sacrifice. Don't forget the fallen, or the survivors. Don't forget the ones without names.
THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER
Here lies a man, a hero to me now
Yet in my eyes still no more than a boy;
No wrinkle on his ever youthful brow
His dreams still filled with life and hope and joy.
Thrust into conflict by the men of hate
Those nameless, faceless architects of war
Those orders led him to his final fate
The flame of youth extinguished evermore.
But hate can never motivate a man
To sacrifice his own life for a friend;
True heroes ever since mankind began
Have upheld higher virtues to the end.
So when the roll is called somewhere above
Let it be said that this man died for love.
- Lachlan Irvine
LEST WE FORGET.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Oh yes, yes I did.
Yes, this is a meme. But lately, I've been strapped for content and Loralee was doing it, so I jumped on the cool kids bandwagon. I promise I'll be back, but for now, I've got midterms. And then papers. And then exams. FML. So here's the meme.
A – ADVOCATE FOR: Cancer research, a more effective Children's Aid system and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies as a breakfast food
B – BEST FEATURE: Eyes, hands down. Everyone comments on them, thanks to the fact that they change colours.
C – COULD DO WITHOUT: Vegetables. Jerks. Roommates. Cities. Injuries.
D – DREAMS & DESIRES: I want to become a teacher, get married, have a family and live happily ever after. I'm not after fame or fortune. Just enough money to live comfortably and someone who loves me for me.
E – ESSENTIAL ITEMS: My truck, a tank of gas, my Blackberry, and my iPod with some good tunes.
F – FAVORITE PAST TIME: Hockey. I could spend my entire life in an arena and be happy. I love the cold, and I like the smell of the ice. And yes, ice pads DO have a smell.
G – GOOD AT: Sports, school, farming and being the type of loyal friend who will throw a punch for you if necessary.
H – HAVE NEVER TRIED: Going vegetarian or vegan. There are some things I could give up. Meat is not one of them.
I – IF I HAD A MILLION DOLLARS: Buy a house, give a good chunk to my parents, have a bit of a shopping spree and invest the rest.
J – JUNKIE FOR: Dim sum. Sushi. Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies but only the soft kind. House. Hockey.
K – KINDRED SPIRIT: 6 of them, who I love with my whole heart.
L – LITTLE KNOWN FACT: I'm left handed. People in real life obviously picked up on that one, but did any of you know it?
M – MEMORABLE MOMENT: The first time I traveled internationally, the first time I went alone, California in senior year, far too many to list.
N – NEVER AGAIN WILL I: Lose myself. I came too close, and I hate that.
O – OCCASIONAL INDULGENCE: Live sports games. There's nothing that will make me happy like NHL tickets.
P – PROFESSION: Professional student. And I work at a bar. So professional student beer slinger? Awesome.
Q – QUOTE: "I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best."
— Marilyn Monroe
R – REASON TO SMILE: A house, a home, friends, family, money, education, safety, Canadian...life's pretty good, isn't it?
S – SORRY ABOUT: My past screw ups. But I've owned to them, and its time to move forward.
T -THINGS THAT ARE WORRYING YOU RIGHT NOW: Midterms.
U – UNINTERESTED IN: Drama. Pink. Pop. Doing anyone's makeup but my own. (I'm good at it, but hate doing other people's)
V – VERY SCARED OF: Disappointing people I love. Losing people I love.
W – WORST HABITS: Hating household chores, period.
X – X MARKS MY IDEAL VACATION SPOT: LOL You seriously want me to pick one? I've traveled extensively. Here's a blog entry about it, if you're interested.
Y – YUMMIEST DESSERT: Anything that combines the word "cake," "chocolate," and "molten" had me at hello.
Z – ZODIAC SIGN: Virgo. I'm "shy." I stopped believing in horoscopes right when I read that one.
WHAT ARE THE ABC’S OF YOU?
Thursday, October 1, 2009
I Twittered an abbreviated version of this amusing anecdote earlier and got some funny reactions, so I figured, for your reading pleasure, I'd tell you the story.
I have tutorials for my large history classes. It's standard fare. The class is broken down into small groups (20 or less) and we split up and discuss, rather than being talked at all the time. It's awesome.
In my group, there's a gay guy. He's pure, flaming gay awesome (I mention this for an important point in my story, and I don't exaggerate, he told a girl he had the same sweater as her in a different colour. Boy wears womens clothes), and we've already become buddies. He's hilarious.
There's also a guy that is dang good looking. Like the type you look at and the first thought is yum. He also happens to be a very nice guy, which is welcome. We're in the same group of 3 for presentations too, which is insanely convenient. He's hot, plain and simple.
We were leaving class today, and hot guy and I are walking and talking. The other guy is lagging behind, tapping away on his Crackberry. I notice we're leaving him behind and yell back to make sure he's coming. Once the hot guy takes off to his next class, the gay guy catches up to me in seconds, and the following conversation ensues:
Him: You know what, you two make a cute couple, even from the back.
Me: You were lagging behind intentionally?
Him: Oh yes.
Me: You were checking out our asses?!
Him: Well, his more than yours, but the point still stands. Hot couple. I was kinda hoping you'd pounce him.
Me: I barely know him.
Him: What better way to get to know someone than by pouncing?
Me: Well, you could try, "Hi, how are you?"
Him: So conventional. Jump his bones, sistah.
University education at its finest.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
I know I don't have a large blog following (something I am sometimes grateful for and sometimes I lament but that's another post in and of itself), so I haven't received a public outcry or anything. But for those of you wondering where the heck I've been since mid September, I'm around. I swear. I'm just balancing a lot of balls right now, between school, work, sports, and friends, and blogging has been on the back burner.
I'm still reading but I haven't had the burning desire to write anything particularly noteworthy, so rather than stuff my space on the interwebs with filler, I've stayed quiet. Today, I got to thinking about it and I realized why.
This blog was started when I was in a really shitty place, and I definitely used it to blow off steam that I couldn't, or more often wouldn't, unload on people in real life. It didn't matter that it wasn't going out to a huge audience. It helped to put things into words. But what helped more was getting out of that shitty place, both mentally and physically.
I'm at a new school. I like it here. My courses are just as much work. I spend just as much time with my nose buried in books. But the campus is smaller and the professors are more accessible. It doesn't all seem so overwhelming. I'm not a goldfish in a shark tank anymore. Home is less than an hour away. I can go home for an evening or a weekend if I want to, and I have on more than one occasion. My friends can drive to my place and spend the night, which they do frequently. I'm not lonely.
I'm happy. Feels kinda nice to say. I still have my days, but don't we all? But the good days outnumber the bad days, and damn, what else can I ask for?
Don't take this as me quitting my blog, by far. I still have things to say, topics that are important to me, things I'm proud of and things that rub me the wrong way. You'll still see a rant or two out of me. But I'm doing better, and it feels nice.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Facebook is like one giant life reunion. Sometimes, you see stuff you don't want to see, but sometimes, it pleasantly surprises you. I first got that wonderful time suck in first year of university, when it was only available to people with a registered university address. (Those were the days.) No stupid apps, no quizzes or surveys. Just a quick way to connect with friends from home who were at other schools, and new classmates, all on one neat website.
I've had it since then, and while it's become more MySpace by the second, adding all those apps, quizzes, games, etc and letting people's moms on (seriously parents, don't add your kids' friends. Its creepy), I still use it to keep in touch with a lot of people. Every now and then, someone unexpected crops up. Someone from way back in the day, that sends you a friend request out of the blue.
The other day, an old friend from elementary school added me. We didn't go to the same high school, because he moved, and we just eventually lost touch. I added him, found out where he's been going to school and quickly got caught up as to where his life is heading. We started chatting on Facebook, catching each other up on the past 10 years of our lives, and now talk regularly, as if those 10 years apart never existed.
He's in school in a neighbouring city and we're planning visits soon. I can't even describe how nice it feels to have two things because of this. The first is a decided throwback to the innocent days of elementary school, and how uncomplicated life was, and the second is a knowledge that though our lives change, some people really do stay the same. We've both grown, and matured and had totally different life experiences, but we click just like we did, and it feels good.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
So my recent absence is easily explained. While having a stellar vacation in Ireland, I caught a nearly deadly case of The Stupid. In case you are unfamiliar with this life threatening disease, it makes you think you are Superwoman and can do 2 weeks worth of things in about 4 days, while jet lagged, on little to no sleep.
We landed on Monday morning from Ireland, tired as you always are when returning from vacation with friends. You know, the "Oh man, I am SO ready to collapse in my own bed that I feel like skipping baggage claim" type tired. Instead of following that instinct, we grabbed our stuff, drove home, dumped it, and headed for the lake, still sleepless. Mistake number 1.
When we arrived at the lake, with 2 boats in tow behind trucks, we launched them and turned them into two floating bars in honour of my birthday. Complete with kegs. Mistake number 2. Like any good party, it lasted until the early hours of the morning before we even bothered to head back to the marina. Mistake number 3.
In what should now be a state of almost complete exhaustion, were it not for sugar, caffeine and adrenaline, we drove back. I crashed for a grand total of 2 hours, before getting up to go to my new job, bright and early Tuesday morning. Are you beginning to see the symptoms of The Stupid now?
We had training from 8 AM (did I mention I'm not a morning person AT ALL?) until 2 PM. I headed home, grabbed some food and caught 2 hours of sleep before returning to bartend for a frosh party at work until almost 2 AM. I've lost count of the number of mistakes in that paragraph.
After grabbing a few drinks with coworkers once the bar cleared, I headed home to catch 2 more hours of sleep once I wound down, only to wake up and head back into work for 8 AM for more newbie training. (I'm new, but because I've bartended before, I'm helping train instead of being trained). Training lasted from 8 (ew mornings) until 4, when we took a supper break. The newbies took off and trained staff worked a private party until 11:30 PM.
I caught a grand total of 3 hours of sleep, was back in for 8 this morning, and just got home for 4 PM. This is the only night we've got off this week, and the bar officially re opens for the year on Monday, which means it will be ridiculous.
So for those of you keeping count at home, since Monday, I have had a grand total of 7 hours of sleep and its now Thursday afternoon. So I am at the point of being so exhausted that I'm actually jacked up. So I promise I'll write about Ireland soon. For everyone asking, it was STELLAR and I'm going back soon, so help me god. My birthday was great too, thanks to anyone who said happy birthday. I'll be back, after I catch about 20 hours of sleep and my case of The Stupid is cured. I just don't know when that will happen.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Hello from another scheduled post. According to EST, its my birthday right.this.very.second. I, however, am still MIA. I'm flying back from Ireland and once I land, heading straight to the lake for a birthday party on a friend's boat. I waste no time. Jet lag? What jet lag?
Anyway, I just needed to announce to the interwebs that I am one year older and feeling it, even if this post is written early. I promise, as you are reading this, I feel older. :)
See you all soon.
Monday, August 31, 2009
If you're reading this just after its posted, hello from the sky! (Okay, fine, its a scheduled post, but seriously, do you have to kill my fun?) I'm currently en route to Ireland, for a week with friends...one last hurrah before school starts again.
We took off at 8:50 on August 31st local time, and we'll land in Dublin at 10:20 on September 1st local time. I'll be back to my regularly scheduled life in Canada on September 7th, which coincidentally is my birthday. The airfare was 300 bucks, including taxes, round trip. Who did I sleep with to get that? No one, my friends. I am just that awesome.
So cheers to a week of gorgeous scenery, Irish accents and amazing history. I'll see you all when I get back.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
I have officially put my fridge on notice. And my landlord is soon to join that list, because oh my goodness, the apartment has been nothing but a headache for the last month.
The window that was supposed to be fixed isn't, we didn't get access to mail until the 20th, which meant my tuition bill sat there for a month, and almost got paid late. And the worst of it all, the fridge.
Oh, the *bleepity bleep bleep bleeping* fridge.
Freezer works, fridge doesn't. Immense amount of groceries spoiled in the fridge. Milk, the rest of the dairy, things melting. After 5 e-mails to the landlord's account, I finally get a response. Landlord's solution is to unplug it, let it thaw and plug it back in, which sounds like such a solid fix. Didn't work. It took 2 more e-mails to finally get him to agree to a repairman coming in.
So now, I'm sitting at the apartment, with the boys, waiting for the repairman. The boys insisted that they come, so the repairman "can't rip me off," and no matter how many times I explain that he can't because the landlord is paying for it, they're all here anyway.
So now we wait. Fridge, you are SO on notice.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Sometimes, my buddies give me the best blog fodder out there. A lot of the time, I can't figure out how to make the story anonymous enough that I'm not giving identifying details and you suckers miss out on stories that make me laugh hard enough that I can feel the six pack coming in. (Ha!)
Quick back story: One of my best guy friends that I mentioned in my last post has been dating a girl for about 6 months. They're pretty casual, and no one's sure if its going to be a long term thing or not yet. She's a little clingy, which turns most of us off, but other than that, she's an okay person. But apparently, today...she jumped off the deep end into The Crazy.
So my cell phone rings, and I see my friend's name on the caller ID, and pick it up. The following conversation ensues:
Me: What's up, champ?
Him: She--I--FOR FUCK SAKES--I can't believe--
Me: Uh, okay? Hi to you too?
Him: It has NOT been--I am NOT about to--WHY DO I ALWAYS PICK THE NUTJOBS?
Me: Nutjobs, eh? Okay, so we're discussing your girlfriend, am I on topic now?
Me: What about her?
Him: She's losing her fucking mind!!!
Me: So send her to the mental ward already. What'd she do this time?
Him: Do you know what she asked me?
Me: No, obviously not so why don't you tell me?
Him: She asked me why I haven't proposed to her yet!!!
Him: That's what I said. And since I didn't answer, I got a big ass lecture on her needing to know where its going, and if we're not serious enough to get married by now, she is wasting her time and I am stringing her along. And THEN she started talking about how she's got our wedding planned and baby names. Seriously. Baby names--
Me: (cutting him off) We ARE talking about *inserthernamehere*, the girl you've been dating for all of 6 months, right?
Me: ...Baby names?
Him: Elijah Michael, for the record. And that makes me think of Frodo from Lord of the Rings. And YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I HATE FRODO.
Me: (starting to laugh at this point) Your hypothetical son with your hypothetical wife is going to be named Elijah?
Him: And if I'm not game for that plan, I'm stringing her along. Apparently.
Me: (laughing even harder) Then you better be stringing her along, or we are not friends anymore.
Him: Crazy bitch.
Me: Y'think? So where'd this whole demand for a proposal come from anyway?
Him: Her best friend got engaged.
Me: Monkey see, monkey do.
Him: Are you calling my girlfriend a monkey?
Me: Seems appropriate.
Him: ...Touche. I think we need to go away this weekend. No females allowed.
Him: Except you. Of course.
The conversation continues from here, but it gets less funny for the general public, because it includes a lot more references to events only we understand, inside jokes, etc. But seriously, girls...after 6 months of dating? Not the time to ask why he hasn't proposed and picked baby names with you yet. It sends him running for the hills.
Friday, August 7, 2009
I am an only child. I have six brothers. Both statements are true. They're not related to me by blood, but damn anyone who says they're not mine. We actively choose each other, every day of our life. We love fiercely, unconditionally, constantly. We're each others best friends, confidantes, and teammates. Friends by chance but siblings by choice.
Tonight, we celebrate a birthday of the one born August 7. Tomorrow, we go to the 17th annual photoshoot. We all have an album with pictures of all 7 of us, taken every August. It started the year before we went to kindergarten, and has continued since. All of us, in one picture, every year. We've grown up together, and its in pictures for our children to see one day.
It started when we were babies. Its been a 22 year love affair. Except instead of 2, there are 7. We were babies, and our moms were Catholic. There was a mommy and me social at the church, and that's where we met, before we could even talk to each other.
The years flew by, and we were dragged to the same church events, community events and playdates. We went to the same elementary school. By then, we were already causing trouble together, from behind cheeky 5 year old grins. We survived scraped knees, falls from bikes, puberty and all the fun elementary school had to offer. Barriers were knocked down before they were put up. We don't need permission to stay at anyone's house, and we walk in without ringing the bell...because we've never had to. As a joke, one of the dads started calling us The Seven. There are 7 of us, and we're all born on the 7th of a month, from February to September of the same year.
We grew older still, and high school rolled around. We got the same speech from everyone; that friendships would change, and maybe things wouldn't be the same.
We didn't have the same classes all day anymore, but nothing changed. We were still loyal. Protectively loyal. Fiercely so. We survived calculus, broken bones, broken hearts and car accidents. Then we lost one of the seven. It shook everyone to their core, but not our relationships. We survived. Then we graduated.
We got the same speech, about how post secondary will change things. This time, we were scared. There was going to be real physical distance. We may not see each other for a month at a time. Would we lose each other? The first Thanksgiving, we were together within 5 minutes of getting home and nothing had changed. Worry gone. We were still us. We survived long distance relationships, dorm rooms, apartments, learning to live alone, and failed grades. We're still us four years later.
We're us because we choose to be us. We're not connected by DNA, or family ties, or anything legal. We don't have any reason but we don't need one. Unconditional love just is, without a why. We have our differences. We argue and fight and get mad. We're not perfect. But we'd be there for each other, any time, anywhere, no matter what. And that feels pretty sibling-real to me.
When people ask me if being an only child is lonely, I smile, and say I don't know. I carved out a family for myself, and they're mine, DNA or not.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
I have a blog, right? Right.
I'm absentee until at least Sunday, and even for the next month after that. Its for 2 darn good reasons, so you'll just have to forgive me.
1. New place - Obviously since school is in another city, I've got another new place. This time its with a friend from high school. I'm either going to love her or hate her by the end of this. I guess we'll see. But currently, we're trying to make the place liveable. Its in good condition structurally and size wise, but the paint colours are terrible and whoever lived here last didn't understand the concept of "cleaning." So we've got some serious work to do. Also tied to the new place is a lack of internet of our own until next Monday, so I am pirating signal until then and it tends to kick out on me.
2. Wheat harvest has officially started, so when I'm not painting or cleaning, I'm on a combine or a tractor. This is going to continue for at least a couple weeks, so if I'm spotty at blogging, forgive me. They're long, long days.
Just figured I'd let you all know I'm alive. Off to tape off more trim now.
Posted by The Grown Up Teenager at 10:32 PM
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
My aunt asked me the other day how I'm feeling about the school transfer. I gave the standard societal answer of, "I'm excited, I'm happy, blah blah blah." But its not even close to entirely true. After the initial joy of getting accepted wore off, the sneaky emotions found their way in.
Thrilled. Terrified. Apprehensive. Excited. Amazed. Dumbfounded. Dumb. Smart. Alone. Its all there, and more feelings that I don't even have words for.
I'm still thrilled that I got in. Its a much needed change. A smaller city, a smaller campus, and closer to home. I have friends that go there. With the marks I had, they owed me nothing and I'm grateful for the chance. Its a leading Canadian university, and I can now say that I go there. Its spectacular.
But like always, the doubt creeps back in. I now have to figure out an entirely new campus, a new city, new professors and new classes. While I've got friends there, its old hat to them. I'm scared that I won't live up to what the school's looking for on the probation* term. I'm terrified that it will feel the same as the last one did, and that all of this change will be for nothing.
My logical side says I'll be okay, if I work at it and make it home. But I failed at that so badly at the last school that I can't help but doubt myself. It makes for some pretty conflicting feelings. I'm moving my furniture Friday. A friend and I leased a place for August. We're both farm kids that have no time for moving in the middle of harvest so we're doing it now. Packing is making my hyperventilate.
I feel like a little kid that needs someone to hold her hand and tell her it will be okay. It will be, but I still need someone to tell me that. It's a scary business, starting over.
*Because of the way my marks were, and how I applied for the transfer, I'm on mandatory academic probation. If I don't live up to it, I will basically be kicked out.
Monday, July 27, 2009
You know the type of person that can never just let things run smoothly the way they're planned? Or go somewhere on the day you ask them to? Or be somewhere at the time you ask them to? It always has to be a different plan. Or a different day. Or a different time.
And its never for a good reason. Its just because you want to go Monday, so they insist on Tuesday, although they have nothing planned for Monday. You want to be there at noon, but they can't be there until 2 even though they've been sitting around in pajamas all morning. You want to go to Store A, but they insist on Store B, although they won't be buying anything from either store.
You know the type? I live with one of these control freaks. I call her "Mom" and she's driving me to drink. That is all.
Friday, July 17, 2009
So I woke up this morning, pushing noon, after a virtual all nighter with one of my best friends who just got back from visiting the UK. 4 AM never came so fast.
Blurry eyed, I checked my business e-mail, to see if there was anything important for the farm, and then noticed that I had personal messages in my other inbox. One of them carried the subject line "Information from *Insert University Name Here*" Suddenly, my eyes were less blurry. It was info about my school e-mail address, and how to access it.
Wide awake now, I'm realizing they probably don't give addresses to just anyone. But I haven't gotten any official confirmation. Its supposed to come in the mail. I may or may not have pounced on our mailbox the minute the mailman left. Nothing. Huh. Now I'm confused.
I'm also a child, and refuse to wait. So I looked up the number of the admissions office, found the extension of the person who handles my major. Heart pounding, I dialed the digits and explained the e-mail and lack of mail.
The wonderful lady, with the voice of an angel (okay, so I'm exaggerating, but if she wasn't on the other end of a phone, I would have kissed her), told me that, yes, I have officially been accepted and will receive a package of info, including the offer of admission, next week in the mail.
Oh my god, you guys, I'VE BEEN ACCEPTED TO THE UNIVERSITY I WANTED SOOOO BADLY!
The proverbial car that is my life is back on the highway. For the past few years, there were plenty of times where I didn't feel like I was the driver in control. Heck, I felt like a hostage, blindfolded, gagged and tied up in the trunk in a car hurtling towards a cliff.
I made quite the detour, and hated every second of it. I struggled with homesickness, loneliness, and a million other things. Some of my marks tanked because of it. I nearly kissed a university degree goodbye. I was dangerously close to it.
But things are back on track now. I'll be an hour from home, with a vehicle and I can go home any time I want. I'll be living with a friend from high school (we've signed a lease, for the record), instead of people I don't know well. I'll still be doing a degree I love.
It's still not going to be a walk in the park, but I can see the road again. It feels good.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
I don't like change. No, that's an understatement. I effin hate change. Yes, that's more accurate. I like to say its because I'm a traditionalist, dammit, but the truth is its because I enjoy my comfort zone more than most people.
Its not that I am not adventurous. I've travelled more than most people twice my age. As a cracka-white girl (I'm allowed to say that when I'm referring to myself, thank you), I eat a heck of a lot of ethnic foods that I actually have to drive to get because they don't have it "round these here parts."
But I do all of my travelling, trying new things, adventuring and generally acting like the 21 year old that I am knowing that if they don't work for me, or I'm not happy, I still have my comfort zone to fall back on. If I don't like moving somewhere, I can always move home. If I don't like eating something, I can go back to foods I know.
When people threaten that comfort zone though, that's when I get testy. You can push my boundaries all you like, but touch my foundation and you're in big trouble. My dad's been casually talking about letting some of the farmland we own hit the real estate market after this season is over. He knows, as well as I do, that a neighbour is extremely interested. And I don't like it one bit.
Both of my parents have jobs and own businesses outside of the farm. Most of the administrative work for the farm is left to me (business accounting, buying seed, selling crop, etc) and so is a lot of the physical labour. Seeding, fertilizing, spraying, spreading, harvesting...I'm always out there on a machine. Its my domain and suddenly, there's talk of it being pulled out from under me. Me. No. Likey.
Wish me luck with reasoning with my father, because if I see a "For Sale" sign in front of my field, I'm gonna be one mean girl. I'm off to run down to my fields on the quad and check out my damn crops. What ever happened to "Daddy Won't Sell The Farm"?
Thursday, July 9, 2009
5 years ago today, I lost one of my closest friends to his own stupidity. It was the summer after grade 11. He had turned 17 a few months earlier. It was a Friday night, in the summer, and we were having a party, at a friend's place in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't legal, but there was alcohol.
He tried to walk to his car. He'd been drinking. He'd done that before, and people knew it. We tried to take his keys away, telling him he wasn't safe to drive. He promised he was only going to the car to get something. He laughed at our concern, hugged a couple people. Me included. We trusted him. We heard the engine start and tires squeal and it was too late to stop him.
That was the last time I saw him alive. Suffice it to say there was a bad one car accident, that put him into a coma that he never came out of. His mother had to make the call to take him off life support. I can't describe the hell of those next few days. It takes more space, more words, and more tolerance than I've got.
I still have the dress I wore to his funeral. I've never worn it again, but I can't let it go. I'll never forget the picture that sat on top of his closed casket. I still remember how his mom looked, and what she said to me in the receiving line.
I remember sitting downstairs in the church with his big brother, who was one of his best buddies and ours too, and sobbing. We spent a lot of time doing that, in and out of the church, in the days that followed. We talked, we cried, we screamed and we sobbed. Anger mixed with grief and it tore our hearts to shreds.
I'm still angry as hell. We've all tried our best to forgive him but it still hurts. On the other hand, I still miss him just as much as that first day without him, and that hurts too. Someone who's been there for 17 years, gone in an instant, and for no good reason...it never goes away.
It was 5 years ago, and it was yesterday. You'd be 22, but you'll always be 17. I still love you. I still miss you. I always will.
If you've been drinking, and you even consider operating a vehicle bigger than a golf cart, remember this. If me telling this story saves one accident, as much as it hurts to talk about the reason he's gone, its worth it.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
So I just got off the phone with the admissions officer at the school I'm working on transferring to/hoping to get into. They received my application on May 13, according to the centre that controls all that fun stuff and as of July, I had heard nothing. So I figured I'd call to see if they needed anything from me, or how long it could possibly take.
The girl I talked to managed to kick me in a couple sentences. Because of how my marks at my old school were (ie some were terrible, because miserable people don't like to study), my application has to be put before a committee. One member of said committee is out of the country right now, so there isn't a meeting any time soon.
She estimated that it would be another 2 to 3 weeks, which means another month before I hear anything, since it has to be mailed. That puts me in early August. I'm already looking at housing right now, because its a competitive market, if you want to be anywhere near school, and apartments get snatched up quick.
If I don't get into school, I'll be doing correspondence but living in the city and paying rent for correspondence when I could do it from home isn't even close to ideal, but I can't ask my friend (who is already in) to wait to sign a September lease til mid August. That's not fair to her.
So we're signing a lease and planning to move, and I'm crossing my fingers and toes. Will you cross yours for me too?
Monday, July 6, 2009
Scene: The Grown Up Teenager and She Who Spawned The Grown Up Teenager are gardening. *shudder* The mother decides that a sapling which DARES to grow near her carefully manicured path needs to die--I mean, be cut down, and enlists The Grown Up Teenager to do so. The Grown Up Teenager begins sawing at the (annoying alive, bendy and difficult tree with an apparent will to live) sapling. The Mom folk decides to try to hold it still for the manual labourer also known as her daughter, thus placing her ankle in range of the saw.
Me: Mom, no offense, but I don't want your ankle anywhere near me right now.
Mom: Excuse me?
Me: Saw blade, your ankle, blood, stitches, bad.
Mom: Fair point.
Me: And I don't feel like going to the *insert nearest city here* ER, they're slow.
Mom: Somehow, I have a feeling that if I went with you, I'd get service pretty quickly.
Me: Oh yeah, why's that? Because I have frequent flyer miles and know all the doctors and nurses? Or because I've got a temper that intimidates anyone under 7 feet tall?
Mom: Well....a little of column A...a little of column B...
Me: *smirks, says nothing, continues sawing*
For the record, no one's ankle ended up meeting a saw blade, but the conversation was nevertheless amusing.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Today is Canada Day, and while Canadians aren't known for their ardent patriotism, I certainly am proud and thankful to be Canadian. I love being Canadian, I'm proud to say I'm Canadian, and I wouldn't change it for the world. So today, I will be donning a Molson Canadian shirt, like thousands of others, and I'll leave you with two Molson commercials that sum up what it is to be Canadian, and address some of the funnier stereotypes. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy these. So enjoy along with me. Happy Canada Day!
I’m not a lumberjack or a fur trader, and I don’t live in an igloo or eat blubber or own a dog sled.
And I don’t know Jimmy,Sally or Suzy from Canada, although I’m certain they’re really, really nice.
I have a Prime Minister, not a President.
I speak English and French, not American
And I pronounce it “about,” not “aboot.”
I can proudly sew my country’s flag on my backpack.
I believe in peacekeeping, not policing
Diversity, not assimilation
And that the beaver is a truly proud and noble animal.
A toque is a hat, a chesterfield is a couch, and it is pronounced zed, not zee, ZED!
Canada is the second largest landmass, the first nation of hockey, and the best part of North America.
My name is Joe, and I AM CANADIAN!
Posted by The Grown Up Teenager at 12:00 AM
Monday, June 29, 2009
Wow, so I had more responses to the 100 things about me blog than I ever expected. I’ve had a few comments on the amount of places I’ve traveled, so I figured I’d elaborate a little bit. I’ve never been a shy traveler, and I have no problem going to places I’ve never been before and just flying by the seat of my pants. I’m not the vacationer that has to have a schedule. That type drives me up the wall. That said, here’s an explanation of why I’ve been where I’ve been, and sort of a general idea of how old I was. (I refuse to look up dates. There’s a lot of books I’d have to look through for that).
C, eh? N, eh? D, eh? (AKA Canada)
Ontario – Um, I’m from Ontario. I’ve been pretty much anywhere you can name, between sports, school, and random road trips. Hence it not being on the original list.
Quebec – Every Eastern Canadian kid goes to Quebec when they’re 18. Why? Because its legal to drink at 18 there, but in Ontario, we wait til 19 (so the law says). Americans that have to wait until 21? We mock you. Also been to Old Quebec City and Montreal, for sports and for fun.
British Columbia and Alberta – Awesome skiing to be had. That, plus dating an Albertan guy for two years meant me spending time out there whenever possible. Fernie BC is another place I’d move in a heartbeat.
New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI – road trip (plus ferry trip) with the family. Drove up through Quebec, hit all the Maritime provinces, and stayed in PEI.
California – Invitational only hockey tournament, grade 12 (senior year for you American folks) Christmas break. 4 days of hockey, 5 days of touristy stuff.
Hawaii – Basketball tournament. Grade 12 again. March break this time. A few days of sports, a few days of surfing.
Florida – Spring break during first year of university, with friends
New York and Michigan – both within driving distance of home. I’ve got for hockey games, to Six Flags at Darien Lake, down to the city for weekends, etc etc.
Arizona – (I forgot this on the first list) Another hockey tournament. Also, note to Americans: whats with hockey tournaments being held in the hot as hell states? Seriously here.
Australia and New Zealand
I spent almost a month between the two of these during Christmas break of first year university (its their summer in December/January). It was with friends. We went diving off the coast of AUS, bungee jumping in NZ, zip lining, surfing, and generally being daredevils down under. I loved it there.
Europe (Warning, this one gets confusing, even for me. Some countries get repeated)
Paris, London, Rome – School trip, March break of grade 11. We did the three major cities and all the cliché tourist attractions.
England, Ireland, Scotland – trip with friends in second year of university. 6 weeks total; 2 weeks in each country. We came home mimicking the most confusing accents ever.
France – school trip in grade 10, to practice our français. We actually went to a Parisian school for a day. (I’m fluent). They fell in love with Canadian accents.
Switzerland – skiing with my aunt and uncle, when I was in grade 9. Took off and explored by myself for a full day. Got in some major hot water for that. Ahem.
Holland – family trips. Multiple, over the span of my entire life. My dad was born there.
Sweden – a work trip from when I worked for the NHL. First class and five star, all expenses paid. It was beauty.
Italy – summer of third year of university, with a couple buddies. Split between Sicily and Tuscany.
Germany – flew there, spent a week or so being a tourist, and drove a rental car to my aunt’s in Holland. Sort of a dual purpose trip; family and tourist, all by my lonesome. I was...19?
Greece – That was my first trip by myself. I didn’t, and still don’t understand Greek, other than “Oopah!” I just told my parents I felt like going, and they said, “So go.” So I did. I was 17 at the time. That was right after high school graduation.
Asia (This part of the list is WAY too short. I’m working on that)
Japan – A trip with la familia. Nothing will make you feel quite as white as Tokyo and it was super cool. I’d go back in a heartbeat, especially since I love sushi now.
Korea – (Fudge. Forgot this one too) I don’t know if this counts. It was a short trip. It was for my cousin’s wedding. His wife is from there. Very pretty country.
The Hot Spots
Mexico – Who hasn’t been to Mexico? Seriously. Do I need to say more than the words “all inclusive”?
The Bahamas – I won a trip there. I forget what year of university it was...maybe 3rd? I should check that. It was pretty fun.
The Dominican – My friend’s parents own a resort in Punta Cana, and we got paid one year of university to be “mystery shoppers.” We had to stay as guests, take notes on everything. Hey, the stay was for free. Why not?
Holy youknowwhat, that took longer to write than I expected. Anyway, hope that explains how the heck my travel list is so extensive at a young age. It better be twice that size when I hit 40. That’s my goal anyway. I may live in the same area for my entire life and not hate on it a little, but I also love seeing the world. Up next? Who knows?!
Where have YOU been? Tell me your stories. :)
I am a night owl by nature. Heck, sometimes I wonder if I am actually nocturnal. I focus as clear as anything at 2 AM but at 6? Dream on, buddy. Dream on. My parents, however, are my polar opposite. They're up before 6 AM every single day, because my mom likes to hit the gym before work, and my dad is just a sucker because he shares her bed and alarm clock (sorry, old man). My parents are regularly in bed by 9:30.
Thus, my nightly prowlings, which have occurred since I was old enough to determine my own bedtime, or lack thereof, are a constant source of strife in this household. When I was living away from home (8 months a year for the last 4 years) I got into the comfortable habit of sleeping when I wanted. University students sleep like rocks and most of us were night owls.
At home, its a different story. My mom wakes up if a mouse sneezes a mile down the road, so me walking around? Oh dear. The kicker? I have to walk by the door of their room to get from the kitchen, living room, den, or anywhere else in the house to my room. I can't go from my room to the kitchen to get juice and back without walking past their door TWICE.
This is where Old Creaker comes in. He's this pesky floorboard right in front of their door and he got his name for a reason. He creaks. Not quietly or gently. Its loud and obnoxious, I tell you. Now you're thinking, "This is to be expected in an old house." Well you would be wrong. The house we're in was built in 2001, dangit. Why are the floorboards out to GET ME?!
I don't know why Old Creaker has a personal vendetta against me. All I know is that he's at his loudest in the middle of the night, when all I'm trying to do is get a drink. So now a simple bit of thirst becomes a dilemma. Do I risk going to the kitchen for juice and waking the bear (also known as my mother) who will, in fact, come out unsuitably dressed, roaring at me for disturbing her intentionally, when all I was trying to do was get some gosh darn juice, or do I remain in my room, safe from noise control police but thirsty and thinking about juice?
I've tried walking around Old Creaker. It makes me look like a tool, since I'm taking a detour in the middle of an empty hallway, but I wouldn't care...if it worked. Which it didn't. Old Creaker saw me coming, and made me feel his wrath. My foot went NOWHERE NEAR THAT BOARD, and it groaned like I was killing it anyway. I've tried going faster than normal. I've tried going extremely slow. I've even tried shuffling in socks, and I hate wearing socks in the house, yo. Nothing works.
I need to find some kind of a sacrifice to the god of floorboards, because I must have done something very offensive to Old Creaker, because I swear to you, it is out to get me. It brings its wrath on me, which brings the motherly wrath on me and that is just. not. pretty. So much unnecessary drama over a floorboard. I tell ya.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Wow, this took a long time to write. If you read it all, I will give you a cookie. Or maybe 2.
1. I’m a country girl. Always was, always will be.
2. I run the farm during the summer. My parents both work off the farm, so it’s been my baby for a long time. I have a shirt that says “My Barn, My Rules.” I live by that.
3. I can drive a tractor or combine better than a lot of males. This surprises people and makes me laugh.
4. I have more than 20 John Deere t-shirts. They all have different phrases, but they’re all John Deere. I also have jackets, sweatshirts, hats...I’m sure you can see where this is going.
5. My current truck is my lover. I bought it brand new, with all kinds of fun options, and I love it more than I ever should.
6. I’ve been in competition for years now. I enjoy jumping.
7. I can break a horse. I’ve done it many times. If you think it’s cruel, ride an unbroken one and let me know how that goes.
8. I’m actually allergic to horses. And dogs, cats, pollens and dust. I give allergies the middle finger every day. Constant exposure to environmental allergens makes it a lot easier to deal with.
9. My favourite colour has always been blue. There’s so many shades of it to love.
10. I’m an only child.
11. I like being an only child. When I was 5, I told my mom that she and my dad better not be having sex (yes, I got the birds and bees talk very early) because “I don’t want any babies in. this. house.” (This was following visiting a friend, who had a colic-y brother. Do you blame me?)
12. I’m a Daddy’s girl. We have ridiculously different interests and different personalities, but we get along famously. I can spend an entire day with him and enjoy every minute of it.
13. My mom and I are hot and cold. One minute, we’re getting along great, the next we’re screaming at each other. Its not because we don’t love each other. Its because we’re too similar in some way, polar opposite in others and both very stubborn. It makes for epic clash sometimes.
14. My parents’ 25th anniversary is this fall. I want to be them one day. Their marriage is rock solid.
15. I have a huge extended family. My mother has 13 siblings, and my father has 7. This means I have a lot of cousins, particularly since one aunt has 15 kids of her own. Yeah, that’s right. Fifteen.
16. I want to get married one day. My wedding is important to me.
17. I also want to have children, but two is my maximum. After that, I run out of hands and sanity.
18. I have never been shy. I don’t actually know how to play shy properly.
19. I can argue with anyone. About anything. I’ll even take a side that I don’t believe in and argue it, just to play devil’s advocate.
20. That led a lot of people to push me towards law as a career. I thought it was the right path, until I spent a day in a courthouse for school. I realized I could never live that life that day.
21. Instead, I’m becoming a teacher. I’ve taught intuitively since I was a kid. In grade 8, I taught kindergarten one afternoon a week, and helped out for the other 4 days. I’ve tutored just about any subject since elementary school. I’ve been a teacher’s assistant in university. Guess I should have seen it coming, huh?
22. I go back to my high school on every break from university, to say hi to my old teachers and I teach a week of English and history classes. (I really should have seen that teacher thing coming.)
23. I want to teach high school, preferably the senior years. I like little kids but I don’t have the patience of Job to handle 20 of them every day, all day. Props to the teachers that do.
24. I don’t think teenagers are even half as bad as the rep they’ve got. A lot of them are quite intelligent and insightful. Sure, every basket has its bad apples, but they’re the ones that need more care, not less.
25. I loved high school. I know it was considered hell for a lot of people, but I loved every second of it. I had my finger in everything, from sports to committees to clubs to the spring musical.
26. I was also a troublemaker. Nothing severe like drinking or drugs, but I’d bend the rules until they broke and then use a dazzling smile, and whatever extracurricular I was involved with at the time to get out of it. Worked like a charm, every time.
27. If there was an age I could be forever (out of the ones I’ve lived), it’d be 17.
28. I would never do the years from 18-21 over again if you paid me.
29. This is because university has been my personal hell. I felt lonely, alone, isolated, stupid, and unwanted more times than I could count. I had numerous people tell me they thought I was depressed.
30. I never thought it was depression. I think it was hate of circumstances, because now that I’m out of them, I’m back to feeling like me again.
31. I’ve considered writing a book, specifically aimed at people who feel like they don’t fit into the university life. I’ve started and deleted it more times than I’d care to admit.
32. I’m a fiercely loyal friend. You cross my friends, you cross me. This is probably because my best friends have been my friends since we were in diapers. We’re as close to siblings as friends will ever get.
33. When I take internet quizzes about what percentage male and female my brain is, I’m always 80% male or more. This is because I love sports, cars, trucks, tractors, and many very masculine things.
34. I still look like a girl though. I’m not tomboy in the traditional sense. I have long, curly dark brown hair; I wear makeup and dress like a girl.
35. I hate pink. I don’t wear pink, I don’t buy pink anything. If there’s pink on something, you wrecked it. I really hate it.
36. As a rule, I like guys better than girls. It’s half because of the tomboy thing and half because, seriously, girls can be bitches.
37. I have no patience for catty gossip behind people’s backs. Have the nerve to say something to their face if you’ve got a problem with them.
38. I can play quite a few instruments. Piano, flute, clarinet, saxophone, guitar and drums. Most of them, I can play by ear by now.
39. I’ve sung and played piano at a few weddings, even though most of the time, wedding music makes me gag. It’s always so cliché.
40. Hockey is my all time favourite sport. If I’m watching it, you best not try to talk to me. I will either ignore you, swat at you, or both.
41. Every sport is better live than on TV. I dare you to tell me different.
42. I’ve spent the last two years working for the NHL during hockey season. I love the job, and the perks I get out of it.
43. My favourite player is Sidney Crosby. When people start ranting about how he hasn’t lived up to expectations, it sends me into a gigantic rant about how’s only TWENTY ONE, man. He’s got time.
44. I travel as much as I can. The long list of places I’ve been to includes: Australia, New Zealand, Japan, France, England, Switzerland, Holland, Sweden, Italy, Germany, Greece, Ireland, Scotland, as well as standard tourist destinations like Mexico, the Bahamas, the Dominican, and a few states (NY, Michigan, Hawaii, California and Florida), as well as British Columbia, Alberta, New Brunswick, Quebec, Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island. Whew. I think that’s everything.
45. I love rollercoasters. I could ride them over and over again. Amusement parks are amazing.
46. I’ve bungee jumped multiple times. I don’t scream when I go over the edge like most people do. I laugh.
47. I love to scuba dive. I have a license for it so I can do “real” dives instead of the 20 feet underwater tourist junk. It’s fun and it’s a spectacular view you won’t ever get from a picture.
48. I’m a member of a skydiving club. I started when I was 16, with tandem jumps (where you’re strapped to another person and they control the jump and the chute). Now I jump alone and tandem for other people.
49. I may be a wee bit of an adrenaline junkie. Maybe just a little.
50. I’m not crafty. I can’t knit, crochet, or do anything like that. I can paint, but I don’t enjoy it, so I never do it.
51. I do not, will not, and will never scrapbook. I don’t like kitchy things like that. I’d rather have a nice photo book done by a professional printer, which is what I get done with all my trip pictures.
52. I think Photoshop is the worst thing that ever happened to photography. Other than red eye touch up, or small thing like that, I refuse to edit pictures. I prefer pictures that look amazing straight from the camera. At least they’re real.
53. I love black and white pictures. They’re classic and timeless.
54. My aunt decided to gift me her Canon Rebel XTI when she realized she was never going to learn how to use it. The day after that, I took her grandson’s 2 year pictures. They’re already printed, framed and hung on the walls at both grandmas’ places, as well as my cousin’s.
55. I did a newborn shoot at a (different) cousin’s house with her daughter (born last week) and she likes the picture I took better than the professional ones she’s had done.
56. Photos are always best when they’re taken with love.
57. Babies always wrap me around their pinkies. Give me a baby, a blanket and a rocking chair and I’m happy for hours. My friend has a picture of me laying in a hammock with her son on my chest and my arms around him and both of us are asleep. I love it.
58. Speaking of hammocks, I love them. They’re amazingly comfortable, and great to read in.
59. I cannot pick a favourite book, but some of my favourites are classic literature like Pride and Prejudice, and Wuthering Heights. I can read them over and over and never be bored.
60. That said, I also enjoy good courtroom drama novels, by authors like John Grisham or Jonathan Kellerman.
61. I enjoyed Twilight. Yes, I know its crap. I don’t pretend its not. But sometimes crap literature can still be an enjoyable read. So suck it.
62. I also own complete anthologies of Shakespeare. He’s my favourite playwright. I’ve been to the Stratford Festival so many times to see his plays, and I would go over and over again.
63. The best play I’ve ever seen on stage was a Stratford production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. They used Cirque du Soleil acrobats for the fairies, and they came down from the lighting rigging on trapezes and bungees. It was nothing short of magical.
64. The best musical I’ve ever seen was, hands down, the Lion King. It was shockingly awesome, mostly because they went for the awe factor with a lot of the set and costumes.
65. I’m not a big fan of concerts. It may be that I’m a classically trained music snob but when someone is singing badly, warbling off key, despite how perfect their CD sounds, it annoys me. It’s also annoying when the person next to me sings so loudly that hearing the person on stage is hard.
66. I hate being touched by strangers. I don’t mind talking to them at all, but if they touch me intentionally, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My friends, however, invade my personal space on a regular basis and it doesn’t bother me.
67. I like cooking and baking, but hate cleaning up after myself.
68. Heck, I hate cleaning, period. It’s so repetitive. You’ll get all the cleaning done, and the laundry done, just to have to do it again next week. Drives me nuts. Someone needs to invent self cleaning houses and clothing.
69. On the flipside, I’m unhappy if things are messy.
70. I’ve been in two car accidents. One was a minor (3 car domino effect) fender bender that was nothing but an “Oops, gotta get that bumper straightened out.”
71. The other one was a bad roll over that totalled my vehicle. The truck flipped the back right corner over the front left twice, and then rolled over sideways three times, before finally landing on the wheels. We found pieces of the engine more than 50 feet from where it finally stopped.
72. I walked away from that with nothing more than one bruise on my knee, from where it bumped the steering wheel while the vehicle was upside down.
73. The police made me go to the hospital anyway, thinking I may have internal injuries. I didn’t. The doctors and nurses didn’t believe that I was the person that came from the bad accident. They prescribed me Tylenol 3 and offered to give me a Demerol shot because they said I’d be in major pain the next day.
74. I said no to all of it. I went home, had a hot bath, went to bed, and was on the tractor the next morning, thank you very much.
75. My friends and family tease me that I live hard. They’re probably right. I do dangerous things, have been all over the world, am rough on my body and push everything to the limit. I’d rather live like that now than regret not doing it when I’m old.
76. Because of this, i have a ridiculous amount of scars. I refuse to count them, because we’ll be here all day. I have one across the back of one hand from the top of a fence, one in my eyebrow from a baseball splitting my face open, LOTS from hockey, and all kinds from random cuts and splits from the farm. Life happens.
77. I have an unnaturally high pain tolerance. When I admit I’m in pain, its the type of pain where someone else would be in the fetal position, crying.
78. My favourite TV, currently, is House. I love that sadistic bastard. Its the one show I get mad about missing.
79. I also enjoy every single spin off of CSI. It’s so incorrect as far as how criminal investigations go, but even as someone who takes criminology classes, I don’t care. I don’t follow it religiously though.
80. I have never smoked anything, legal or illegal. I’ve never done any illegal drugs. I don’t see the allure. I just don’t.
81. I punched a guy in a bar once. He grabbed my ass and I told him to go away. He came back a few minutes later and went in for a boob grab. I told him that if he tried it once more, I would punch him square in the nose. He laughed and said I didn’t have the nerve. A few minutes later, he snuck up behind me, reached under my arms and grabbed from both sides. I whirled around and clocked in in the nose so hard that i broke it and knocked him to the floor.
82. Incidents like these are the reason i hate bars. I’d much rather have a few beers with friends at home.
83. I also hate public drunkenness. Heck, drunkenness of any type. Getting to the feel good point? Fine, go for it. Getting to the point of making a public ass of yourself or puking? You’re an idiot.
84. Speaking of puke, its the one thing I cannot handle. Seeing, smelling or hearing someone puke makes me come dangerously close to puking myself.
85. Blood, guts or broken bones, however? I don’t bat any eyelash. I have a ridiculous amount of first aid training. I’ve popped shoulders back into place, patched up big cuts, dealt with gushing blood, taped up broken bones until they can be set. No problem.
86. I have CPR training, and I’ve had to use it. I pulled a 3 year old girl, whose parents were nowhere to be found, out of the lake when I was 16, and had to perform CPR because she wasn’t breathing. Her mother didn’t show up until the ambulance was there, loading the little girl into it. That still makes me angry. The paramedics, however, told me that I saved the child’s life by doing CPR until they got there, because she still had a strong pulse when they arrived.
87. I hope I never have to give CPR ever again but gosh, was I ever glad I knew how.
88. I can be a pretty picky eater. I’m not a fan of very many vegetables at all. Its a very limited list.
89. I will not eat cooked carrots, if I have a choice. Raw, I eat for a snack. Cooked, disgusting. Ditto to peas.
90. On the flipside, mushrooms are gross raw, but if they’re fried, I’ll eat a ton. I don’t make sense. I know it.
91. I don’t like pieces of tomato, but ketchup and spaghetti sauce are quite welcome. Don’t ask. I don’t know.
92. Sweet corn season makes me unnaturally happy. I plant a few rows at my house every year, and go out, pick the corn, husk it, cook it and eat it. You won’t get it any fresher than that.
93. I love any type of seafood. People that are grossed out by it are missing out.
94. I am completely in love with Chinese dim sum. I could eat it every day for a week and still ask for more.
95. I also enjoy sushi. I tried it for the first time in university and was rather impressed.
96. I love getting mail, so I write letters. Its been a constant thing between my friends and I while we were away at university. Its nice getting mail that's not a bill, even if we talked to each other basically every day.
97. My cell phone (BlackBerry) is constantly with me. I’m lost without it. I have unlimited long distance to 10 numbers in my plan. They messed up one friend’s number and charged me for her calls one month. I had over 90 dollars in long distance to her alone. (It got removed when I called, don’t worry). Thats more than my bill is per month, and keep in mind I’ve got 9 other people on that list, plus texting, other long distance calls and regular calls. My cell company isn’t making money off me.
98. I always have polish on my toenails. Even in the dead of winter. However, I never do my fingernails. I chip it off way too fast and it looks like hell.
99. I love getting massages but I’m not a fan of pedicures. For some reason, I really don’t like people touching my feet.
100. The one cause I will campaign for is cancer. I’ve lost all 4 grandparents to it, as well as two friends, one at 19 and one at 20. I miss them every day, and hope one day, no one will have to go through that.
Posted by The Grown Up Teenager at 4:32 PM
Saturday, June 20, 2009
There are a lot of causes I think are worthwhile, but not many that I'll give up a night of sleep for. However, last night, I found the exception to that rule. I spent 12 hours (from 7 PM, starting with a survivors lap and everyone walking behind them to 7 AM, with a fight back lap of everyone again) with good friends walking a high school track in a nearby city, in the rain, doing the Relay for Life with the Canadian Cancer Society.
Cancer's a beast that affects us all. It doesn't discriminate between the young and the old, male or female, black or white, healthy or sickly. It doesn't care if you've got potential to life your life as a young person, or children you want to see grow up. It strikes out of nowhere. It strikes any part of the body. It strikes and so often, is deadly.
There are very few people who haven't been touched by cancer in this world, be it a relative, a friend, a colleague, or anyone they care about. Some of us are lucky enough to know a survivor; to be able to tell the story of someone who won the battle, but too many know and miss someone who lost their battle with cancer. The memorial luminaries that lined both sides of the 1600 metre track reminded of us that all night.
Its an emotional beatdown to see that many names with the label "In memory." Fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, loved ones and friends all lost. My friends. One who was 19 when he died of lung cancer. My grandparents.
But despite acknowledging the past, the one thing that keeps us going, through the 12 hour walk, through the rain, through the sleeplessness was this:
Hope that we will one day find the cure, and hope that no one will have to suffer again. Hope to patients and their families and friends. Hope that one day, Relay for Life with be history, because cancer is no more. Hope for the future.
And so we fight back. With hope.
Posted by The Grown Up Teenager at 4:33 PM
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
I am apparently a fan of the controversial issues lately. So here I am, happily surfing my guilty pleasure, when I see this story about Kate Gosselin (yeah, go ahead and roll your eyes) spanking one of her kids.
All I have to say is: SO WHAT?!
There is nothing wrong with spanking, within a reasonable limit. No, I don't constitute beating your child, or hitting them for everything they do wrong, but sometimes, a kid needs the board of education on the seat of knowledge, if you know what I'm saying.
This is coming from someone who was spanked as a kid. I didn't turn out warped, and I don't have any mommy or daddy issues from it. Sometimes, a smack on the butt drives home the message when a time out or talking to fails.
It shouldn't be the first method tried but I don't see anything wrong with a spanking as a method of discipline. I could cite all types of cliches, like "spare the rod, spoil the child," etc but everyone knows what they are.
I just don't see spanking as abuse. What's your take on it?
In a brilliant move, I gave myself yesterday off. (This is the magic of farm life. If there's no work to be done, you don't have to come in). So anyway, I appointed a holiday for myself, and some friends. We hitched my boat to my truck, filled my quad cab with people, as well as another one and took off to the lake for the day.
The awesome part about living where I do is that multiple Great Lakes are in driving distance. Not 10 minutes away, mind you, but very driveable. All we had to do was put the boat in the water, park the trucks at the marina and take off for the day.
Between fishing, tanning, swimming and hanging out with a few beers, it makes for a fantastic lazy day. I had quite a few rants waiting to go up on this blog, things people were doing that made me angry at humanity and etc. But after a day doing absolutely nothing productive on the water with good friends, my mellow is back (temporarily anyway).
And while pulling the boat out of the water, an ice cream truck came by, which just put a cherry on top of a good day, by making my inner 5 year old squee with joy. (You're damn right I bought some).
People still suck but my day was a little bit brighter.
Monday, June 8, 2009
UPDATE: Oh there is justice in the world. There is justice. Le girlfriend is no more. Gone. Don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you.
I am decidedly tomboy in personality. I look very girly, but I can act like a total boy. Because of this, and because girls are too much drama, most of my best friends are guys. Because of this, I deal with a lot of the psycho girlfriends that come with it. This is my list of advice for females for making nice with your new boyfriend's friends.
- Recognize the importance of friend approval if you want to stick around. Flings don't require any approval, but if you don't fit in with the friends that are important to a guy, you don't fit into his everyday life. He won't like that. Its easier when a girl blends in with the friends, rather than creating drama with them.
- Remember that the friends were there first. Your relationship with him and ours are different, but chances are, we've got a lot more history, and if push comes to shove, he's going to pick all of us over one of you. Don't ever try to make him make that choice.
- Try to enjoy the things he does with his friends. This doesn't mean you have to do things you hate, or compromise ideals. But if they're doing something relatively harmless and you're invited, try to hang out. They'll appreciate the effort, even if you end up hating it.
- Don't accuse his female friends of sleeping with him, wanting to sleep with him, or anything else. It makes you look like a jealous, crazy broad who is absolutely paranoid. If they've been friends since they were young, and they were going to sleep together, trust me...it would have happened by now.
- Don't turn into a snoop. Don't check his calls, read his texts, go on his instant messaging, or go through anything else that isn't yours. Just because he's dating you does not mean he's not entitled to private conversations.
- We demand private time with him. This means time where you're not around, not texting, not calling, and not e-mailing him. Time where you do not exist. This is essential.
- Don't call him annoying ass pet names in front of us. "Babe" or the likes are acceptable, when not said in a baby tone, but "muffincake" or anything remotely like that makes us all want to gouge your eyes out. Him included, not gonna lie.
I'm currently dealing with a female who has entered my life, thanks to one of my best friends (thanks, Sean) who breaks every single one of the above rules. Our entire friend group hates her and has no problem undermining their relationship. We don't want her around, and we'll be openly happy when she bites the dust.
So girls, don't ever be that girl. Seriously. She sucks.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
My last couple blog entries have been about the heavier topics, so this is going to be a complete switch. I'm in the mood for a meme, and this was stolen from Marla. Apparently, its some Thursday thing but this is my blog, so we are playing by my rules.
1. You are at the store when suddenly 2 men walk in with guns and rob the place. Are you the hero, quiet & follow the rules type, or try to make a run for it?
Have I got the tactical advantage? Cause if I think I can win, hell yeah, I'll take them down. If there's a gun pointed at my chest and I think the guy will fire, I may shut up.
2. Do you like Twizzlers?
Take em or leave em.
3. Are you a YouTube watcher?
Nah. I watch a funny video if someone sends it to me but I don't surf for them.
4. When a auto glass store calls you and asks if you have a chip or crack in your windshield, what do you tell them?
I tell them no, and not to call me again, dammit.
5. What is the age difference between you and your father?
A great deal of time. The man is old.
6. Have you ever tried to find the end of a rainbow?
Only in the Skittles bag. Taste the rainbow.
7. Camping - recreational vehicle or tent?
I don't mind either. If its a long time, I'd prefer an RV, but if its a couple nights, a tent doesn't bug me. Friends regularly camp out at each other's places out here in the sticks.
8. Have you ever had to call 9-1-1?
I sure have.
9. Who is your favorite blog in the Thursday Thunk bloggers to visit?
Aha, there's this Thursday thing again. Maybe I'll have to check it out some Thursday.
10. How long do you think you could live locked in your house on the food that you have on hand right now?
LOL We've just had a cow slaughtered (Hi PETA, look away now), so our freezer would last me a long, long time.
11. Pepper - shaker or grinder?
12. What state (or country if you are not in the US) is 2 states west of you?
Saskatchewan. (Seriously yo, who named that?)
13. What color do you believe you look best in?
Bright colours. I wash out big time in pastels.
Interesting. I may have to check out this Thunkers business.
Posted by The Grown Up Teenager at 10:08 PM
Friday, June 5, 2009
Recently, one of my childhood friends got married. That may or may not have spawned this rant. Anyway, the point is she became Mrs. Smith (yes, her actual married name is Smith) from Miss Jones (Not her real name. Fooled ya, didn't I?)
Every time I see her new name pop up on Facebook feed, its odd. Not bad, mind you, just odd. Its going to take some getting used to. I knew her as Jones for almost 22 years, and now she's Smith. This same topic was mentioned when a bunch of my friends were out together, which earned us a rant from a feminist about changing your name, losing your identity and basically bowing to Da Man. (Those are the type of feminists I hate, man. The ones that butt into your business when you're talking about someone they don't know).
I've never understood the anger over married names, or the dropping of a maiden name. Just because you change from Miss to Mrs doesn't mean you lose yourself. It doesn't mean you have to give up everything you made for yourself in your single days. It just means you got married, and now you and your husband (and potential future children) are a team. Your parents and siblings, while still your family, are not immediate anymore. Your husband is. And if we want to use a sports metaphor, you have to wear the same jersey to play on the same team.
I understand there are some exceptions to this rule, like famous personalities (who often change husbands as much as they change their thongs) and don't want to mess around with their name too much, but you'd be surprised to find that many of them legally have their husband's last name and only use their maiden name for stage. But I do understand that some career paths are easier to maintain without changing one's name.
In my case, I will be changing my last name to my (future) husband's name, should I get married. I want to be a very obvious family unit with myself, my husband and my kids all sharing a last name. I want to be proud to play on that "team" and wear my jersey, and I know that just because my last name changes, it doesn't mean that who I am as a person changes. Yes, my role will shift from daughter to wife, and one day mother, but that's natural progression of life.
One day, I'll wear my "Mrs" moniker with pride. How about you?
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Last night, Catherine from Her Bad Mother made this post on BlogHer. (Rather than me sum it up, I'd suggest you read it and Catherine can do her own viewpoint justice.) A discussion between her, myself and others ensued on Twitter and the comments on that page. Now that I am semi-awake, I'd like to clarify my own view better on this page.
- I am firmly pro-life/anti-abortion/whatever word you choose. This may be because of a religious upbringing, although I don't associate myself with it. But the phrase 'abortion stops a beating heart' rings true to me. I'm not saying it has to for you, but for me, it does.
- Though I mentioned religion was in my life when I was a kid, I don't have any problems with people having sex before marriage. This is a personal choice, and I support it because it is not harmful to anyone but two consensual partners who have voices of their own.
- While I had said religious upbringing, I fully support birth control before the fact. Particularly in a world where there is ample choice, and doctors who will help you find what method works best for you, birth control is readily available. Hell, the local health unit here has condoms for free.
- Because birth control is so readily available to anyone who wants it, a lot of oops pregnancies could have been prevented. Yes, everyone knows the story of Susie who was on the Pill and got pregnant anyway, but when used correctly, birth control can be 99% effective. When used incorrectly (ie not taken at the same time every day), your chances aren't as good. This is all on the packaging.
- I've seen too many women in my own age group (early 20s, to clarify) that view abortion as their back up plan, and casually toss around, "Well if I get pregnant, I can always have an abortion." This type of thinking sickens me. I don't think that needs any further explanation.
- Another blogger mentioned cases of rape and incest, and Catherine herself mentioned cases where the mother is at risk. As far as rape and incest goes, I don't think its fair for me to weigh in. I've never had to face it, nor see anyone go through this. If the baby poses a risk to the mother, this should be determined by a doctor, and then he/she can decide what the best course of action is. That's why they have a medical degree.
Basically, it comes down to this: If you're adult enough to engage in sex, you're adult enough to find a birth control option. If you choose not to, accept the consequences, which can range from STDs/STIs to pregnancy. Terminating a life because you didn't bother to get a condom is unacceptable.
This topic is open for discussion, however, it must be kept civil. Please be sensitive to the fact that this is a personal issue, and isn't a black and white situation. Avoid being hateful. Also, as always, comments are moderated.
Posted by The Grown Up Teenager at 9:40 AM
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
I guess I'm at that age in life where people I know, and people I went to high school with, are going to start getting married and having babies. Excuse me while I freak out about that for a few minutes.
One girl I went to high school with married at 19 and already has a daughter, but that just made us all think she was crazy. But now, slowly, engagements are starting to pop up, and wedding dates are being set. A girl I've known since we were babies (our mothers were friends) just got married and moved cross country with her husband.
Things like this hit me like a train, and remind me we're all growing up and growing apart. Its weird, because I don't feel any more grown up than I did in high school. (See: Name of blog). Sometimes, engagement announcements make me feel a wee stab of jealousy, simply because I'm dating someone right now, while other people are committing to forever. (Don't remind me about divorce statistics, that's NOT THE POINT.)
But then I sit back for a minute and realize there's a reason I'm not seriously dating someone right now. Its one of two things: either I haven't found the right person yet, or I'm not ready to settle down with someone yet. Either way, its a good thing that I'm not engaged, because the idea of getting married reasonably soon freaks.me.out.yo!
This is probably a ramble-y blog entry, mostly because I'm still trying to wrap my head around the subject. On one hand, I'd love to be in a serious relationship and ready to marry someone, and on the other, that thought makes me want to head for the hills. Like I said on Twitter, its an odd mix of my desire to get married and have a family, and my desire to stay single and free for now.
Is this my bio clock ticking? Cause seriously, I am too young for this shit.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
So for an update on the school status, since my last post about it:
I have no update. Ha, wasn't that anti climactic?
I finally received my copy of both sets of transcripts, which means the school has them too. I also received a corrected copy of my application, with my name spelled right and my major corrected. This all makes me happy.
I photocopied everything I had sent to the school so far, and attached it to a letter, explaining the mix up, just so I don't get accepted into the wrong dang program. That would suck after all of this.
Now the real waiting game begins. Applications are processed in a "timely manner" which could mean anything so now I am at the checking the mail every day, hoping to see something with a school logo on it stage. Awesome. I'll keep you posted. Send good thoughts, prayers and karma my way. I really, really want to get in.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Now on a much more cheerful note than my frustration with school, I present to you a rant, by the Grown Up Teenager about the 5 things a truck owner does NOT want to hear:
1. “Can you help me move?” – Its self explanatory. Moving sucks. Moving someone else’s stuff sucks even more. Not only do you want to put wear and tear on my vehicle, you want me to take a weekend and haul your crap from point A to point B. If I like you enough and know you’re moving, I’ll volunteer to help. If I volunteer to bring my truck, that’s like offering to take my pants off. Be grateful.
2. “I’m buying a *insert big item here.* It definitely won’t fit in my *insert little car here* and delivery is sooo expensive...” You passive aggressive bugger, you. Don’t think we don’t know that you’re trying to ask to borrow my truck without asking. I see your game and you don’t play it well. The only thing that's worse than being asked to help move is being not-so-subtly hinted at.
3. “I just need to move some dirt/rocks/stones/sharp metal objects/etc.” This many only be specific to me, but I’ve also had other friends who own trucks complain about how someone else will treat their vehicle. I treat my truck quite well. It’s my baby, just like a BMW to a man in the mid life crisis. I clean it, I wash it, I love it. I don’t enjoy scratching, denting, or messing with it, even the bed. It makes me die a little inside. If you want a scratch and dent special, get your own truck!
4. “But oh my god, its so much fun to ride in the back.” Fun on the farm, yes. Illegal on the road, also yes. The one on the hook for the legality of my vehicle? Me. And the provincial police love to tool around the roads out here and bust people for messing around unsafely on the road. So don’t hassle me when I tell you that you can’t ride in the box. Its like a trunk. Would you ride in the trunk of your Civic? I didn’t think so.
5. “Do you know how much of a gas guzzler your truck is, how much emissions it gives off, how bad it is for the environment, green green green, etc.” I had to throw this one in. With going green as a big trend, people with bigger vehicles get greenies after them. I get notes on my windshield, particularly in the city. I’m down with green, but here’s how it plays out: I live on a farm. In the middle of nowhere. On a road that doesn’t get plowed until the middle of the day in the winter, and is freshly graveled every summer. The truck hauls wagons for the farm, the boat in the summer, and trailers filled with stuff. You find me a smaller vehicle, that still has seating capacity for 4 or more, that can haul that and handle rough conditions and weather and I’ll drive it.
Feel free to chime in. Even car, SUV or other vehicle owners are welcome. What peeves you off about how someone else treats your vehicle or uses you for it?
Posted by The Grown Up Teenager at 12:37 AM
Thursday, May 14, 2009
So about that update I promised about school. Ha. This may turn into a rant. I'll do my best to keep it at a reasonable length but don't say I didn't warn you.
Now here's the situation. For the past year, all of my courses have been online (no in class schooling). I wrote my exams at the end of March. As of May 7, I didn't have marks for 2 out of 4 assignments AND the exam in one course. Turn around time is supposed to be 5 business days. After calling and e-mailing the tutor multiple times, I called the (out of province) school, to speak to someone above her. I talked to someone who said she would call me back. She never did. I called and spoke to someone above HER the next day. He promised he'd get me some marks and he did. 7 weeks after my exam, I can finally order transcripts. Awesome. I demand one for the school and one for me so I know they actually got sent out.
I now go to order a transcript from the school I attended full time before that. The internet informs me I have an outstanding fee (that no one told me about) that has to be paid before I can order documents. Fine. I log on and pay it online, which should be instant. Its not. So I now have to call my school, and ask when that will clear. Oh, it won't clear for a week but if I fax them proof of payment, they can clear it manually. Fine, I fax them. Still doesn't clear. Another phone call. Oh, well, they can clear it manually but that doesn't clear the system, so if I want a transcript, that's also manual. I've gotta fax a request. Fine. I fax it. Transcripts coming, again both to me and the school.
I receive confirmation of my application from the institution that handles all of the applications to universities in my province. My name is spelled wrong (big problem, as my photo ID won't match the name and I could conceivably be stealing someone else's spot who has my name but spelled differently) AND my major is wrong. Another long distance phone call to talk to someone, who tells me the application has already been sent to the schools like this and they can't change it. I tell them they better because the error is theirs, and I have a copy of the original form I sent in to prove it. Three more phone calls later, they've had to close the account entirely and open a new one, and they get the joy of spelling everything to me over the phone, and now I'm waiting for a paper copy of THAT.
So basically, the application process has been one big fat fail and by the time it gets sorted out, I may be bald from tearing my own hair out. Its going to be worth it, right? RIGHT? (PLEASE SAY YES, or I may truly lose my sanity)
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I'm just kidding. You better not have a sad look on your face. If you do, it better not be about me being back. I'd be quite insulted.
Anyway, the wonderful UPS man in the ugly brown uniform delivered my laptop back to me today. I may or may not have tried to hug him, and I certainly cuddled my laptop when I got it. It's all back to normal (so far, knock on wood) and I've got a 90 day warranty on the work, so that makes me happy.
I've somewhat missed the internet universe and somewhat didn't. I missed the online community and people to talk to, but I didn't miss the drama that it sometimes brings to people who really don't deserve it. I'm hoping this forced break will teach me to spend less time online and more time with the people who are a part of my life.
In the meantime, the transfer process has been hell (an entirely separate blog entry to come, because there have been some epic fails). Work is busy because I work in agriculture and hello, its summer. Life hasn't done anything crazy so that's about all the updating I have, and the hockey game is on, and that wins over blogging. I'll be updating semi-regularly again though, so I'm back, bitches. :)
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
I am on hiatus until further notice.
No, nothing's wrong with me. But my 9 month old laptop has to be sent back to the manufacturer to get fixed due to hardware problems, and my old desktop and I have a shoddy relationship at best and I refuse to use it more than absolutely necessary.
So I am on hiatus while my laptop is as well. But I'll be back.
Posted by The Grown Up Teenager at 9:04 PM
Sunday, April 19, 2009
So I'm out with my mom tonight, going out for dinner and being the dutiful daughter I am. Who am I kidding, I went for free food. ANYWAY.
We decide to stop at Baskin Robbins on the way home. I love Baskin Robbins and their 31 (million) flavours. We get our ice cream and we're happily eating and minding our own business when a guy storms in with a prepacked container of ice cream, demanding his money back because his wife got the wrong size, and he's being incredibly obnoxious about it. First off, hello buddy, its a food product. Its not exchangeable. Second of all, don't be a knob. You know the type of person that thinks they're the bomb and loooooves to take out their shit on people who have to take it? Yup, him.
The poor girls who are working try to explain to them that they can't do that. He demands to see a supervisor. There isn't one. He now demands a manager. (Keep in mind this is Sunday night at about 8:00). There isn't one. They offer him a number to make a complaint, and he bitches until they call the manager. Up til this point, I'm considering putting my two cents in, but once they call a manager, at least they're okay, right? So I keep my mouth shut and exchange Looks with my mom.
So manager man says give the man his money back just to shut him up. The girl does, and he now buys a single scoop of the same damn ice cream he just returned. Everyone inside is looking at each other with a Can you believe this guy?! look. He takes off and the girl goes to put the ice cream he returned back in the freezer. My mom and I, along with another lady, get up and tell her she can't because even if it appears to be closed, its always possible that someone tampered with it (needle, etc) and if something happens, her ass is on the line. We're all very nice about this to her, just trying to save her butt, lest the Health Board rip them apart.
Asshole man sees us talking and storms back inside, and starts trying to rip into us for thinking he'd do something to it, not minding our own business, getting into his issue, etc etc. But unlike the employees, my mom, myself and the other woman don't have to take his crap, and we start firing back, noting that we didn't talk to him or address him at all when he was in the store. The chirping goes on for a bit, with everyone in the store chiming in. He starts dropping F bombs at people, despite the presence of children. Eventually, I not-so-gently remind him that he got his money back and has his ice cream and he needs to just leave.
At this point, he decides to step towards me quite aggressively, tell me I need to not be "such a mouthy bitch" and tells me, while his fists are clenching, that I'm "lucky I'm female." Now me, being the equally aggressive chick that I am (I stand pretty close to 6 feet tall and I can hold my own in a fistfight), laugh in his face and tell him not to start a fight he can't win, and that its time for him to leave, while stepping right back into his face.
Luckily, he's the type of guy that doesn't quite know what to do when someone's not afraid to challenge him. He's the type that can talk a good game and push people over but isn't sure what to do when you're not afraid of him, so he slunk out of the store with his tail between his legs, still bitching under his breath.
These are exactly the kind of people who need someone to take them down a notch or two, and I don't mind doing it. I still feel bad for the poor girls who were working, although the whole store applauded when he left, which was pretty damn funny. All in all, it was a rather ridiculous night at Baskin Robbins.
Posted by The Grown Up Teenager at 10:53 PM