tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89030874960174406742024-02-21T12:31:40.962-05:00The Grown Up TeenagerThe Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-35359277441973649632010-06-15T01:51:00.001-04:002010-06-15T01:51:00.650-04:00Who needs a guard dog when you've got 20-somethings with paintball guns?There's an elderly couple that lives down the road from me. They're 82 (him) and 75 (her) years old, and they'll never let you forget it, because they're still farming. Bad ass, I say. I wanna be that awesome when I'm old. He's deafer than a doornail, and walks slower now, the product of a hip and knee replacement, and if she doesn't have osteoporosis, I'm a monkey's uncle, but they still run their own darn farm. Epic. <br /><br />They've had a strawberry patch for my entire life, and you'll never have better berries in your life. They're a hard to find variety, and they're grown with no chemicals or artificial fertilizers. I look forward to them every year. The patch has gotten smaller as they grow older, and its just them picking now, instead of the U Pick they used to offer, but they still let me pick berries any time I want to. They're the type of people that would give you the shirt off their back, if you needed it. <br /><br />Recently, they've had problems with theft from their garden. Its becoming increasingly obvious that it is human theft, and not animal snacking, because plants are yanked out of the ground, and footprints are in the mud. They mentioned it while a friend and I were out picking berries today, and told me to watch my garden too. Theirs is far enough from their house that you could be out there with a flashlight and they wouldn't notice it.<br /><br />The thought of someone stealing from the cute little old couple made me angry. Irrationally angry. Sometimes I hate humanity. But instead of sitting home being angry, my friend and I devised a plan. We gathered two more friends, and loaded up 4 paintball guns. With permission from my lovely elderly friends, we sat underneath the evergreens that line their garden and waited. Sure enough, two bodies come creeping...not from the driveway but from the trees, flashlights guiding their way. We waited until they were reaching for the berry plants and opened fire. <br /><br />In seconds, our friendly neighbourhood thieves were covered head to toe in paint and what it sure to be paintball welts, because all 4 of us are country kids that have deadly aim with weapons. After a few yelps and some swearing, and us shining OUR flashlights in their faces, they ran very quickly to leave the property. It felt fantastic to bust them, because that business does not go down out here. Not in my backyard, baby. <br /><br />And somehow, I doubt they'll be back. Win one for the good guys.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-87065872266140650222010-06-02T12:54:00.002-04:002010-06-02T12:58:57.020-04:00It's That Time Of The YearWell, folks...it's that time of the year. Summer in the life of the rural folks means work, sleep, work, sleep, rinse, repeat (weather dependent, of course). If the sun is shining and its not raining, I'm outside and on the go from about 6 in the morning until 9 or 10 at night. It's long days, but it's the life that the farm community lives at this time of year, particularly those who grow their own crops AND have a summer job in agriculture. (Hi, that'd be me. No, I'm not insane, why do you ask?)<br /><br />Anyway, if my absence from Twitter/my blog/e-mail/cyberspace in general is noticed, I promise I am fine. I'm just really busy and once I finally end up in my house at the end of a 14 or 15 hour work day...I want to sleep, plain and simple. At that point, sleep almost always trumps blogging, reading blogs or catching up on Twitter. And Twittering while driving tractor...well, its like texting while driving a car multiplied about about 362362 stupid points. <br /><br />Anyway, the point is sorry for what is sure to be an MIA me, don't take it personally. <br /><br />It's me, not you.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-12816239542751445082010-05-23T00:53:00.004-04:002010-05-23T01:07:59.588-04:00My security blanketI realized something about myself recently. I'm not sure when the "Ah-ha!" epiphany moment happened but it was there somewhere. I have friend commitment issues. It's a strange thing to be afflicted with, but I am entirely convinced that I am, in fact, falling prey to this commitment issue business. <br /><br />See, I have some of the greatest friends that anyone could ever ask for, and believe you me, I do not take them for granted. But the reason these friendships seem so natural to us are because they've been there our whole lives. We "met" as babies because our parents know each other. Its like being someone's sibling...it doesn't take effort, you just <i>are.</i> We've always just...been. I'm good at that. <br /><br />Making new friends, however...an art I never fully mastered. Making new acquaintances, I'm a champ. That's easy, for someone that's outgoing and generally friendly. I make new ones every time I start a new class at school. But inevitably, the semester ends and other than random Facebook "Happy birthday!" messages, we fall out of contact. Class friends are always temporary friends; immediately gone when you realize what you shared in common was said class. <br /><br />I can't handle the sudden BFF types. The ones you just met 5 minutes ago, who want your cell number and invite you to their birthday, all during minute 6. I don't share intimate details of my life with, well, anyone except a select few. I can do the quick and comfortable conversation but the fast bonding, the instant "Let's be the most awesomest friends ever" doesn't work for me. I'm guarded. I'll listen and offer advice, but rarely a story about myself that's not superficial. <br /><br />I realize, in a big way, all of this is going to come back to bite me in the ass in adult life. I'm realistic enough to know that, as much as I'd love it to happen, I won't live within 10 minutes of my childhood friends forever. We're going to leave university one day, start families and live and grow apart. One day, we'll remember where we end and the other begins, even if we don't right now. <br /><br />That day is going to suck. Particularly because there isn't a person outside of that circle that really knows me. Right now, they know me so well that a lot of the time, I don't have to explain much. Its comfortable, like an old blanket. I know every tear, every stain, every spot. But one day, someone's going to take that old blanket away from me, and give me something brand spankin new. It'll be a perfectly nice blanket, I'm sure, and capable of keeping me warm, but it won't be <b>my</b> blanket. <br /><br />I just have to start finding ways to make it my blanket. The tough part is figuring that out.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-32706580260103801572010-04-23T02:41:00.002-04:002010-04-23T02:58:36.421-04:00Stop stepping on my dang toesI'm always pretty vague about my job on my blog, and Twitter. Its mostly in the interests of keeping my identity equally as vague, because this is supposed to be a place to blow off steam about people that wouldn't appreciate reading it about themselves. <br /><br />I also don't need to be that chick that gets fired for her blog. Because seriously. SERIOUSLY. <br /><br />That aside, work has become a hot button topic for me lately. We're going through one heck of a growing pain right now. The bar-like/pub-like business I work for is on the campus of my school (hence the vague), and is run by a combination team of a full time adult manager as well as a few assistant managers, and student assistant managers. The student management changes annually, because many of the managers are upper year students and upper years have a tendency to...yknow, graduate. <br /><br />I have been promoted to student manager. This is a new position. Previously, it was a team of assistant managers, and none of them outranked each other. I now outrank them all; head of the house, so to speak. (It is a team of 8 that will be under me, if you're curious). The problem right now is that the student AMs that have been my superiors since September are now my inferiors. I didn't just jump one level up and become an equal...I'm their boss now. Awkward.<br /><br />Some are taking it quite well. The non returners frankly don't care, their days are numbered. However, there is one that is making my life difficult. She's the quiet type, and unaccustomed to power. When she was my boss, she barely had the guts to approach me, but now that I'm hers, she feels the need to...I don't know, test me? She's doing the passive aggressive shit, overriding my decisions behind my back, and I have very little patience for it, and I'm having a difficult time trying to find the middle of the road to deal with it. <br /><br />I'm a firm believer in "Give an inch and they'll take a mile" in situations like this and I want, and need, her to know that this isn't going to fly, and I'm not putting up with her constantly undermining me. But at the same time, as a new manager who needs a cohesive team of assistants under her, I don't need to bring the hammer down on someone without a really good reason. Even if I really, REALLY would like to. Ahem. <br /><br />And thus...the politics of management begins. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Any advice is actually welcome on this one, even if you haven't been in a similar situation. Sometimes, an outsider's assessment sheds light on something I didn't even see. So feel free to comment.</span>The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-55226146667942083922010-04-11T19:35:00.002-04:002010-04-11T19:41:28.150-04:00Life UpdateSorry I haven't written for a while. Things have been a little insane. <br /><br />Ben deserved his face time at the top of my blog, because that kind of hate and hurt from parent to child needs to be stopped right now. See my last entry if you're wondering what I'm talking about. <br /><br />Otherwise, life has generally been insane. The end of the semester always brings insanity and papers and sleepless nights of studying and this one was no exception. That's really all that needs to be said. <br /><br />Work, on the other hand...I could talk for days. I'm now a manager of 3 businesses, all owned by the same entity that I work for. Between said 3 businesses, we need to hire about 160 people, thanks to student turnover at the end of semesters. This means I am interviewing over 270 people. In ten days. For those of you that have done interviews, you know my pain. For those of you that haven't...be glad you don't understand. <br /><br />So school insanity just wrapped up but work insanity is just beginning. Welcome to my crazy life.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-76500834401237046502010-03-28T11:19:00.003-04:002010-03-28T11:53:45.583-04:00BenHis name is Ben. His parents have made me more angry than I can recently remember being. <br /><br />His name is Ben. He's my dance partner for a performance.<br /><br />His name is Ben. He's my friend. <br /><br />His name is Ben. He's gay. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">And his parents disowned him for it.</span></span><br /><br /><center>*******</center><br /><br />He came to morning rehearsal, looking upset and was asked multiple times what was wrong and evaded. Blamed lack of sleep, end of term papers, etc. Can't say that anyone was buying it but it eventually got dropped. <br /><br />While we were alone in the studio, I asked him again what was wrong, and he was near the verge of tears when he asked me to sit down because he had something to tell me. And so I sat. He took a deep breath and finally told me he was gay. <br /><br />I say finally because I've had a feeling since I met him. He's not the effeminate very-obviously-gay type at all; he's the opposite. He looks like a jock. Acts like one of the boys. But I had a feeling, but never pushed the subject, figuring he'd tell me when or if he wanted to. <br /><br />When I told him that it didn't matter, didn't change anything...that he was still Ben and I was still me and nothing was different...the tears finally did spill over, and he told me his parents didn't have quite the same reaction when he had told them the day before. Understatement of the century. I'll spare you the nasty things his father said to him because they near brought me to tears, but the closing remark was, "No son of mine is a *insert gay slur here*, so you're no son of mine." His mother drove him back to school in silence. Not a word from either of them since.<br /><br />I sat there with my friend, while he cried, and I did my best to comfort him, despite the boiling rage that was hiding just beneath the surface. I told him all the things I should: that his true friends won't care, that it doesn't matter who does, that he is the same person as he was before he decided to come out. But what can you do to soothe the hurt of a parent's rejection of their own child? <br /><br /><center>*******</center><br /><br />The rage is still here. I thought this was the 21st century. I thought this was Canada. I thought we were accepting...not just tolerant, but accepting. I thought a parent's love for their child was unconditional. <br /><br />Apparently, I thought wrong. <br /><br />My friend is hurting like hell right now. Not because of some random stranger yelling a slur at him, or a jerk at school. Not because of someone who's opinion doesn't matter to him at all. No, he got cut much deeper than that, by his own father, while his mother stood idly by. <br /><br />And that is WRONG. <br /><br />Ben deserves better. Everyone like Ben deserves better. And it makes me sad and angry that they don't have it yet.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-31778777686800682422010-03-18T00:02:00.003-04:002010-03-18T00:07:08.084-04:00An open letter to the love godsDear universe, <br /><br />It is entirely unfair that the hot guy from class (who happens to be in the Army Reserves and has the body to prove it), who also works security at my job, who is friendly and flirtatious, and immensely intelligent 9and contributes to class on a regular basis) IS TAKEN. <br /><br />Because now I feel uneasy about the fact that we've been talking for the past couple HOURS. No lines were crossed but I doubt that would matter if his girlfriend (who I didn't know existed until...oh, 5 minutes ago) heard about that one. <br /><br />NOT COOL, universe. Not cool.<br /><br />Sincerely, <br /><br />MeThe Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-83269019834664070242010-03-16T12:13:00.001-04:002010-03-16T12:16:19.747-04:00Lisa Leonard GiveawayOne of the blogs that I click on daily, <a href="http://audreycaroline.blogspot.com/">Bring The Rain</a> is written by Angie Smith. She lost her daughter (the full story is on her blog, and I don't dare try to do justice to it) shortly after birth, and a necklace has been created in Audrey's honour by <a href="http://www.lisaleonardonline.com/blog/2010/03/16/marked-by-love-audreys-necklace/">Lisa Leonard</a>, and she is giving two of them away. See the link to enter if you've been marked by love.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-76725516937184824642010-03-13T22:46:00.002-05:002010-03-13T22:59:15.290-05:00In the silence. In the dark.We had a black out when I was at home last night. You haven't experienced a black out until you've seen one in the country...or more accurately, until you haven't been able to see anything. Not your hand 6 inches in front of your face, nothing. Total darkness with nothing but the stars and the moon (if you're lucky) for light. <br /><br />Its beautiful. <br /><br />I came home looking for a retreat away from a roller coaster of a week, and Mother Nature, she did not disappoint. Sometimes, this world is so loud. There's acquaintances, coworkers, classmates, strangers...they all demand our attention. There's our laptops, our cell phones, our iPods, our gadgets...buzzing, beeping and flashing all day long. Cars, trucks, horns, sirens...suddenly, this is the backdrop of life. <br /><br />No, it's not. <br /><br />At least, it doesn't always have to be. <br /><br />Sometimes, what we need most in this world is to get away from this world. The harsh, abrasive constant light of the city, the never ending noise of people. We need to step away from constantly checking our Crackberries, or blogs or e-mail. We need to get off MSN. We need to remember what matters, who matters and that sometimes, nothing can be way more fulfilling that a whole lot of something. <br /><br />Sometimes, we need to lay in the dark, in the silence and listen to the storm.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-974474305806291652010-02-28T23:11:00.008-05:002010-02-28T23:23:08.944-05:00I. Am.There are numerous lines for this moment in history. <br /><br />"Round robin THIS, we got the win when it mattered." <br />"Not in our house, USA." <br />"Gold, Canada, Gold." <br /><br />But today, seeing this...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE05PxgqycXw4yKbvYJsm8cIJJN7XNpj9dZoS1wrLhKcETc5-RQaGypPYOsi7O7uTrxixFohLFH3exyWbs3CAN-TDTXVj_EBHzNqUmmHKFNMk9FIeWF-wsXsYjdV5uufJFEc46bbboxrQ/s1600-h/Gold+Medal+1.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 181px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE05PxgqycXw4yKbvYJsm8cIJJN7XNpj9dZoS1wrLhKcETc5-RQaGypPYOsi7O7uTrxixFohLFH3exyWbs3CAN-TDTXVj_EBHzNqUmmHKFNMk9FIeWF-wsXsYjdV5uufJFEc46bbboxrQ/s320/Gold+Medal+1.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443515539962238610" /></a><br />And this...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3D6rPpUlM6LR_x-O0Wx8UotNFQEDE5yonC0_a4SsYopNdajaI49KbzhsKA98GKKAVdSaaElXgSstUf8leHQEysntxGG3EePg-TOA-NyjSK_MqjNg72YgRtrh__3pZGNazSzDyZHeVZFg/s1600-h/Gold+Medal+2.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 182px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3D6rPpUlM6LR_x-O0Wx8UotNFQEDE5yonC0_a4SsYopNdajaI49KbzhsKA98GKKAVdSaaElXgSstUf8leHQEysntxGG3EePg-TOA-NyjSK_MqjNg72YgRtrh__3pZGNazSzDyZHeVZFg/s320/Gold+Medal+2.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443515766096564178" /></a><br />But most importantly, this...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Zj3W5HM6u4Gb-f0CucSeOjKcnAIYYTwOivjNalbG6hlPxX6dQd-jMIJHH0pq0EaAC67Cv26G6lej9IJTQxL3tSdaY-IVysn2F5GvEAvewnwCpacTEuT1QvKRf6QxaT0Y_gkbtDXq0tA/s1600-h/Gold+Medal+3.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Zj3W5HM6u4Gb-f0CucSeOjKcnAIYYTwOivjNalbG6hlPxX6dQd-jMIJHH0pq0EaAC67Cv26G6lej9IJTQxL3tSdaY-IVysn2F5GvEAvewnwCpacTEuT1QvKRf6QxaT0Y_gkbtDXq0tA/s320/Gold+Medal+3.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443515971808044098" /></a><br /><br />I couldn't be more proud to be Canadian than I am right now. Congratulations, mens hockey. It was well played, hard fought and immensely deserved. That roar the entire world heard? Was a whole nation cheering at once. <br /><br />And along with the rest of the Canada, I can loudly and proudly say...<br /><br /><center>I. AM. CANADIAN.</center>The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-79789964621973835032010-02-27T01:03:00.004-05:002010-02-27T01:16:24.464-05:00I thought Canadians had a reputation for classOh how I love a good controversy. And of course, I love hockey. You mix the two, and I am definitely interested. <br /><br />The Canadian women's hockey team won gold last night, in what was an awesome game. However, the gold has been tarnished by a bunch of pictures that have leaked out of the women drinking and smoking, while still in uniform and wearing medals, at centre ice after the game. This even prompted an IOC investigation. <br /><br />It also prompted a very quick apology from the Canadian team, always followed by "But we worked so hard to earn this!" On this issue, I can't help but agree with the IOC. This lovely display was offside, and unnecessary. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoh2g6_vrHTy-Kyxq-fsX0kGmUlDm8ThDxWigULXYNc9YDg0hZFe7EnbELwLlASwv3nc_MpXNd6orziB6fwfE-1OtGnraN5b9FI3fVVURsxUy6M3684PW-JKCBzjP3KRwbrZYSJ2B5Zdg/s1600-h/Hockey.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoh2g6_vrHTy-Kyxq-fsX0kGmUlDm8ThDxWigULXYNc9YDg0hZFe7EnbELwLlASwv3nc_MpXNd6orziB6fwfE-1OtGnraN5b9FI3fVVURsxUy6M3684PW-JKCBzjP3KRwbrZYSJ2B5Zdg/s320/Hockey.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442801097366392306" /></a><br /><br />Is this really a picture of the most elite athletes in the world? The ones I want representing my country on a world stage? Not at all. I'm fully aware that athletes party after games. I've participated in a few of them myself, being an active athlete. But not a single one of them has ever been on the ice surface. We've never been in uniform. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHaUIC2kWb8dYUY6PX77PsEwsylNSZW7BmpUKaaKhRYyiGlSwnQ4fyi048xMwKlzlL557BmKiQPMXzjF3Jx0oN8Wu2rfDb9iZI0N-N4iZSuVie0f1T2Hg0i5lmtY-ZTYPJSFtcB3RieVo/s1600-h/Hockey+2.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 208px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHaUIC2kWb8dYUY6PX77PsEwsylNSZW7BmpUKaaKhRYyiGlSwnQ4fyi048xMwKlzlL557BmKiQPMXzjF3Jx0oN8Wu2rfDb9iZI0N-N4iZSuVie0f1T2Hg0i5lmtY-ZTYPJSFtcB3RieVo/s320/Hockey+2.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442802932726668210" /></a><br /><br />People have accused the public of being sexist, saying that if the men's team did the same thing, we wouldn't be as critical. The men have never done that. Restrict your partying to the dressing room, or outside the venue. <br /><br />While you're in uniform, you represent this country. Drinking (some underage), and smoking (illegal inside) isn't what I want someone representing Canada to do, especially in a public venue when the press are present. <br /><br />Way to tarnish your medal, ladies. Let's hope the guys can accept their medal (be it gold or silver) on Sunday with more class.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-42353533541387804402010-02-20T20:46:00.004-05:002010-02-20T20:50:12.081-05:00Gotta question?Well here's your chance, folks. Whatever you want to know, I've now got a formspring page. You can submit a question with your username or anonymously, or even on comments here. <br /><br />Any burning questions in anyone's head? Ask me whatever you'd like. <br /><br /><center><iframe src="http://www.formspring.me/widget/view/grownupteenager?&size=medium&bgcolor=%23fff&fgcolor=%23333" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" width="180" height="275" style="border:none;"><a>http://www.formspring.me/grownupteenager</a></iframe><br /><a href="http://formspring.me/grownupteenager">If the box above doesn't work, click here</a></center>The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-66703272430221402012010-02-17T22:04:00.002-05:002010-02-17T22:35:02.283-05:00Just friendsThe debate on whether opposite sexes can simply be friends with no sexual tension/temptation has raged on for...oh, probably longer than I've been alive, which is why I've been somewhat hesistant to share my feelings. However, the word "emotional affair" has come up in my life so often lately that I think its about time. Forgive me if this isn't my most eloquent post. <br /><br />I have the utmost respect for a person who can see an emotional affair and end a relationship because they deserve better. Let me say that up front. I'm <span style="font-style:italic;">not</span> justifying these, not in the slightest. <br /><br />However.<br /><br />Having a close friend of the opposite sex is not the definition of an emotional affair. Confiding in someone other than your significant other is not an emotional affair. It's just not. <br /><br />We all have people in our lives that are great at different things. Some people are the person that's incredibly easy to spill your guts and cry to, while someone else is the person who can take you out and cheer you up and not talk about whatever is wrong. This doesn't, and shouldn't, end because of a romantic relationship. <br /><br />As someone who is lucky enough to have a very, very tight knit group of <a href="http://grownupteenager.blogspot.com/2009/08/seven.html">dude friends</a>, I've been on the receiving end of some serious jealousy, coming from girls that date my friends. It happens often, and I haven't gotten any better at dealing with it, mostly because I don't appreciate the suspicion that I'm going to "steal their man." <br /><br />Yes, we call/text each other the second major life events happen, or when we need advice, or someone to talk to/bitch at/vent to. Of course we do. And yes, sometimes after talking to a friend, you'll come out of it with a bounce in your step that wasn't there before. Heaven forbid that your significant other's friend cheered them up. <br /><br /><br />I am the best of friends with a great group of guys. None of us have ever been involved romantically. But if one of my friends calls me and needs a friend, I'm not hanging up on him and telling him to call his girlfriend. Simple as that. <br /><br />Just because you are in a relationship does not mean you lose everything that was you before. There are still friendships and ties outside of it, and for a relationship to be healthy, there should be. Ever seen someone go into a relationship and sacrifice everyone they cared about for it? Yeah, trainwreck. <br /><br />For me, it comes down to trust. If I can't trust someone to have a friend of the opposite sex and not constantly fear that he is cheating on me, or wants to...why in the name of all things holy am I with this person? Why am I projecting my insecurities on someone who did nothing to earn them? I'm not saying ignore your gut and pretend like its not happening. What I am saying is don't always expect it. Not every person is <span style="font-style:italic;">that</span> person. <br /><br />When trust is there, and friends don't have to sneak around behind someone's back, or lie to avoid a fight...then yes, guys and girls <span style="font-weight:bold;">CAN</span> just be friends.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-62072286564696666572010-02-07T23:05:00.002-05:002010-02-07T23:19:35.172-05:00Miss, table of 1First off, sorry I've been a lame blogger lately. I've kinda been MIA. Work has been intense and insane and busy, and school is also keeping me going, with tons of work. So if I don't blog for a while again, well...sorry. In the meantime though, I have a confession to make. <br /><br />The green monster of jealousy, it has been bothering me lately. <br /><br />I'm at that age where a lot of my friends/people my age are starting to get engaged/married/pregnant etc. While I am <span style="font-style:italic;">genuinely</span> happy when my friends find a good person that they want to spend their lives with, it always gives me a few pangs of jealousy too. I want that happiness for me too.<br /><br />I'm not in a relationship, and haven't really ever been in one that I would call long term. I want a husband and kids one day, and sometimes it scares me that I won't find someone that I can see as my husband/parenting partner. <br /><br />In the university setting, its not easy to find someone that I can respect as a potential partner. I don't drink to excess, I don't smoke (legal or illegal) and I demand that same out of a potential relationship, but with that statement, I probably crossed off 99% of the guys I go to school with. <br /><br />I'm the girl that reads mom blogs and mentally files away tips, ideas, etc for when I have kids, but I'm not the one that's dating seriously or getting married. With Singles Awareness (Valentines) Day coming up, the pangs of jealousy escalate more than a little bit. <br /><br />One day, I want to be someone's wife and someone's mom, but for now, its "Miss, table of 1."The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-29890083574141050542010-01-01T00:01:00.000-05:002010-01-01T00:01:02.252-05:00Happy New Year<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/thumb_295/1217642359U2qGo2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 216px;" src="http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/thumb_295/1217642359U2qGo2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Welcome to 2010...a new start, a new year, another chance to get it right. <br /><br />Here's to health and happiness and always moving forward. Cheers, friends.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-1121092640116799972009-12-25T00:01:00.000-05:002009-12-25T00:01:01.007-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://hittingmetalwithahammer.files.wordpress.com/2008/12/christmas-tree-inside-the-house.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 1023px; height: 750px;" src="http://hittingmetalwithahammer.files.wordpress.com/2008/12/christmas-tree-inside-the-house.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Merry Christmas, to you and yours. <br /><br />Love, The Grown Up TeenagerThe Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-35591774391222448832009-12-23T14:06:00.002-05:002009-12-23T14:22:44.510-05:00Pregnancy is not a disability<a href="http://www.istockphoto.com/file_thumbview_approve/3629571/2/istockphoto_3629571-expectant-mother-s-parking-sign.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 253px; height: 380px;" src="http://www.istockphoto.com/file_thumbview_approve/3629571/2/istockphoto_3629571-expectant-mother-s-parking-sign.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />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. <br /><br />I said it on Twitter the other day, and I'll say it again: Pregnancy is NOT a disability. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-36818709436756988462009-12-12T19:26:00.004-05:002009-12-12T19:39:08.157-05:00Screw you and your political correctness"Seasons Greetings." "Happy Holidays." "Winter Break." <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />When did we become so religiously sensitive that something as <span style="font-style:italic;">friendly</span> 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! <br /><br />Its a Christmas tree. They're Christmas presents. They're Christmas carols. They're Christmas lights. So...<br /><br />MERRY CHRISTMAS, INTERNET! (Yeah, watch me be politically incorrect)The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-27841667565619066892009-12-08T01:52:00.001-05:002009-12-08T01:52:15.184-05:00The countdown is on<img style="visibility:hidden;width:0px;height:0px;" border=0 width=0 height=0 src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bT*xJmx*PTEyNjAyNTUwOTAyODkmcHQ9MTI2MDI1NTA5ODMzNyZwPTM5MDEmZD1mbGFzaHRveXMmZz*xJm89NzBkMjc5NjdmZjg5NDJiOWE1MGI1M2U*NDY2ZWJmODU=.gif" /><span id="pyzam-christmascountdown-start" style="display:none"></span><br /><div class="pylb"><a href="http://www.pyzam.com/toys/view/halloweencountdown" target="_blank"><object style="width:350px;height:150px" height="150" width="350" data="http://stuff.pyzam.com/toys/cd_christmaslights.swf" quality="high" wmode="transparent" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"><br /><param name="height" value="150"/><br /><param name="width" value="350"/><br /><param name="movie" value="http://stuff.pyzam.com/toys/cd_christmaslights.swf"/><br /><param name="quality" value="high"/><br /><param name="wmode" value="transparent"/><br /><param name="align" value="middle"/><br /></object><div></div></a></div><br><br /><a href="http://www.pyzam.com/toys/view/halloweencountdown">Christmas Countdown</a> & <a href="http://www.pyzam.com/myspacelayouts">MySpace Layouts</a><br /><img style="visibility:hidden;width:0px;height:0px;" border=0 width=0 height=0 src="http://stuff.pyzam.com/misc/CXNID=1000015.33NXC.gif" /><br /><span id="pyzam-christmascountdown-end" style="display:none"></span>The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-36809859367588718222009-11-11T15:44:00.005-05:002009-11-11T15:50:22.935-05:00RememberThe average age of a soldier in the World Wars is 23. Now think about what that means. <span style="font-style:italic;">Half of them were younger than that.</span> 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. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJlGnQHrIQdSIXsTxizLlVWNS2IOxjQKOnzK4Fl35HHX3ZHkpmaZTETSwbrHWefrzHp1q2jmBPj3_JzGcRVxD1AaYmvDNaEpH0ehuBrxVluNc_o3wzcwiiAx3NtiAEyyre9YbaRXGNVg/s1600-h/Unknown+Soldier.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 248px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJlGnQHrIQdSIXsTxizLlVWNS2IOxjQKOnzK4Fl35HHX3ZHkpmaZTETSwbrHWefrzHp1q2jmBPj3_JzGcRVxD1AaYmvDNaEpH0ehuBrxVluNc_o3wzcwiiAx3NtiAEyyre9YbaRXGNVg/s400/Unknown+Soldier.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402950503666874866" /></a><br /><br />THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER<br /><br />Here lies a man, a hero to me now<br />Yet in my eyes still no more than a boy;<br />No wrinkle on his ever youthful brow<br />His dreams still filled with life and hope and joy.<br />Thrust into conflict by the men of hate<br />Those nameless, faceless architects of war<br />Those orders led him to his final fate<br />The flame of youth extinguished evermore.<br />But hate can never motivate a man<br />To sacrifice his own life for a friend;<br />True heroes ever since mankind began<br />Have upheld higher virtues to the end.<br />So when the roll is called somewhere above<br />Let it be said that this man died for love.<br /><br />- Lachlan Irvine<br /><br /><br />LEST WE FORGET.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://toronto.cityguide.ca/images/Remembrance%20Day.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 392px; height: 250px;" src="http://toronto.cityguide.ca/images/Remembrance%20Day.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-54050895575288195292009-10-14T17:22:00.003-04:002009-10-14T17:44:17.528-04:00The ABCs of meOh yes, yes I did. <br /><br />Yes, this is a meme. But lately, I've been strapped for content and <a href="http://loraleeslooneytunes.com/2009/10/13/the-abcs-of-me/">Loralee</a> 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. <br /><br /><br /><br />A – ADVOCATE FOR: Cancer research, a more effective Children's Aid system and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies as a breakfast food <br /><br />B – BEST FEATURE: Eyes, hands down. Everyone comments on them, thanks to the fact that they change colours. <br /><br />C – COULD DO WITHOUT: Vegetables. Jerks. Roommates. Cities. Injuries.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />E – ESSENTIAL ITEMS: My truck, a tank of gas, my Blackberry, and my iPod with some good tunes. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />G – GOOD AT: Sports, school, farming and being the type of loyal friend who will throw a punch for you if necessary. <br /><br />H – HAVE NEVER TRIED: Going vegetarian or vegan. There are some things I could give up. Meat is not one of them. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />J – JUNKIE FOR: Dim sum. Sushi. Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies but only the soft kind. House. Hockey. <br /><br />K – KINDRED SPIRIT: <a href="http://grownupteenager.blogspot.com/2009/08/seven.html">6 of them</a>, who I love with my whole heart. <br /><br />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? <br /><br />M – MEMORABLE MOMENT: The first time I traveled internationally, the first time I went alone, California in senior year, far too many to list. <br /><br />N – NEVER AGAIN WILL I: Lose myself. I came too close, and I hate that. <br /><br />O – OCCASIONAL INDULGENCE: Live sports games. There's nothing that will make me happy like NHL tickets. <br /><br />P – PROFESSION: Professional student. And I work at a bar. So professional student beer slinger? Awesome. <br /><br />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."<br />— Marilyn Monroe<br /><br />R – REASON TO SMILE: A house, a home, friends, family, money, education, safety, Canadian...life's pretty good, isn't it?<br /><br />S – SORRY ABOUT: My past screw ups. But I've owned to them, and its time to move forward.<br /><br />T -THINGS THAT ARE WORRYING YOU RIGHT NOW: Midterms. <br /><br />U – UNINTERESTED IN: Drama. Pink. Pop. Doing anyone's makeup but my own. (I'm good at it, but hate doing other people's) <br /><br />V – VERY SCARED OF: Disappointing people I love. Losing people I love. <br /><br />W – WORST HABITS: Hating household chores, period. <br /><br />X – X MARKS MY IDEAL VACATION SPOT: LOL You seriously want me to pick one? I've traveled <span style="font-style:italic;">extensively</span>. Here's a <a href="http://grownupteenager.blogspot.com/2009/06/travels-of-grown-up-teenager.html">blog entry about it</a>, if you're interested. <br /><br />Y – YUMMIEST DESSERT: Anything that combines the word "cake," "chocolate," and "molten" had me at hello. <br /><br />Z – ZODIAC SIGN: Virgo. I'm "shy." I stopped believing in horoscopes right when I read that one. <br /><br />WHAT ARE THE ABC’S OF YOU?The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-55771711546932699052009-10-01T13:40:00.002-04:002009-10-01T13:49:36.118-04:00Our asses make a cute couple?I <a href="http://twitter.com/grownupteenager/status/4529762071">Twittered</a> 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. <br /><br />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 <span style="font-style:italic;">at</span> all the time. It's awesome. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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: <br /><br />Him: You know what, you two make a cute couple, even from the back.<br />Me: You were lagging behind intentionally?<br />Him: Oh yes.<br />Me: You were checking out our asses?!<br />Him: Well, his more than yours, but the point still stands. Hot couple. I was kinda hoping you'd pounce him. <br />Me: I barely know him. <br />Him: What better way to get to know someone than by pouncing? <br />Me: Well, you could try, "Hi, how are you?"<br />Him: So conventional. Jump his bones, sistah. <br /><br />University education at its finest.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-49130348641898769762009-09-29T23:28:00.002-04:002009-09-29T23:38:48.493-04:00M.I.A. due to The HappyI 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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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? <br /><br />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.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-38232337792363000702009-09-15T14:21:00.002-04:002009-09-15T14:28:57.970-04:00Old friends don't always changeFacebook 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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903087496017440674.post-67578148783296639682009-09-10T15:42:00.003-04:002009-09-10T16:02:15.815-04:00So I caught a case of The StupidSo 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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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? <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.The Grown Up Teenagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10530685677158320049noreply@blogger.com3