A thorough analysis of my effectiveness as a human being

Jane just did a 'Clean Sweep Assesment' of her life, and challenged all her blog readers to do the same. Since I am one of those faithful readers, and since there are fewer things that I love more than a good self-help tool, especially one with boxes to check off, I nodded my inner Oprah and jumped on board. The idea is that you check off the things that TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY apply to you, no cheating or hedging your bets. Then you work on making the ones that DON'T apply to you DO. They promise 'more energy and vitality...perspective on who you are, where you are, and where you are going,' etc. I buy it. I have copied and pasted the questions, with my answers, here.

Physical environment:

My personal files, papers, and receipts are neatly filed away.
No. They are stacked in piles that are mentally-labelled 'file me,' but I don't think that counts.

My car is in excellent condition. (Doesn't need mechanical work, repairs, cleaning or replacing)
The car is Joel's job, but I'm more than willing to take credit for the fact that it runs. So yes.

My home is clean and tidy. (Vacuumed, wardrobes and drawers organized, desks and tables clear, furniture in good repair; windows clean).
I have to give a 'no' because we've vacuumed twice since we got married, and neither of those times qualifies as 'recently.' Plus, there's toothpaste spray on the mirror, and that's not likely to change any time soon. But I did laundry today.

My appliances, machinery and equipment work well. (Fridge, toaster, lawn mower, water heater, hi-fi etc.).
I just got married and everything I own is new. So yes.

My clothes are all ironed, clean and make me look good. (No creases, piles of washing, torn, out-of-date or ill-fitting clothes).
Refer to two questions ago. Just did laundry. So yes.

My plants and animals are healthy. (Fed, watered, getting light and love).
Have no animals (phew! Dodged that bullet) and plants are all in various stages of 'alive.' So yes.

My bed/bedroom lets me have the best sleep possible. (Firm bed, light, air).
Yes! Oh yes, I love my bed. My massive, luxurious bed which Joel claims is too soft, but isn't, and in which I can starfish myself without touching him or falling off the side.

I live in a house/flat that I love.
Again, many yesses.

I surround myself with beautiful things.
Joel is a beautiful thing. As is my leather chair. And my bookshelves, and my knicknacks and all of my delicious books. And did I mention that my bed is fabulous? Yes.

I live in the geographical location of my choice.
A ten-minute walk from school? A twenty-minute walk from the Walmart? A coffee shop and theater and McD's within spitting distance? Yes.

There is ample and healthy lighting around me.
Each of our (basement suite) rooms has a window (except the bathroom, because, how creepy!) and our front room/kitchen has four lighting options. Yes.

I consistently have adequate time, space and freedom in my life.
I can think of no concrete examples to this vague-ish question, but my gut sense is yes.

Nothing in my environment harms me.
There are spiders, but none have bit me thus far. Yes.

I am not tolerating anything about my home or work environment.
Yes. I am luxuriating.

My work environment is productive and inspiring. (Synergistic, ample tools and resources; no undue pressure).
I'm going to replace 'work' with 'school' and say yes. All my pressure is due.

My computer works very well and fully supports my efforts.
Sadly, no. It has slugged down recently, and it's driving me bats.

My hair is the way I want it.
*Sigh* The answer to this may never be yes.

I back up my hard drive at least monthly.
Um...no.

I surround myself with music which makes my life more enjoyable.
Yes oh yes!

My bed is made daily.
Surprisingly, yes. I have mentioned (twice, I believe) that my bed is fabulous, and this makes it easier to make, because of how much more fabulous it looks when made.

I don't injure myself, fall or bump into things.
No. This, again, may never be true. I am an injurer, faller, and bumper. I am the daughter of a man who could cut himself on a perfectly spherical object, or a feather pillow.

People feel comfortable in my home.
I hope so.

I drink at least 2 liters of water a day.
Yes. Joel is the water-nazi.

I have nothing around the house or in storage that I do not need.
This question makes me glance around awkwardly. I have many things in storage that I am convinced I will need someday, but much of it will be thrown out before it is ever used again. So no.

I am consistently early or easily on time.
Much no.

My Physical Environment total is 17.

Well-Being


I rarely use caffeine. (Chocolate, coffee, colas, tea) less than 3 times per week, total.
*Sigh* We all know this is no.

I rarely eat sugar. (Less than 3 times per week).
Ditto.

I rarely watch television. (Less than 5 hours per week).
Luckily, without cable, TV becomes much less interesting. Yes.

I rarely drink alcohol. (Less than 2 drinks per week)
Alcohol costs $$ and we've drunk all our wedding wine. So yes.

My teeth and gums are healthy. (Have seen dentist in last 6 months).
When I eat chocolate, I can feel it seeping into all my cavities. I have no coverage. No.

My cholesterol is at a healthy level.
Probably yes. I'd bet money on yes.

My blood pressure is at a healthy level.
Again, likely yes.

I have had a complete physical examination within the past 3 years.
Definitely no.

I do not smoke tobacco or other substances.
Yes. Wait...no. This one should have a qualifier too, like, 'I smoke less than two cigars a year' in which case, yes, but it doesn't, so no.

I do not use illegal drugs or misuse prescribed medications.
Yes. We have a medicine cabinet full of T3's, and I haven't touched them

I have had a complete eye examination within the past two years.(Glaucoma check, vision test).
Oh yes. My optometrist is the keenest.

My weight is within my ideal range.
Yes. I am neither too fleshy nor too thin.

My nails are healthy and look good.
I got nail extensions for the wedding, and they peeled off later and now my nails are like parchment. No.

I don't rush or use adrenaline to get the job done.
I definitely DO use adrenaline to get the job done! I don't see how this is bad.

I have a rewarding life beyond my work or profession.
I have no work or profession, so this has to be yes. Even if 'work' is 'school,' very much yes.

I have something to look forward to virtually every day.
I suppose, if I look hard enough, which I don't usually do. So we'll give this a no for now.

I have no habits which are unacceptable to me.
I crack my knuckles, and sometimes my hips and my knees and my wrists and yesterday my shoulder, and I procrastinate and eat fatty things when I'm stressed out and pull out my eyelashes when I'm thinking and get undressed onto the floor instead of into the hamper.

I am aware of the physical or emotional problems or conditions I have, and I am now fully taking care of all of them.
Yes. I have sparkling new contact lenses, bless their squeaky, stain-free hearts.

I consistently have evenings, weekends and holidays off and take at least four weeks of holiday each year.
Very yes. I am covetous of my leisure time.

I have just the right amount of sleep.
No. I sleep waaaaaaaaaaay too much or waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too little.

I use well-made sunglasses.
I sat on my sunglasses. I wear Joel's when he leaves them around the house, but otherwise, no.

I do not suffer.
True. Yes.

I laugh out loud every day.
Also yes. My sister is very funny.

I walk or exercise at least three times per week.
I ran 10k this morning. Yes.

I hear well and protect myself from loud noises / concerts / music.
No. Joel tells me that I'm going to damage my hearing, the way I turn my iPod up so loud. I tell him to stop using my iPod.

My Well-Being total is 13.

Money

I currently save at least 10% of my income.
I have no income. No.

I pay my bills on time.
Yes. Our landlords went out of town for the month, so we paid them for July and August. I feel so rich.

My income source/revenue base is stable and predictable.
I have no income source/revenue.

I know how much I must have to be minimally financially independent and I have a plan to get there.
If 'going to school to get reasonably-well-paying job' counts as a plan, then yes.

I have returned or made-good-on any money I borrowed.
No, Joel and I still owe Jon and Laura $30 from New Years.

I have written agreements and am current with payments to individuals or companies to whom I owe money.
We have no written agreement with Jon and Laura, we just remind them every so often that we owe them $30.

I have 6 months' living expenses in an easily accessible account.
I'd better. Have I mentioned that we neither of us have jobs?

I live on a weekly budget which allows me to save and not suffer.
I don't suffer, but I don't save either. Saving requires income.

All my tax returns have been filed and all my taxes have been paid.
Not just yet, no.

I currently live well, within my means.
Yes. Joel and I are both extremely Mennonite (read: frugal).

I have excellent personal insurance. (Life, accident, disability, medical etc.).
No. If I die, Joel gets all my debt. And my laptop.

My assets (car, home, possessions, treasures) are well-insured.
The car's insured, and we have nothing else worth insuring. Yes.

I have a financial plan for the next year.
It's sketchy and on some loose leaf paper, but yes.

I have no legal clouds hanging over me.
Except my massive student loan.

My will is up-to-date and accurate.
Haven't got one. I only assume that Joel will get my laptop. I know he'll get my debt.

Any parking tickets, alimony or child support are paid and current.
I don't drive or have any children, so yes.

My investments do not keep me awake at night.
They certainly don't.

I know how much I am worth.
Does this mean I know how much money I have? Because I do, and it starts with this sign (-).

I am on a career / professional / business track which is or will soon be financially and personally rewarding.
Not soon. But yes.

My earnings are commensurate with the effort I put into my job.
I have no earnings.

I have no "loose ends" at work.
Unfinished assignments count as 'loose ends,' so no.

I am in relationship with people who can assist in my career/professional development.
I am going to school. I think this applies.

I rarely miss work due to illness.
I have to be vomiting blood to miss school.

I am putting aside enough money each month to reach financial independence.
Again, what's with the savings? I have no income. Everything is 'out-go.'

My earnings outpace inflation, consistently.
Dammit, no.

My Money total is 12.

Relationships

I have told my parents, in the last 3 months, that I love them.
I must have. Yes.

I get along well with my sibling(s).
Ha ha ha, many yesses.

I get along well with my coworkers/ clients.
'...fellow students.' Yes.

I get along well with my manager/staff.
'...professers.' Yes.

There is no one whom I would dread or feel uncomfortable "bumping into". (In the street, at an airport or party).
I was at a wedding in May where TWO of my ex-boyfriends were in attendance. One was surprisingly pleasant. The other, maddeningly awkward.

I put people first and results second.
Yes.

I have let go of the relationships which drag me down or damage me. ("Let go" means to end, walk away from, declare complete, no longer be attached to).
Yes. I hope.

I have communicated or attempted to communicate with everyone whom I have hurt, injured or seriously upset, even if it wasn't fully my fault.
Again, I hope so. Anyone have a beef with me?

I do not gossip or talk about others.
Ahhhhhhh, I do.

I have a circle of friends/family who love and appreciate me for who I am, more than just what I do for them.
Yes, yes, yes. SUCH good friends.

I tell people how they can satisfy me.
I tell Joel to empty the dishwasher and tell me my hair looks pretty. Yes.

I am fully caught up with letters and calls.
Emails and Facebookings. Yes.

I always tell the truth, no matter what.
Yes. Is that bragging? I have plenty of other flaws...

I receive enough love from people around me to feel good.
Yes. So much love.

I have fully forgiven those people who have hurt/damaged me, intentional or not.
No. Not yet.

I am a person of his/her word; people can count on me.
Yes.

I quickly correct miscommunications and misunderstandings when they do occur.
I try. Yes.

I live life on my terms, not by the rules or preferences of others.
Again, I try.

I am complete with past loves or spouses.
I don't understand the question. Yes?

I am aware of my wants and needs and get them taken care of.
Yes. I want chips, and I need to eat them.

I do not judge or criticize others.
Ah, this section is making me feel bad about myself. No.

I do not "take personally" the things that people say to me.
Again, no. I'm the queen of 'taking it personally.' Everything Joel says is somehow a slam in my direction, even when it's not.

I have a best friend or soul-mate.
Joel, babe, I love you.

I make requests rather than complain.
No. Does requesting work? Complaining is so much effort!

I spend time with people who don't try to change me.
Yes.

My Relationships score is 19. I am awesome at relationships.

My total score is 61 out of 100. I am getting a passing grade in Life. Hurrah.

Like Whack-a-Mole, only with guns.

Our friend Laura's mom lives up in Salmon Arm, and she has a gopher problem. Laura and her husband Jon were headed up there for the weekend before going off on holiday, and cordially invited us along to help do something about the infestation.

I shot a gun. Here's proof.

I did not, however, shoot a gopher, but not for lack of trying. I have, as we all know, bimodal eyes and no depth perception, which translate in to terrible aim.

Joel, on the other hand, proved an admirable marksman.

He shot some 15-odd gophers and a marmot, which we thought at first was the mother of all gophers.

Gophers are a dumb lot. We could get within ten feet of them without startling them off, even after we'd started reducing their numbers. Jon shot at one and missed, and the idiot critter didn't even flinch. He just kept on nibbling his grasses to give Jon time to reload and shoot at him again.

Gopher-huntin' was kept to the late-evening/early-morning due to the excessive monstrous heat (refer to my previous three posts, in which I gripe about the weather). Saturday was devoted to grunting at each other and moving as little as possible. We did venture down to the creek (the three-minute drive was nigh on unbearable) only to find that it was full of lithe, tanned, bikini'd teenagers. How I hate them. However, we were all certain that we'd die if we didn't cool off, and there are few things more enjoyable than ruining the fun of those younger and better-looking than you, so we splashed in with our respectable, ass-covering bathing suits, careless tan-lines, and Laura's seven- and five-year-old nephews. I guess our stodgy old-ness ruined their flirting, so they packed up their boyfriends and left.

Creek to ourselves, we let our crazy out. Jon and Joel jumped off the bridge in to the water. We tried floating downriver on the pokey current. Laura's nephews pretended to drown, and we pretended not to rescue them. It was a riot.

In the evening, Laura's siblings and their attendent spouses came up for a BBQ. Yes, that's right. We not only fired up a BBQ, we built a fire and roasted weiners on it. The weiners tasted oddly like sweat. After dessert, the skies opened up and threw down 18 drops of rain on us. We thought we were being cruelly teased, but later that night, after another round of gopher-erradication, the real and true shower started. Joel and I drove home to that delicious smell that is as a part of summer as nectarines and plastic pools, the smell of rain on hot pavement.

Each to his own beverage cadaver

Joel is on a soda-water kick (I blame the heat), and the other day he remarked, 'Soda water is delicious' to which I replied, 'No. If you refer to my post from Monday, you will see that the statement "Soda water is delicious" is, in fact, a myth and that soda water, in truth, tastes like a soda that has died.' To which he replied, 'Mmmm, soda spirits' and took another gulp.

Roasty

I lived in Abbotsford for four years while I was going to school, but I usually went home for the summer. The only summer I spent here, I was locked in a frigid basement classroom for the majority of the day.

So I never knew that the Fraser Valley was a crock pot.

We are in the middle of a heat wave, and there is no breeze off the ocean to help wipe the sweat from our collective brow, because the ocean is way over there. The UCFV campus is like an overbaked tomb. There are no boys playing frisbee and doffing their shirts, no girls laughing and tanning and watching the boys, because everyone who can conceivably be inside IS inside, hiding from this insideous heat. Everyone moves as slowly as possible, as if, by moving quickly, you might combust. It is too hot to cook, too hot to eat anything that isn't chips and salsa or bundt cake, too hot to focus on a grammar textbook.

I wish I were some sort of reverse-ground-hog, and could hibernate until the weather toned it down a bit.

A pleasant diversion

It's time, folks, for a little game I like to call Fact or Myth? Answers to be found below.

1. I blog less frequently because I am now married.

2. I just made a bundt cake.

3. Robyn and I know a lot about monkeys.

4. Soda water is delicious.

5. I have an assignment due tomorrow that I'm not currently doing.

6. I am allergic to the summertime.

Answerage

1. Myth. I blog less frequently because I am lazy, and because my days consist of 'Did the laundry. Finished an assignment. Read in the sun. Visited landlords. Made bundt cake.'

2. Fact. Bundt cakes are delicious, also fact. Putting zucchini in them makes them a healthy treat, fact as well. Cutting off thin slices makes you thinner, regardless of how many slices you eat. Fact.

3. Myth. Although Robyn and I are both excessively fond of monkeys, PC Jeopardy 2003 has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that we know next to nothing about them. We do, however, know loads about ants, salami, and tents in the Bible.

4. Myth. Soda water tastes like a soda that has had something bad happen to it, or that has died. Soda water is the ghost of real sodas.

5. Fact. If ever you read this statement on a Monday or Wednesday, it will be fact. All other days, it will be myth, if only because I do not have class on the morrow, thus negating the 'due tomorrow' segment of the sentence.

6. Myth. In fact, I am allergic to the spring. Unfortunately, due to the climate crisis, spring was pushed into July this year, and I am paying heavily for it.

I before E except after C

Hey, does anyone know what a predicate verb is? Anyone? No? What about a subject complement? Corrolative conjunction? Come on. Lurkers? Faithful readers? Does any of this sound familiar to you?

I feel that the public school system has badly failed its students in the area of English grammar. My sister took a communications class last year, and they had a grammar quiz. All the ESL students aced it. All the native English-speakers? Flunked it. Joel bombed high school French because he didn't understand what it meant to conjugate a verb. When I took Greek, our professer had to spend a whole class teaching us about sentence structure, objects and subjects and indefinite articles and the like, just so that he could explain to us what a sentence looked like in Greek.

I just started a class called 'The Structure of the English Language.' We are learning all these things that most twelve-year-olds of yore would have known. We are learning, in part, to diagram sentences thusly:


The girl next to me leans over and says 'From now on, I'm writing all my papers in diagrammed sentences. Twelve-page paper? Two paragraphs.'

After I spent six hours or so today reading about different sentence structures and parts of speech, and after Joel wrote his last midterm (finally), we sat ourselves down to play several drunken rounds of...

It's way more awesome than you think it's going to be. One of you is the Alien, and you're trying to land ships on Earth. The other of you is the Earthling, and you're trying to destroy the Alien ships before they land. It lends itself to a lot of 'Surrender, Earthling!' and 'I'm going to kick your Alien ass!' and 'Bweedledeedledeep!' Particularly when mixed with wine. Joel took this picture, saying 'As long as you're going to blog, you may as well talk about the alien game!'

As though I had nothing better to say. I can diagram sentences.

Not as smart as we think we are.

I own a copy of 'How to Increase Your Word Power.' I have a 'Word of the Day' delivered to my email. I use words like 'fractious' and 'ubiquitous' when I'm talking, and I use them in correct context. I understand the synonyms that I pluck from the thesaurus and plunk in my papers. I read books on punctuation for fun.

However.

The American Heritage Dictionary published a list of 100 words every high school graduate should know. High school graduate. Not double-major-BA-valedictorian-going-back-for-another-BA graduates. High school. Grade 12.

I could define maybe half the words to a nine-year-old (a true test of whether or not you really know what they mean) and could use about three quarters of them in sentences (which only means you've heard them before).

Abrogate.

Filibuster.

Quotidian.

Sometimes I think I need to get out more, but other times I figure I should stay in and read the dictionary. I've got some catching up to do.

To run or not to run

I have been running for about six years now, off and on, and I know that there are people who run because they love it and it's exhilarating and challenging and gives them energy for the day, etc. etc., but I am not one of those people and I also suspect those people of lying. I love certain things about running, like being all sweaty afterwards and then showering and then feeling like the cleanest person in the world, and giving myself permission to eat everything all day, and also, what a great excuse to buy cute jogging shorts!! But mostly I run because not to run + to eat gummy worms for lunch = to get fat.

So I go for a run yesterday, and I'm maybe a kilometer in and my iPod's batteries die and I'm left all alone with MY THOUGHTS. And then about a block later I develop these crippling cramps in my one side, and sometimes I can run them out, or I can walk for a bit and they dissipate, or I can start breathing like I am my own Iron Lung, but I try all those things and nothing is working, and by this time I'm halfway through my run and it's just as far to go on as to go back, so I go on, but now I'm walking. I'm not sure how many of you have noticed this, but walking takes some time longer than does running. So I'm not breaking a sweat, I'm not burning off my french toast, I'm not listening to music, and the way in which I am not doing all these things is incredibly time consuming. I'm feeling wasteful and slightly screwed over.

If running wants to get back on my good side, it needs to bring me a cake or something.

Renovations

I like to think that I can do things for my ownself. I figure that women, in general, are pretty capable of opening their own pickle jars and buying their own drinks. The question is, WHY would we do these things when there's someone hanging around to do them for us? Why, for example, would I do anything about this massive wall bug?


I could. I could grab it by a leg and throw it out the door, or squish it with a book that I don't like all that much, or spray it with some Windex, but why would I, when Joel will be home in seven hours, and HE can do it? I screamed a little bit when I took this next photo, because I was hyper-zoomed in and it was all blurry on the little screen until after I snapped the shot, and everything rushed into focus and there was this massive bug RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!!

Other things that guys are good for, besides shooing bugs out the door, is moving furniture and hanging pictures. We finally brought Joel's desk in to replace that stack of boxes that I've been referring to as 'the desk.'

That is my 'Reading is Fun' Wild Things poster that Joel bought for me from the Chilliwack library, which we hung yesterday. And that yellow thing on the desk is a ruler/slap bracelet that Joel was using yesterday to complete an assignment because I told him that we didn't have any rulers in the house. Earlier to day, whilst shuffling pens from my miscellaneous office supplies drawer into the desk, I discovered what a dirty lie that is. We have three rulers.

And for those of you who care where we hung our other pictures (ie. my mom), Boo's painting is in our bedroom:
and the Mennonites are in the foyer/living room/kitchen:


And for those of you who are looking these pictures and thinking that our suite is too spacious, that we have it too good for a newlywed couple and that we should be living in a cramped hole, you're right, it is, and we should.

Just wait until we move to Vancouver, and our foyer/living room/kitchen becomes part of the bedroom, and I'm sleeping in the bookshelves.

Wherein I'm suddenly passion about something and start berating you all and telling you how to live your lives

Do you ever feel like the universe is trying to send you a memo?

Two days ago, Joel and I were in need of a flick, so we borrowed 'The Day After Tomorrow' from our landlords because I had seen half of it four years ago and remembered it being good. For those of you who haven't seen it, it's about what would happen if global warming suddenly took off and the whole world froze over *pfft!* in minutes.

Last night, we watched 'An Inconvenient Truth,' because we'd both been meaning to see it. For those of you who haven't, it's 'Al Gore lectures on Global Warming and seeks to Advance his own Agenda and Make Himself look Awesome' and it's kind of smarmy and scheming, but he has a number of good things to say that seem to be scientifically sound. You know he's dumbing it down, but you also know that he's speaking to the general public, and that the general public is dumb.

This morning, Joel and I sat in on a lecture on global warming in some random biology class which basically reiterated 'An Inconvenient Truth,' only with less politics and slow-motion shots of Al Gore with his now-dead sister, and more legitimate facts.

Clearly, God wants me to know that we are trashing the planet. Not 'we' as in you and me (although we really aren't helping) but 'we' as in the collective, by which I mean oil and gas companies. The thrust of it is that when carbon-based fuels stay trapped beneath the surface of the earth in the form of oil, gas, and coal, the earth's atmosphere is balanced. When we burn these things for fuel, we're throwing CO2 into the air, skewing the balance, and it's getting dangerously close to the point where the balance will tip too far, too much heat will be trapped in the atmosphere, the ice caps will melt and we will all burn or freeze, depending on where we live.

Turning off lights you're not using and running the dishwasher only when it's full will only help in microbits (although right now we can use every microbit we can get, so by all means do those things, plus it's cheaper). Making it financially unappealing to mine coal and drill oil will force the powers that be to find alternate sources of fuel, helping in macrobits. Most people don't go green because environmentally-friendly appliances and the like are hard to find and expensive to buy. Cars used to be hard to find and expensive to buy. So did computers. When things become common, they become cheaper. If more alternate energy sources find their way on to the market, they will become more accessable to the public.

Ok, this is something I'm passionate about, but you might not be, so I'll more or less shut up now. Alls I'm saying is, if you care about whether or not your kids and grandkids and etc.s can live on this planet, go here, read this information so that I don't have to bore you anymore, sign this petition, write your MP and tell them to start taxing carbon as it comes out of the ground, or as it is imported in.

Also, eat more chips. Eating chips lowers the amount of carbon in the atmosphere, I tested it.

make me fries

I know, my second post in one day. This will now be followed by a drought of several days or so. So, my sister and I do a lot of phoning and emailing and Facebooking to make up for the fact that we're no longer living together, and I can no longer put on appropriate pants solely for the sake of walking up to the bus stop to walk back home with her. So today, she emails me a link to this video, and then phones me so that we can watch it together. Now, I'm posting this even though the only blog-reader of mine who is guarunteed to love it is my selfsame sister, but I just laughed so damn hard! It's a video of an old Pearl Jam song, 'Yellow Ledbetter,' and scrolling across the bottom are the lyrics the video-maker thought Eddie Vedder was singing (read: mumbling like a drunken bear). This is funny because I was a teenager in the nineties and totally in love with Eddie Vedder and thought it was totally raw the way he never articulated any of his consonants. There are other videos, including one for 'Evenflow' which contains the misheard lyric 'Heathen frog bought a road like buttered fries,' but they just weren't as good. Ohhhhh man. I gotta pee.

Because snackers don't REALLY crave crackers

I do not like to have chip-and-cookie-like snacks in the house, because I have no abilities of moderation, and if they are there then I will eat them, and then I will get fat and then I will have to buy new jeans and it will not be one of those fun shopping trips because I will have to buy jeans that I do not look good in, because I am fat.

Joel likes to have chip-and-cookie-like snacks in the house because he is a boy and a foot taller than me and could eat a bucket of trans-fats without breaking stride.

So we keep the chip-and-cookie-like snacks in a cupboard that I am too short to reach, and when I want a chip-or-cookie I have to hoist my bum up onto the little wedge of counter that is left after the toaster oven and kitchen aid have had their say, and put my foot on the sink, not in the part where you wash the dishes, but on the part in front of that part, so that I don't fall down while I'm reaching for the chips. I like to think that this little maneuver requires more caloric energy to execute than is contained in the amount of chips I am going to eat. However, putting the chips away requires more of the same, since throwing a half-full chip bag with its paper-clip antennae waving merrily back into an over-stuffed chip shelf constitutes one of those skills-I-do-not-have, and because I am profoundly lazy, I usually just eat the whole damn bag, so probably not.

Because she loves me most

So, my sister, who's artistic prowess I have discussed previously, once painted this amazing seascape. Two girls, one dark and one fair, are reclining on the waves and either watching a ship disappear into the sun or gazing at an old-style church, depending on who you ask. I ADORE this picture, not only because it's beautiful, but because it's my Seastar and I, forever immortalized in oil paints, and I love that shit.

Which is why I am proud to announce that THIS...

...is currently in my living room. Grassy-ass, Seastar. You are my shipwreck-filled sunshine.

The woman! She types!

Joel was amazed to discover today that I have continued to blog EVEN THOUGH WE ARE NOW MARRIED!

Now I have to go through and delete all the posts in which I call him a namby-pamby mama's boy.

My mango-sense is tingling!

Joel has a sixth sense that tells him when tasty treats are being prepared.

But it WASN'T funny in the morning

I finally ended up falling asleep on the couch at around 3:00. I woke up a few hours later, sweating like a fat guy, because I was in my sweats and covered in three blankets, but I was too disoriented to change either of these things, because I was sleeping on the couch with the lights on, and you know how that will mess you up.

So I ended up sleeping in way later than I usually do (but not TOO late, because if last night repeats itself I'm going to stab myself in the ear with a q-tip really hard and see if I can't puncture something) which threw my whole day back a few hours, shifting my afternoon-ravenous-cupboard-emptying frenzy to RIGHT NOW. But I've eaten all the crackers and all the bagels and the banana chips have gone stale and nothing else is immediately edible.

I am an angry fish.

This might be funny in the morning.

I went to bed an hour and a half ago. And lay there. Not sleeping. And the more I didn't sleep, the more annoyed I got that I wasn't sleeping, and the more annoyed I got, the less I was sleeping.

Was it the coffee I had TEN HOURS AGO?

Was it the curry I had for dinner?

Is it the fact that Joel is sleeping hard enough for the both of us? I've poked him a couple of times, just to see if he'd accidentally wake up and keep me company, but it backfired because he just rolled over and slept even harder. It's difficult not to resent that kind of determined sleeping.

I could not be more annoyed.

Cashlessity

Last Wednesday, Joel and I took one more step towards becoming a real couple...we MERGED BANK ACCOUNTS!!!

That's not actually true.

What we did do was shut down my bank account (this is a complete other story having to do with BMO charging me each month for the privilege of using their services, and being unwilling to stop my payments toward my student loan, and the student loan people refusing to acknowledge that I have a loan with them, and thereby refusing to stop my payments as well, even though I am back in school, and so we figure that if I just close down my account, they'll find my loan pretty quick. Or it'll just keep being lost, and I wont have to pay it off. wOOt) and withdraw all my money.

Then we went over to Superstore, where Joel banks, to put all my money into his account. No problems thus far.

THEN we tried to put my name onto Joel's account. We had all of my ID (which still has my maiden name on it, because I have better things to do, like eat a bag of chips) AND our marriage certificate, which proves that the gal on the ID (Rachel Plett) is now the wife of the guy on the bank statements (Joel Krueger).

They wouldn't do it. They said I had to have photo ID, with my new name on it.

I guess the thrust of that story is that A. I finally had to go and get my learners (again), so that I could have some current ID. Thankfully, since I've already had my learners for NINE YEARS, I don't have to have it for another year before I can book my road test. I just have to learn how to drive. And B. Until my plastic card license with photo and name comes in the mail, and I can use that to convince Mr. Banker that I'm not a money-stealing floozy, I have no bank card. I have no access to money. I've never felt so vulnerable in my life. What if I suddenly, desperately, need a chocolate bar? What if I have to buy a fabulous jacket, and it's on sale, for now and for only?

Scary times.

Conversation Joel and I actually just had

Joel: You know, getting married isn't all that different from getting a dog.

Me: *suspicious glance* In what way?

Joel: *look that knows he's cute, and that I probably won't get mad at him for saying this* Well, you have to feed and water them, let them out to go to the bathroom, and you're always picking their hairs off of things.



Which is fine, because that time I went to Costco without him, and Charmin Ultra was on sale, and he wasn't there to make his usual argument about how one-ply is the superior ply, because it allows you to chose your own ply, and I bought the 8-ply 106-pack, well, we just ran out of the sandpaper we've been using up til now, and so I busted out the first of the disposable hand-towels and let me tell you, no ass has ever been happier.

Let him feed and water that!

paedophobia

A few years ago, I hit the age where weddings started cropping up like kitchen ants. I mean it, they're everywhere, and you have no idea where they're all coming from, and you can't see the end. This year alone, there was my wedding in April, my best friend's wedding two weeks later, our emcee's wedding in a month or so, and then from early August until mid-September, not a weekend goes by without bells a-ringin' and birds a-singin'. My good friend, Joel's sister, cousin, and two best friends are all tying various knots. 'Tis the season.

And since 'tis been the season for a few years now, 'tis also the season for babies. All those 'firsts to get married' among us are the 'firsts to get preggos.' Val and Dal, Krista and Kevin, Nate and Erin, and now Nathan and Melissa are cultivating foetuses (or have popped. Kevin and Krista named their little potato Wyatt, of all things, and he came out looking like a middle-aged man).

Due to the recentness of my marriage, the things I wish to accomplish in the next few years, and the size I'm convinced our children will be, I live in perpetual fear of being pregnant. If I don't currently have incontrovertable evidence that there is nothing alive in my womb, then I'm positive we've had an oops. I hope that sort of thing goes away as the months wear on and I remain childless.

However, if I turn up in the family way in a few months, you can say you heard it here first.

My camera takes pictures from the future.

You know how sometimes you're looking through your old photos, because you're looking for one in particular, or because you're photoshopping zits out of yourself to kill time in class, or whatever, and you find an old photo of two people you know who weren't even into each other at the time (you think) but they totally hooked up and got married afterwards, and so you're looking back and you're like, wow, prophetic photo?

Vicky and Chris, this one's for you.

My sister's already heard this one

Ok, so I was pretty sure that somewhere I had blogged about how awkward my sister and I are, and how, during the year I lived at home, one of us would say something socially inappropriate/drop something valuable/be unable to keep shit together while getting on the bus, and the other one would turn to her and say 'You're so awkward! I can't take you anywhere!' But apparently not.

Anyways,

Now that I've married and moved, and Joel would never say that to me, my sister and I telephone each other frequently to say 'Listen to this awkward thing I did today,' and then tell about how we fell off a ladder/forgot to turn down the heat on the rice and so burnt it and so set off the fire alarm and couldn't find it to wave a tea towel at it for a good five minutes/farted on the bus.

So today, I phoned my sister to tell her how:
I was scrambling around trying to get my act together before my mom showed up today, because we had a major grocery shop to do. Joel and I have not been grocery shopping since the 1400's, and our meal options had been reduced to Mr Noodles with an egg, or Mr Noodles without an egg. Assuming we had eggs. Which we didn't. So Mom swung by at 1:15, I had class at 2:30, we shopped like madwomen, I have a well-supplied home again. I grabbed my hastily-thrown-together bag and darted off to class, this class in which we were writing in-class summaries of an article we were supposed to have read. Writing things in class, with time constraints, and paper, and a pen, causes me great stress. Why can't I just sit at home in my chair, with my computer, and email the thing to you? Anyway, I had read the article carefully and twice, and made notes on my summary-to-be in the margins. HowEVER, when I threw myself into my chair and reached into my bag, I pulled out the wrong textbook!!! Alas! My carefully-written notes! My hasty throwing-together of the bag! My 10% of my grade! I slunk up to my prof, mumbled something about how embarassing, see you in 20 minutes, and zipped home and back. Good thing I had a full 60 minutes to write that 2-page summary. Too bad I was sweating like a hog because of my super-jaunt back up the hill.

So that I can hold my head up high

We bought a new camera.

Let me 'splain. Way back when digital was cutting edge, my dad bought my sister and I digital cameras for Christmas. They were thick and weighty, and had a screen the size of a mini-wheat. It took a full five seconds of warm-up before it could take a picture. The video option was a solely visual experience. They were top-of-the-line, folks. We'd be taking group shots, and the designated picture-taker (that poor sap) would get to mine, hold it to his eye, pull it away, laugh, ask 'Is this digital?' and then make a comical show of trying to look at the screen and press the button AT THE SAME TIME. I'm telling you, it was novel.

Some five years later, Joel and I find ourselves somewhat out of date. People still get to my camera and go 'Whoa!' but that's because of its immensity, not its novelty. As the daughter of a man who loves his toys, especially ones that go *whirrrr* and *bing!* I was mildly ashamed of my technical retardation. So we used some of the fabulous dollars we recieved for getting married, and bought us a shiny new darling.

Aint she a beaut? She can hold 700-and-some-odd pictures at 7.1 megapixels, her screen is over half of her backside, her video function has sound, she can take pictures immediately upon start-up, and (best of all) she fits into the pocket of my board shorts. Sometimes, when Joel's not around, I nuzzle her.

We took her camping this weekend to see how she'd do, and (solely for the sake of science) we now have over fifty pictures of this family of ducks.

The camping trip is a tale in itself, but since I have a zillion assignments due tomorrow (ok, four), it'll have to wait. I'll leave you with this awesome shot of Keisha, our landlords' dog, chasing a goat.

The camera is awesome.

My mom sent me an email a while ago, asking how my critique went. So...

So, I'm in this class, see, and it's on writing fiction, and it's compressed, see, so it feels like we're handing things in all the time, hand-over-fist. But really, we've only handed two things in, and that's not so much until you consider that, for crying out loud, it's not even June yet.

So, we've handed in two short stories to date, and in my personal opinion, there's NOTHING more difficult than writing a short story. Unless it's having a short story critiqued.

See, we're put in groups of 5, and then we each print off enough copies of our own story for everyone else in the group, and then we all go home and break out our red pens, and read them, and make comments. That part is fun. The reading of other people's stories, the peek into other people's brains, the realization that I am a much better writer than some of these people, and somehow that matters.

But THEN we come back to class, and we get into our groups, and we share. We share what we liked, what we didn't like, what worked, what confused us. We say 'you shifted tenses here' and 'this sentence was awkward' and 'when I first read this, I thought it meant this.' We say all these things, and we try to be kind, because our turn is coming up, but we also try to be constructive, because this is why we are here, right? To learn?

But it's stressful. It's stressful to have people say unflattering things about something you've spent hours on. It's stressful to have people not get your vision, and have to gently explain to them that what they're suggesting you amend it to isn't in fact what you want to say, without sounding defensive. It's stressful to have the prof sit in on your discussions, and to be judged not only on your work, but on your criticism of others' work.

And THEN you get your second story back, a story which you kind of loved and which tickled you when you realized how it was going to end, and it's a full letter grade lower than your first story, which you hated.

And THEN you realize that the only thing more difficult than having a short story critiqued is revising a short story, because it's like trying to decide which parts of a child you like best, and hacking off the other parts, and then trying to rebuild a new child, but at least NOW you get to revise the one you love, instead of the one you wish you'd never written.

THAT'S how my critique went.

Love-sco

I love Costco.

I love grocery shopping in general, love coming home and filling my cupboards, love the thought that I can eat ANYthing I want for dinner (see also: that feeling after laundry day, that my whole wardrobe is open to me). I think they call it 'nesting,' this fondness for a well-stocked larder.

And so I love Costco doubly, because anything I buy at Costco, I wont need to buy again until 2034. And because anything I buy at Costco is liable to be oven-ready. Prep time will be half an hour, twenty-five minutes of which I will spend watching Scrubs.

And because Charmin Ultra was on sale, and Joel wasn't along to gainsay it, I'll be wiping my ass with disposable hand-towels for the next eight months.

I feel so decadent.

This Weekend: A play in four parts

Act 1: Friday

Friday evening, Joel and I went to Eat! Vancouver (exclamation point totally necessary). Never been? Us neither. But imagine, my friends, if the stalls in the aisle of Costco, you know, the ones that hand out little samples of Blueberry Bran Bars or Chicken and Monterey Jack Chimichangas, if those stalls were to rendezvous with the PNE, and their illicit love child were to be blessed with all the culinary attributes but none of the bizzare ingredients of an Iron Chef, THAT is Eat! Vancouver. Tiny kiwi slushies, scallops wrapped in bacon and skewered on a toothpick, slivers of mango, the world's only good potato salad, all free. Like the potato salad? Here's the recipe. And a bag of baby potatoes. Want some rice? Have some rice. Slip it into your goody bag you got when you came in, and walk by the rice place again. Walk by the rice place NINE TIMES!! That's right, in addition to the delicious samples of tasty tidbits, many places handed out freebies. All told, Joel and I got:

nine bags rice,

two packets of splenda,

three razors for Joel,

two razors for me,

five tea bags,

five packets of flax seeds,

four packets of raw sugar,

five servings of psyllium and oat bran cereal, which I actually kind of like,

and seven ketchup-packets of honey.

So we got free stuff, and we got full, and we got to have an evening out with our landlords. Well worth the twelve-dollars-and-one-food-bank-donation-each we spent to get in. OH! AND we had a cheese tasting. I've never been one to sit around and savor cheeses for their own sake, but if someone's going to sit me down and tell me about six different kinds of cheeses and let me spread them on bread and munch on them, I'm all for it.

Act 2: Saturday day

Saturday morning, Joel and I went on a mad shopping spree. We went back to Ikea to return the coffee table we bought the last time we were there, and which we may have inadvertently dented quite badly while still in the package, but which we don't feel bad about returning, because if furniture can't withstand a good ramming-into-an-overcrowded-hatchback, then it deserves what it gets. We also dropped by the massive Linens 'N Things, which is unignorably RIGHT NEXT to Ikea, and for which we had some gift card money. I had no idea. I would sell my right ovary to live in the L'NT. We found this fabulous space-saver shelf thing that goes over our toilet, to make up for the nostoragespace that we have in our bathroom, and we got the most badass doormat in the neighborhood (my sister actually commented on the badassedness of our doormat today when she came to visit, but that is another story), and we got a massive wooden salad bowl with these matching serving spoons, except the only pair of serving spoons left were broken, so we cracked open a set that had salad bowl/serving bowls/and spoons, and stole the spoons out of there. NOT stole as in did-not-pay-for, but stole as in the girl had to call in for the code because there was mysteriously no price tag on them, and someone's going to buy that set, and have to come back and say 'We didn't get any spoons.' And to them, I am very sorry. But isn't the bowl gorgeous? Doesn't it make you want to eat salad? Then we went to the mall and I bought ultra-high-quality running shoes for wayyyyyyyyyyyyy too much money, which goes against everything that I stand for, but Joel and I have this discussion every year and YES! I value my knees over the amount of money I am about to spend, and YES! I realize that running is my only real sport and that this is the only sports-based expenditure I am going to make for the next twelve months (except maybe some really cute jogging shorts once I stop feeling so fat), and YES! logically it all makes sense, but my gut reaction to paying through the nose for shoes that AREN'T EVEN CUTE? Still sour. Also, I bought a pair of darling brown board shorts with yellow and blue stitching.

Act 3: Saturday evening

I think I've mentioned this before, and if I haven't, let me do so now. Our landlords are the most gregarious people in the land. When Joel and I move out, we will have forgotten how to conduct our own social lives. We won't be able to make friends or plan events for ourselves. It will be a disaster. Saturday night, our landlords threw a pop star party. Everyone came dressed as their favorite pop star, and there was much kareoke. Since I've always wanted to be Avril Lavigne because she's so raw and edgy, even more so now that she's all processed and hot, and still raw and edgy, and because she's more distinctive-looking than Kelly Clarkson, who I've also always wanted to be and who I share a birthday with, I dressed up in my favorite black short-pants and my favorite miscellaneous tight t-shirt with something random on it (knots, in this case), put on too much eye make-up, and affected a completely disinterested manor. Also, because I wouldn't be generic punk without a rad pair of chucks, and because I don't own a pair of chucks, and because you can't wear shoes indoors and the party was indoors and my outfit wouldn't be complete without a pair of chucks, I borrowed a pair of Joel's socks and made...

SOCK-CHUCKS!!

That's right, ladies and gentlemen. Those are not, in fact, a pair of Converse high tops, circa 1992, they are socks. Socks meets four Sharpies meets old shoe laces. Rad, though, hey? I won best-dressed, and I give credit to the sock-chucks. Here they are from the side.

I know. Yes. Two and a half hours. Totally worth it.

Act 4: Sunday

Mine own seastar Greyhounded out to visit me today. We assembled a coffee table, played a round of one-on-one Taboo (which I won), visited my grandparents and played two matches of Sequence (Kruegers vs. non-Kruegers, which Joel and I won, and boys vs. girls, which Boo and I won), played one-on-one-on-one Taboo with Joel (which, since I have a Swedish mind meld with both Boo and Joel, I won), polished off a bag of dried apricots, and ransacked the Walmart before parting. Dried apricots and stomach acid, in case you didn't know, are like Mentos and Died Coke. If you don't believe me, you can come over and listen to me fart.

On that winsome note, I will end this longest post ever. Many happy returns.

7

I had a pseudo-streak going of quasi-consecutive blogging. Very half-assedly productive of me. But I'm boring now, and my days are spent in this big leather chair, fiddling on the computer.

HowEVER, there is a new phenomenon sweeping the nation (or, at least three of my friends' blogs), and it's called: List Seven Random Facts About Yourself!!! Most of you (the people I hang out with in real life) will know all of this, but YOU, oh Internet, have no idea.

1. I only ever use one of my eyes at a time. I see in 2D and have no depth perception. I didn't know that it wasn't normal to see two of everything and to close one eye when you read until I was 22. I wasn't formally diagnosed until last year.

2. I can't drive.

3. Or ride a bike.

4. Or operate most things with wheels. Lots of this may have to do with #1.

5. I truly enjoy a peanut butter and pickle sandwich.

6. I broke my big toenail off about three years ago. I was chopping wood in my bare feet, and the chopping block fell over on it. It took a year to grow back, and it's never been the same.

7. I like to sleep on my back with my hands folded on my ribs and my ankles crossed. Vampire style.

I'm supposed to pick seven bloggers who have to do this now, or they'll get seven years bad luck and no one will think they're hot and their next kiss will be a flop and their dog will die, but all of the bloggers I think would do a thing like this have already done it.

Except Robyn. Robbie, you have to do this now, or all these bad things will happen to you. And Ryan will never do laundry as long as you both shall live, or even offer.

In completely other news, check out these photos of balloons popping! Tres bizarre!

Because I wasn't dissatisfied enough with my frozen burrito

Joel and I have been married for a month (check the ticker). We have spent the last few days spent in various homework-doing positions (in large leather chair, sprawled on bed, sprawled on floor, lumped up against wall with blanket), so I have really nothing to report.

Instead, I will tell you about this little Mexican restaurant that we went to on our honeymoon, as an excuse for posting some gratuitous, hunger-mongering pictures.

Our resort had a buffet-style everymeal eatery, as well as a snack bar, but it also had two 'restaurants' that you could book into. You had to make a 'reservation' the day before, but you probably didn't really because they didn't check or anything when you walked in. I think it was just a matter of people not knowing about it, because it was practically empty both times we ate there. The service was frighteningly prompt (they refilled your wine practically every time you took a sip) and the food was amazing!!

Here. Here is Joel's fish-and-shrimp kabobs.

I wish I'd gotten a better picture. Here is my steak. My tortilla chip is in the shape of a swan.

Because the resort was 'all inclusive,' the restaurant was free. You could conceivably, order seven entrees if you wanted. But who would? That would be gluttonous.

We did, however, each order a dessert. My crepes...

and Joel's ice-cream-in-a-wafer-dish...

and then we may or may not have each ordered a plate of churros.

We may or may not have also gone back the next night, ordered 2 appetizers, our entrees, and 3 plates of churros to finish the deal.

You may all go back to your bland lives now.

Faux-camping

Yesterday Joel and I enjoyed all the perks of camping (the hot dogs, the fresh air, the intermittent rain, the nearby beach, the territorial squirrels, the jovial neighbors) without all the drags (the setting up the tent, the taking down the tent, the sleeping in the tent, the waking up when there's no fire built yet, the no coffee).

Two of our couple-friend-sets, JonandLaura and DaveandSheri, were going camping for the long weekend, despite threats of inclement weather. Joel and I drove the 45 minutes down yesterday morning (with an hour thrown in at the border), spent the day with the four of them playing Ticket to Ride and one very intense game of Game, picking our way along the beach to watch the locals dig for clams, and roasting a frozen pizza over the fire, and then drove the 45 minutes back up (with ten minutes thrown in at the border), stopping for the obligatory Sourdough Jack and milkshake, to shower in our own heated shower and sleep in our own lavish bed.

We got what you might call the long end of the stick.

PS. While we were on the beach, squirrels took over our campsite and ravaged our hot dogs. One of them climbed into the bag of chips while another stuck its head down the neck of Sheri's Nalgene. Our neighboring campers took pictures of the outrage before securing our edible goods under a box.

And the answer is...

For those of you who guessed ass-kicking bookshelf, YOU WERE RIGHT!!! Not only did he allow me to buy this beautiful beast (which cost more than our other two purchases put together), but he kicked me out of the room until he assembled it so that its final glory wouldn't be marred by seeing it in its various stages of undress.


It makes my extraordinarly heavy collection of books look positively trifling! I have room to buy ever so many more now! There's a rhyme and reason to which books are where, but it has more to do with how much I like them than it does with general logic. But if you can figure out which books I'd stab someone to keep (see: center tower) as opposed to which books I'm rather ashamed to own (see: entire top left shelf. see also: really bad but totally awesome fantasy), you'll have no problem navigating my new library.

We also bought this enormous, metal, infinitely practical monstrosity...

I totally love it. Look! I CAN SEE ALL MY SHOES! And yes, I know, only one of the shelves is forwards. I fixed them later. But look! My shoes! All of them (that's a lie. I have two pairs left in the closet, and three up by the front door, and my slippers are under the bed).

We also bought a coffee table, but there is a teeny massive dent in the top, so we're taking it back. We might have caused the dent. We don't think this is likely.

For lack of a measuring tape, we measured our spaces in Joels. This particular space, for example, is one Joel's wingspan minus one Joel's hand wide, and one Joel plus two Joel's hand span from thumb tip to pinky tall. I can't think of a more useful human being.

I-ventures!

Yesterday, my family met in Coquitlam to celebrate Mother's Day/Grandmother's Day (not a real day)/my birthday/my brother's birthday/my brother's engagement/my sister's return to the workforce/our general continued well-being and enjoyment of food.

Joel and I got to Coquitlam and hour early, and what does one do when one is in Coquitlam with spare time? WE WENT TO IKEA!!!

This is three different furniture items. We will now play a game called 'guess what Rachel and Joel are building.' Your only clue is this: I love Joel eight times more now than I did before this trip.

After we engage in some adult-style Meccano™ I will post pictures of the finished products.

Parallel lives!

A day or two before my wedding, my sister came with me to the mall so that I could by a few last minute things: a garter, a cake (pie) topper, some earrings, a groom. I had seen some sunglasses at the 1-for-$13, 2-for-$20 kiosk, so I convinced Boo that she wantneeded* a pair as well. She bought this fabulous pink pair, and I got some faux-DG ones that I loved. They didn't squeeze my head too tight, they didn't have those little nose-rest things that catch in your hair when you wear your shades on the top of your head to look cool/keep your bangs out of your face, and they didn't sit so close to my face that my eyelashes hit them whenever I blinked. They were delicious.

The other day, I put them on the couch, thinking 'These are so large and fabulous, I will surely see them before I sit.' I am an idiot. They are in several shards.

That same day, I got an email from my sister saying 'I dropped my fabulous new pink sunglasses into a bucket of oil paint today. It was like watching the Titanic sink into oblivion.'

There once were two girls from Burnaby
Who bought sunglasses so they could see
One pair, it has sunk
The other is chunks
And now I wear the pair I broke last year, which aren't half as fabulous and were missing a little metal bolt that I replaced with an earring and hope no one will notice. Woe is me.

wantneed: to want something, but be unable to justify buying it unless you convince yourself that you need it. Dried mangoes are frequently wantneeded.

Adventures!

There was a spider in my bathroom this morning.

I scooped him up and threw him in the toilet, and took a huge poop on him.

I like to think I'm exacting some small revenge for the years of terror his kind have afflicted me with.

Delicious victory

Yesterday night, after all our homework was done, Joel and I sat ourselves down with a few of our new games to teach them to ourselves. We love to have people over for games, but there's nothing worse than having someone try to teach you a game, stumble over the rules, check the rule book, renege on a rule that you've been playing by for 20 minutes because they realize they just made it up, and generally violate your interest in playing the game.

Some of our games we've never played. Some of them we haven't played since childhood, when cheating was expected and rules were hazy. And one of them, Ticket to Ride, we'd played over Christmas with Joel's adorable rich cousins, who then promptly sent us our own in the mail, except that it's the German version (set in Germany, not written in German) and obscenely more complicated (shameless plug: Ticket to Ride is the greatest game since jacks. It's like Settlers of Catan, except you know how sometimes when you're playing Settlers, someone builds the wrong road and effectively screws you over really early in the game, and so you spend the rest of the evening alternately sulking, trying to figure out why your ankle is so itchy, and screwing other people over, because you know you can't win? That never happens in Ticket. I mean, it can, but no one knows where you're trying to go, so they can't intentionally sabotage you unless they're really clever or you're really transparent, and even if they snag your quickest route, it's usually not impossible or even difficult to get where you were going anyways. Also, no one knows who wins until you count up at the end, and the game never lasts more than an hour. End shameless plug).

So Joel and I sit down with our Kahlua (which we bought for $10 in Mexico) and milk (which we drink out of crystal glasses because we have them), to play ourselves a few mock-rounds of each game. We never made it to the other games, because I was so excited by the destination cards I'd drawn in our faux-Ticket game, and Joel gets totally caught up in whatever fun thing is most immediately present.

I actually just wrote this entire post so that I could boast about kicking Joel's ass.

Also, to invite you all over for some games. And Kahlua and milk, if you are of age. We'll serve it to you in crystal.

Zazoom!

Come one, come all, to my wedding photo extravaganza!!

We finally got our wedding pictures today (most of them), so follow the link to your right, or this one here, which I have inserted in case my chimichanga is done cooking before I can create a link to your right, and I have to go eat it.

If you are too lazy to follow the link, at least check out this sweet shot of us dancing on the moon!

Mom, I have a cd with all of them on it for you and dad.

Did you know that you can buy cream puffs covered in chocolate and filled with chocolate-flavored cream?

Last night I met with my writer's group. We talked about size-J boobs, everyone's children (except mine, shhh!), sugar-and-wheat-free cleanses, and my sister's artistic prowess.

I think someone mentioned a book they had read, but we shushed her up right away.

Seriously, though, many exciting things are happening with these ladies. Whether it's an article published in the Herald, or a manuscript that's been accepted by an agent (right, Christine? I have no idea of how publishing works), things are moving. Don't take this the wrong way, my dears, but it gives me hope that you are all older than me. It gives me the freedom of ten more years to get where you are, and means that all I have to do now is finish that short story for class on Thursday (eep).

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my sister (she of the artistic prowess), took this picture of me...

(that I can't seem to post, but that can be found here)

and painted this...I'm having her paint brushes bronzed and put on a plaque for my wall.

If I did not give this post a title, the obligatory 'first sentence slightly cut off' title would look thusly: Going to an all-new school has a hug.

Going to an all-new school has a huge learning curve. I had to print an assignment off this afternoon which required me to
- go to the library,
- get an ID card,
- have an inane conversation with the ID card guy about what my name should be on it since I haven't gotten my name changed yet and I'm still registered under my maiden name,
- put money onto my ID card using this ancient black machine,
- go to print lab,
- log on to computer using 9-digit student # and 6-digit password,
- look for 'Word' on computer,
- give up on looking for 'Word,'
- thank God emailed assignment to self,
- check email,
- download assignment,
- hit print,
- look around for cleverly-hidden printers,
- find cleverly hidden printers,
- be accosted by older gal who doesn't know how to print and can't seem to understand that I don't either,
- try to figure out why printer isn't printing said assingment,
- notice small black box which says 'insert card,'
- insert card,
- startle a bit when pop-up pops up on adjacent computer,
- read pop-up,
- enter aforementioned 9- and 6-digit codes,
- utter small yelp of triumph when paper prints,
- go in search of stapler.

No hugs.

Deepest fear realized

Well, friends, it's official. I'm back in school. Break out the nerd goggles, the travel mugs and the barely-edible breakfast muffins!

Yesterday was my first day of classes. I will quote for you a segment of email I sent to my sister the day before: 'I'm nervous. Not about the classes so much, but about the whole new campus and new school system and all new profs and new ways of doing things and most students don't start at the beginning of summer so there's no real 'orientation' or new-student-friendly thing-a-things, so I'm nervous about that.' You see, it's the 'going to' part, not the 'school' part that makes me want to eat the contents of our cupboard, and follow it up with the door handles.

So yesterday I show up for my 10:00 class. There's only one other person in the room. I ask him if this is English 120, and he thinks so, so I sit down. We wait. I play Spellbound on my Palm Pilot (like I said, nerd goggles). Another guy shows up. It's 10:00 by this point. There's only the three of us there. The awkwardness is palpable. Are we in the wrong classroom? Was class cancelled, and everyone knows about it except us? The one guy suddenly whips out his schedule and says, hey, what do you all think this means? He points to where it says 'English 120, July and August.' Somehow the three of us missed the fact that our class didn't begin until the latter half of the semester, EVEN THOUGH all of us were taking at least one other class that began at the same time, and were well aware of this anomaly.

Good thing I live a twelve-minute walk from the school.

My two other classes were fantastic as far as first classes go, in that I don't totally hate everyone in them, and we got out early. All both of my textbooks that the bookstore had in stock came to a total of $117 (which, and Joel remarks scornfully, is nothing compared to his $150 paperback text, one of many).

I have an assignment due tomorrow already, bringing with it that anxious weight that a first assignment for a new prof in a new school for a class that I shouldn't technically be registered in because I don't have the prereq's but for which I plea-bargained my way in inevitably carries. So instead of doing that, I've been poking around on my Facebook (takes off nerd goggles, replaces them with fashionably huge faux-D&G shades) and eating Pringles.

You all wish you were me.

Excuses, and a bullfight

Hello friends, me again. Sorry for the delay. Moving is death, but it's beginning to look more like a reasonably well-furnished basement suite around here, and less like an awkward situation. We're still using a filing cabinet as a desk, and some boxes as a coffee table, but we are now equipped with spoons and a microwave.

Plus, there was that wedding that I was in on Saturday, which ate up that whole day and half of Friday, too. And for which I wore an ill-fitting (long story) blue satin dress and pinchy shoes (which I may have accidentally-on-purpose left at the reception hall).

Plus, we're currently three disks into the 2nd season of 24 (I know, I have to get my priorities straight. But it's so frightfully gripping!).

So, another tale about our honeymoon. Um...we watched the entire first season of 24, which is actually not as lame as it sounds, because it was mostly after we'd burnt ourselves crispy, and there are only so many things one can do indoors. Plus it was good downtime after a long morning spent eating and lazing.

Also, we went to a bullfight. At first, we were all like, yeah, rad, this is going to be awesome! We're in Mexico and we're going to a bullfight! It's like somehow we forgot that they KILL BULLS in these things. They ride out on a horse and stab the bull in the shoulders with these long spears. Then the matador comes out with two-foot metal spikes, and (this part was actually pretty ballsy) runs straight at the bull's head so that he can plant the spikes in the back of its neck before spinning away. All of this is done to make it more difficult for the bull to gore things, like people. The whole thing seems a bit one-sided, since the matador has five other guys hanging around in case he gets into trouble, and the bull has no one, and is bleeding from the word 'go'. That's probably what made it hardest to watch. Sentimental feelings aside, it was a great show. Flourishing capes, bleating trumpets, massive raging beasts. It was what you'd call an 'experience,' but I'll probably never do it again.

I make no promises, but life has settled into something resembling routine, so the probability of me blogging steadily is somewhat higher. If anyone besides Jane and September still read this (hi, guys!).

Also...

People keep asking me to post wedding photos. I haven't even seen our wedding photos. Did you catch the part where I have no spoons or shower curtain? As soon as I have some (pictures, that is), I'll post them (in all honesty, that's a lie. I'll post some when I have them and some spare time and some energy). Other people have posted some. Here, and here and here. Jane, your photos are amazing.

As a concession, here we are on our honeymoon. We took maybe a dozen pictures, because we were too busy strolling hand-in-hand down the beach into the sunset to bother with a camera.

Moving In, and, The Adventures of Carlos the Fish

Hello friends. Sorry for the delay. I've been home for about three days now, but sometimes there are more important things to do than blog. Like buy dish soap.

Joel and I moved into our new place the evening of the 30th, grabbing a carload of stuff from my parents' house on the way home from the airport. We were more concerned with how many things we could tetris into Joel's little hatchback than we were with the usefullness of the things, or with our surivial for the next twenty-four hours. As such, we ended up with no cutlery or bowls, no towels or toilet paper, but we did have our raclette grill, our art-deco letters spelling the word 'HOME,' and the exoskeleton of a puffer fish that we bought in Mexico (his name is Carlos, and he sits on the back of our toilet).

Since any report of my activities for the past few and next few days will read thusly: 'Packed shit in boxes. Moved boxes. Took shit out of boxes. Found place for shit. Didn't like place, found new place. New place proved impractical, moved back to old place. Took swig out of one of four wedding-gift-wine-bottles' and since I did nearly no blogging on my trip, I will regale you with daily adventures in the past tense. Today, I will tell you the story of how we bought Carlos, and gave ourselves melanoma.

We were trying to balance fun activities with blatant relaxation, so every day we would have one adventure, and spend the rest of the day lying by the pool. Or on the beach. Or eating long, luxurious, ridiculously sumptuous meals. On my berfday, we decided to walk down to this little market one town over and get our shopping out of the way. It was our second full day in Mexico, and we were extremely proud of how we'd survived one full day with our skins intact. We'd sunscreened up thoroughly the day before and spent maybe an hour outside, getting our pasty Canadian selves indoors before any damage occurred. So here we are, thinking we're all smart and invincible and that a two-hour walk down the beach will be get us off of our lazy asses so that we'll finally be hungry for a change. So we sunscreen up good with our SPF 15, and truck on down the beach. Sooner rather than later, the smooth, firm sand near the water has become a smooth, slippery layer of jelly fish near the water, and we have to huff it on the softer, dryer, more exhausting sand. By the time the stretch of jelly fish ends, the sand has turned to gravel that gets into the sandals and scrapes the feets, and makes walking without the sandals awkward and unpleasant. Still, the sun was bright and the breeze from off the water was refreshing and we were honeymooners and off to market.

We spent about an hour touring the market, picking up kitschy vases and tawdry t-shirts and putting them back down. We were looking for something mildly functional and fabulously decorative to bring back for our house, something like the wooden-hand-wine-bottle-holder I found in Thailand. Joel and I have been unable to get a for-real puffer fish, due to the difficulty of working with salt-water fish, so imagine our delight when we saw Carlos there, in all his spiny glory! His innerds have been scraped out, and he resembles nothing so much as those paper-mache pinatas you make in elementary school, you know the ones, you build them around a balloon with newspaper and glop, and then let them dry, and then pop the balloon, and then you have a fragile newspaper shell that you paint, and then and only then do you realize that there's no candy in it, and that it's really a crappy pinata, and you hate art and Mrs. Miller both. ANYway, we bought Carlos up and packed him carefully in our checked luggage because we were afraid he'd be stolen from us by customs, being an animal product and all, if we took him in on carry-on, and the first thing we didn when we moved into our new place was check to see if he'd survived the trip. He did, and here he is, and he's creepy as hell.

Finding Carlos was pretty much the highlight of the market, so we headed on back home. I cannot emphasize enough how deceptive a cool breeze off the water can be. We tralala-ed down the beach with no idea the trouble we were in. We saw three dead carloses, one giant fish skeleton, and Joel collected a handful of beach glass, and then all of a sudden he turns to me and says, babe, you'd better put on my shirt. You're looking a little pink.

A LITTLE PINK!!!!! Over the next few hours, that 'little pink' would deepen into an intense red, before becoming an excruciating purple. We'd been in the sun for five hours, from 10 to 3 (read: hottest part of the day) with a thin veneer of spf 15 the only thing between our skins and the laser rays of the Mexican sun. We spent the next few days alternately pitying each other and bickering over who's burn was worse, taking the long route to dinner to avoid walking through any sunny patches, and slathering ourselves with an outrageously-priced medicated aloe (they threw in a stick of spf 50, knowing that if you needed the aloe, it was because you were too dumb to pack your own spfs).

And Carlos watches me when I shower, because we have no shower curtain.

ola

Most people, when they go to Mexico, can´t stop pooping.

I had my first poop as a married woman a few hours ago.

We´re at an all inclusive resort in Puerto Nueva, or Nueva Vallarta, or something near Puerto Vallarta, but with ´Nuevo´instead of one of those words (Joel says it´s NV). We´ve been lying around, eating and drinking and not wearing watches, and never knowing what time it is. Since there´s only half an hour in the day where you can´t get something to eat, and only about eight seconds where you can´t get a drink, this hasn´t yet presented a problem.

We´ve also spent a fair bit of time laughing at those people, you know the ones who can´t sunscreen themselves properly and end up with white handprints on burnt flesh, tiger stripes, and singy agony. Today, we became those people. It seems that 5 hours of sun, in the middle of the day, WILL in fact break through your paltry spf 15 defenses.

No internet in resort, this will probably be my only blog. See you when I get back.

Joel would like to add that he has had four kinds of meat for every meal thus far.

Insta-photo

- Hey babe!

- Hey! I got my hair run-through done today!

- Cool! Are you going to have it up for the rehearsal tonight?

- Yeah! You wanna see it?

- Of course!...Can I see it now?

- Um...sure! I'll blog it!

It's a beautiful age we live in, folks.

Fun like vacuuming

I know that there are some people who spend years planning their weddings, and I know I have no right to complain, but MAN! I can't wait til it's all over (the planning, not the wedding). Just now, I'm more excited to be done with minutae than I am to be getting married. Babe, I swear that'll change by Saturday.

Planning a wedding was fun for about five minutes. I'm pretty sure I was trying on a dress in those minutes. Much of wedding planning is dull for the participant (me), and cannot be made interesting for the voyeur (you). The reason there hasn't been many wedding posts is because they would sound an awful lot like 'Today I tried to finish up that damned seating plan, and to make it jive with the list of people I have who are attending, so that I could (a) give the reception hall FINAL final numbers (these are different from the 'final' numbers we gave a week ago), and (b) so that I could be sure everyone has a seat. Counting a hundred-odd-plus of ANYthing is tedious, but names on a computer screen is pure eyesore death. Add to that the fact that each time I count, I get a different number, and you have me up waaaaaaaaaay past my bedtime, swearing my heart out.' No one wants that.

Instead, I will give you a sample of the stock blogs I will be auto-posting while on my honeymoom: 'Spent day on beach. Read several books. Had steak and bellinis. Wish you were here.' I haven't found the 'auto-post' button yet, but I'm sure it's here somewheres.

Only skin deep

On your wedding day, not much of your actual skin is showing. The majority of your flaws can be safely hidden under a tuxedo or voluminous dress, and all you really need to worry about is your face and (for the gal) your arms.

Joel has a flesh wound on his face he's hoping will heal by this Saturday.

For myself, I'm hoping this happy little character makes a discreet exit.

There may be a lot of photoshopping done.

Under the Aquarium Lid

Joel never lets me name any of his fish, even though;

A. I have awesome names for fish. Like, a while ago, before we realized what a trial salt-water concoctions are, we were talking about him getting a puffer fish, and I thought 'The Hindenburg' was a wikked name. He also had two of those fish, the ones that suck all the other fishes' waste products from the walls and that look like tiny eel-sharks, and I wanted to call them Flotsam and Jetsam. He ended up naming them...something else.

B. Everything he's ever named has died (except for Yuppy, the current guppy, but he hasn't been around long enough to count, and besides, Joel will probably forget to ask someone to feed him while we're on our honeymoon, and he'll be done for) and the one 'fish' that I named (Ninja, the snail. ROCK ON, NINJA! TAKE NO PRISONERS!) is still alive and well after more than a year. Joel wants to get rid of him because he (allegedly) poops too much. I think he's being eaten up by the knowledge that all of his slippery creatures will die untimely deaths until he lets me get a seahorse and name it Seabiscuit. I thought of that one just now. See? I'm awesome.

Transition...

I've been struggling with writing this post. Not the content, per se, but the tone. How do you follow up what amounts to an obituary?

When someone dies, even if you've never met them, you feel compelled to honor their life somehow. Perhaps it is a sort of penance for being here, for being alive when they aren't.

I don't really deal with heavy issues here on the ole citrus. I like my blog to be being flippant and witty. The blogs I enjoy reading (for the most part) are flippant and witty.* I'm too cowardly to wrestle with most of my issues in a venue this public, and then there's always the awkward transition from frolicsome to sombre and back again.

So consider this my segue blog. Neither one nor the other. Maybe tomorrow I'll tell you a tale of the Clarences, or about how Joel never lets me name any of his fish.

*I do appreciate the occasional 'weighty' blog, like when the defective yeti speaks of his autistic son, or when Hannah's adoption dreams hit another hitch, or pretty much everything September's ever written, because it is then that I feel that this blogging thing that we do, it might be worth something.

Temporary

This is James, and his girlfriend, Kim. James is a friend of mine from college. We used to play poker and smoke cigars together. I never met Kim.

A week ago, there was an avalanche in northern BC. Kim was killed.

I'm sorry, James, that I never met her. If you loved her, she must have been something special. My heart is with you now.

To everyone else, remember that you are temporary.

Reasons why Joel is cute

I can always tell when Joel is studying and/or on the Internet for long periods of time, because he sends me e-cards, random quotes, and funny pictures. I can picture him reasoning to himself thusly:

'I have been working steadfastly for many hours, and could use a break. I believe I will send an e-card to my significant other, because I recognize that frequent contact is how she receives love. In this way, I will productively kill five minutes of time.'

I remember being in college (like, a year ago, already), and thinking to myself:

'I have written a slip-shod introductory paragraph to this paper, which will later require some harsh, quasi-thorough 3 am editing. It is time for three consecutive games of Spider Solitaire.'

This is Joel as a mad scientist (read: during midterms)

house and home

Eating Chipits straight from the bag + watching 'The Last Ten Pounds' = doing pilates in your room later.

In other news, my sister found Joel and I a place to live! Check it out, it's perfect! It's a bacthlure suite between Frasher and Main, and there's no smokeing or peys! Which is awesome, because I hate both those things.

I'm a post!!

April fools! I have nothing interesting to say.