Holiday Travels

Merry Christmas! (almost) The traveling has stopped for a moment, so I can blog once more. What a wonderful time I am having. Grampa came and got me last Thursday and we drove down to Ohio to visit my aunt and uncle, and two cousins. We had a good visit there, and my aunt put me on to genealogy. I've begun a bit of a search, and it's tones of fun. Right now I'm just waiting on more information. Apparently that's a lot of it: waiting.

Monday we drove back to Ottawa. We left Ohio at 8am, and were in Ottawa at 5pm. Nine hours of driving. Ugh. What a long day. We stopped about 4 or 5 times, but it was pretty much go go go. When we got there my brother was at my Dad's, where he had come after school to greet me. We hung out for a bit, and then I drove him to Mum's and said hello to everyone there.

Tuesday Grampa and I went shopping for exciting things like oven elements and wool needles. I finished off a couple of Christmas presents as well. Then he dropped me off at Mum's and I spent some visiting time there with her and Gramma. The daycare kids were so much fun to play with too. I got lots of smiles and cuddles and laughs. I miss having kids around when I'm in Waterloo. Grampa picked me up again at 5 and I came home and made spaghetti for supper - the real kind, with real sauce. Then we erected the tree. We had to wire it to the ceiling so the Rumble wouldn't knock it down.

Today I decorated the tree and the house, and am waiting for Dad to get back with the car so that I can go shopping with Adam. I have a couple more things I have to pick up, and he has a bunch. Shopping is just easier with a car. You can go a bunch of different places, and you don't have to carry all your bags.

At some point today I have to do some laundry. I'm out of clean shirts and I want to wash the bed sheets in the upstairs bedrooms, since that probably hasn't been done in a while. Maybe I'll do some Christmas baking too, but that might have to wait until Grampa and I go grocery shopping. I'm probably missing some key ingredients...like milk.

I have some pictures to post, but I haven't had time to upload them to the computer yet. They're still sitting on my digital camera. One of these days...

Enough

"Part of being a winner is knowing when enough is enough. Sometimes you have to give up the fight and walk away, and move on to something more productive." - Donald Trump

You know, I really, truly dislike Donald Trump. I don't like his attitude, I don't like his hair, I don't like the way he talks to people, I don't really like him. In fact, he's one of those people that makes me cringe just at the thought of him. (Imagine how much I'm cringing now!) Despite that, I think he's got a really solid point here. Sometimes, enough is enough. Sometimes you can't learn any more. Sometimes you can't take any more. Sometimes persistence is damaging.

The question is: how do you figure out when that point is?

Something Different

Outside of my building, there is this tree:


Today, something struck me about this tree. Something looked different, but I couldn't immediately place what. Then, I noticed! If you look carefully up at the top branches, there's something different about those pine leaves...They're birds!

Neat, huh?

I'm Famous! (Kind of)

It's here! My moment of glory! My moment when I have become famous! Okay, so not quite. Below is a promotional picture for my university. I know the girl in the foreground; she lives in my building. In the background, however, in that black box, is me! You'd never know it, but it's true. The photos are all being released slowly over time, so I'm not sure when my foreground shots will appear. Still, pretty awesome, eh?

An Electronic Love Story

A couple of days ago my computer flashed up a warning from windows security. "WARNING", it said it bold letters, and then something to the effect that it has discovered that my computer is not being protected by a firewall.

"Heaven's to Betsy!" I exclaimed, "How did that happen?"

You see, I have always had a firewall. Always, that is, until I bought a new laptop at the beginning of this year and neglected to load one when I equipped it with all the anti-spyware, anti-virus, anti-evil packages. That's right folks, that means that I have been without firewall for four months.

Does this mean that for four months my windows security has been sitting here and thinking to itself, "something is not quite right. Something, but what?" Has it been thinking to itself and pondering that missing something, much like we humans ponder when we have that niggling feeling that we've forgotten something, or when we wonder about why we are here, and why we don't feel entirely complete? Is this akin to the all-consuming question of "who am I, and what do I want out of life?"

Lucky computer figured it out after only four months of intense thinking. At exactly 9:52 pm on Thursday, December 8th, 2005, my computer figured out exactly what would make it's life worth living: a firewall. Yes, a firewall is what would make it truly happy. Having come to this revelation, it continued to pop up warnings and demands approximately every 14.3 seconds. Finally, I relented, and ceased my study attempts to load it up with Kerio, a reliable and free firewall.

Now, to thank me for completing it's little electronic life, my computer has taken it upon itself to, with the help of it's new love, block all the web advertisements it comes across! That's right, now, instead of being bombarded by 7.3 billion advertisements a day, I simply receive a little white box on the webpage with a message that reads: "this advertisement blocked by KPF". Heavenly!

If only all love affairs were so productive, so mutually fulfilling, and so dedicated to making their matchmaker's world just a little bit better.

Lines That Drive Me Crazy

1)"You'll understand when you're older."
2)"We're in different life stages right now."
3)"You're young, you might change your mind."

Line number one:
How do you know that I won't understand it now? I always thought this was the biggest cop out line ever. You want to know what it really means? It really means "I don't have the patience to explain it to you". As a child, this line always really bothered me, mostly because I would understand it if they stopped underestimating my understanding! I was very bright (I don't mean to boast), I had a good vocabulary, and I wasn't short on common sense. Just because the concept is foreign does not mean that I won't understand it if explained to me. I do not believe that age limits the understanding to the extent that people commonly believe that it does. Of course, there are certain cases when it would be impossible to explain - like, say, basic physics to a toddler - but most of the time, I think people are just to darn lazy to bother trying.

Line number two:
It's pompous. It's arrogant. It assumes that you know where I am and what I want. It assumes that because there's an age difference, there's also a goal difference. It's common fact that people want things at different times, so to make a statement like that based on age just drives me nuts. Additionally, it implies that maturity is linked to age, which it is most definitely not. I know many adult with the maturity of a fruit fly, and I know some preteens with more sense than some of the people I go to school with. Every time I hear that line I just want to scream. It's like nails on a chalkboard.

Line number three:
I'm stubborn. Age has practically nothing to do with my decision making. If I want something, I plan to get it, I work to get it, and I get it. I'm not going to let some idiot tell me that I'm too young to do something that I feel completely capable of doing, or of making some decision that I know I want to make. This just drives me absolutely insane. If you don't want to believe me, at least come up with a better reason. Give me something valid to work with.

Me and Jackie!

This is a picture of me and Jackie, taken by...um...someone...at my birthday supper. Her shirt (which I love) reads "Cuddles keep me sane". Simply fantastic. Anyways, I love Jackie. She is great. That's the point of this post. End scene.

Oh, and also, you should go check out her post on gay marriages, because it's so funny.

Heart Attack

I went to open my take home exam that I’d handed in Wednesday night, that was due Thursday morning, because I wanted to share a paragraph with all you out there that I was particularly proud of, and I discovered, much to my abject horror that the only thing my file contained was a title page and three headings. There was no text. I just about died.

Tristan talked me through finding my document, and I realized that what had happened was that in my emailing the thing back and forth to myself I had inadvertently saved it in a windows Temp folder. This means that the exam that I handed in on Wednesday was only those three headings. Oh. Holy. Sh*t.

I immediately emailed the prof and the TA with a copy of the correct exam, explained what happened, and am just praying to God that since I handed the crap copy in a day early they’ll realize that I’m not just trying to pull a fast one.

I am so scared. I can’t fail this course. But heck, here’s the paragraph I was going to share with you!
***
Ritual is a difficult word to define. Part of this is because of the difference between the colloquial use of the word and the academic use. Colloquially, North Americans speak of their ritual trip to the coffee shop ever Saturday morning, but academically, ritual means much more than a simple repeated action, or routine. “Rituals, like routines, also involve repeated sequences. But there is a good reason to distinguish between them in theory, even though this is sometimes difficult in practice” (Kastenbaum 2004: 3). To be a ritual, in the academic sense, the event must involve people who are connected together in some way, must be taught carefully and according to set patterns, and must bring about a transformation (idem 98). Yet, even with this definition, questions arise. What does it mean to be connected? Family kinship is certainly connectedness, but does that include in-laws, or just blood relatedness? What about non-family connections? If in ordering a coffee every Saturday from the same person, does this not create a connection of some kind? Some might even argue that ordering a fancy coffee (for example: a non-fat grande mocha latte) requires carefully taught language and set patterns, and, furthermore, if the drink of a coffee turns a tired, grouchy person into someone ready to start their day, is this not a transformation? Obviously this example is slightly far-fetched, yet it does illustrate some of the problems of defining what is “ritual” and what is not.

Kastenbaum, Robert. On Our Way: The Final Passage Through Life and Death. University of California Press: USA, 2004.

Birthday!

I'm Twenty! Hurrah!

I am also starving hungry, and eagerly looking forward to the supper out with friends. Our reservation is at 7, and I'm supposed to meet a few of them to walk over together at around 6:30-40. I'm so glad it's one of those all you can eat style things. Well, not really, the first plate costs a certain amount, but then if you want seconds you pay a little more and you can have thirds or whatever for free. Not that I can imagine anyone could eat that much. Yeesh.

I also handed in my take home exam that's due tomorrow morning at 8am. I figured, it's as done as it's likely to get, it's good, and therefore I'm finished. Better to get it in early than try to beat the computer back-up that will happen at 7:45 tomorrow morning.

Better get ready to go meet people for supper!

I'll Follow You into the Dark (by Death Cab for Cutie)

If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied
And illuminate the 'no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

This has go to be one of the prettiest songs I've heard in a long time. Talk about devotion. Every time I hear it, it makes me want to cry. Imagine looking forward to death so that you can be with someone. I think about how strong that love must be, and it just makes me ache. I can only hope that I will some day love someone that much.

We'll hold each other soon in the blackest of rooms

Blame it on my Youth

I grew up on blues and jazz. Some of my very best memories are of Adam and I jumping around the living room, dancing and singing to Leonard Cohen, Holly Cole, and Jazz Bunny at the top of our lungs. I still listen to that music. I have impressed a great number of parents of children I babysat, as well as teachers and other adults, by being able to cite lines from some of their favourite grown-up artists.

I think that one of my favourite songs is Blame it on my Youth, by Holly Cole. It's a short song, and the lyrics go like this:

If I expected love when first we kissed,
Blame it on my youth.
If only just for you I did exist,
Blame it on my youth.

If I believed in everything, like a child of three
You meant more than anything, all the world to me.

If you were on my mind both night and day
Blame it on my youth
If I forgot to eat and sleep and play
Blame it on my youth

If I cried a little a bit when first I learned the truth...
Please don't blame it on my heart
Please don't blame it on my heart
Please don't blame it on my heart
Blame it on my youth

Just thought I'd share.

Theme Song

Your 2005 Song Is

Since You've Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson "But since you've been gone I can breathe for the first time I'm so moving on" In 2005, you moved on.

What Hit Song of 2005 Are You?

This just made me laugh. Have I moved on? Moved on from what? To what? What has and hasn't changed in the last year?

I moved to a different apartment with new roommates.

I dated, broke up with, and am now dating the same guy again. (This was the cause of the laughter)

I remained friends with some, didn't with others, and made new friends altogether.

Moving on...what does it actually mean? Aren't we continually moving on? Time is always moving, things are always changing, so what does the expression "moving on" actually mean? Does it have any meaning at all? And as if I have a Kelly Clarkson theme song. In all honesty, I do like the song, and I listened to it quite a bit in the summer, but I don't really like being associated with a mainstream pop song. That's a bit like admitting I still listen to the backstreet boys, *nsync, or 98 degrees. Which I don't...cough cough.

I wonder what my theme song would be if I could pick it. I'll have to put some thought into that.

Urge to Hurt Rising

Sometimes you just really want to hurt people. Particularly, this urge comes to me when I see or hear of people heartlessly hurting other people. Last week I was witness to a fight between a couple. The guy was tall, and heavy set, and leaning way in over the girl, who was petite. He was talking loudly and aggressively, and his body language was very domineering and frightening. The girl was pulled back into her body, and looking up at him while tucking her chin against her chest. I don't know what they were fighting about, but it was clear that she was feeling pretty intimidated. I can't blame her, the few times I've had men come at me in that way I've felt pretty much the same way. Of course, in my case, I always squared my shoulders and told them to back off. That's what I felt like doing for that girl. I felt like jumping off the couch where I was seated, placing myself soundly in between them, and telling him to step back. I didn't, of course. It wasn't my place, and I probably wouldn't have been well received by either of them. Still, the reaction was there.

Today, as I sit and work on my take-home exam, I start to be aware of a conversation between the two guys sitting in the couches immediately to my left. I don't know what made me become aware of it, but I came in on this:

Guy 1: Just write her a letter and slip it under her door, yo.
Guy 2: F*ck that man, I'm not going to even talk to her.
Guy 1: You gotta tell her something, man. You're leading her on.
Guy 2: I'm not leading her anywhere. I didn't tell her nothing.
Guy 1: You told her you loved her.
Guy 2: That doesn't mean sh*t.
Guy 1: She thinks you want to live with her.
Guy 2: She's a f*cking psycho. I don't want to live with her. I didn't ask that.
Guy 1: She told me you wanted to marry her.
Guy 2: Sh*t man, I was drunk, I'd marry anything.
Guy 1: I still think you should say something to her.
Guy 2: Nah man, I don't even care.
Guy 1: Four months, you think you'd care something.
Guy 2: Ah shut it.

They then went on to talk about sports. I wanted to strangle him. Here he is with this girl, who obviously cares a lot about him, and he's being a complete jerk. Worse than a jerk. To say that telling her he loves her means nothing! I couldn't believe it. People like that deserve to be decked, at the very least.

Communication

Communication. Arguably the one thing that makes humanity special is our ability to communicate about past, present, and future events. This is why we dedicate so much time to teach communication skills. Parents teach vocabulary and pronunciation to their toddlers; teachers instruct on grammar. There are audiologists, and speech-language pathologists to help when normal means fail.

How many times have I heard my mother say, "Use your words", to a child trying to cope with a raging emotion, be it anger or sadness? We coach children on identifying their emotions and verbalizing, rather than striking out. We also instruct on non-verbal communication, and the importance of the quality of voice. "Use your happy voice", "It's not what you said, it's how you said it", "Inside voices, please", "Say it like you mean it".

Without a doubt, communication is incredibly important, and we all realize that. Why, then, are we so squeamish to talk about certain subjects? Why do we shy away from teaching children that it's alright to talk about sex? More than that, that it is important to talk about sex? We are doing them a great disservice.

Growing up in my mother's house, sex was a completely normal topic of conversation, and I have to admit that I took that for granted until I started to notice that the majority of my peers did not have that same experience at home. In fact, I vividly remember the time that I brought my first serious boyfriend home for supper, and my mother and step-father began discussing the benefits of oral sex. I wanted to die, but my then-boyfriend thought it was hysterically funny. That's a story for a different time, perhaps.

In junior and senior high school I became something of the go-to girl for all of my (mostly) female companions. I remember one incident during grade 8 in the hallway one lunch break when one of the girls made a sexual joke, and although I don't remember what the joke was, I remember the response vividly. Amid the giggles it was discovered by one of the more obnoxious girls of the class that another girl hadn't understood it, because she didn't know what oral sex was. They all burst into laughter at this girl, because the expectation is clearly that by that age, we should all know exactly what's going on. So they sat there, laughing at her cruelly, while she floundered to make up for her slip, until she finally gave up and asked for someone to explain it to her. Dead silence followed. Everybody stared at her. Talk about sex in public? Joking about it was one thing, but to explain sex? Most of the girls turned red, several of them actually got up and left, and the tension was almost tangible, until one of them relieved everyone by telling the girl to, "just go ask Haley, she'll tell you". They all then vanished, leaving me in the hallway, alone with this girl, who was confused, hurt, and embarrassed.

I did explain it, and I did so as nicely as I could, but the whole time I kept thinking that this situation could have been avoided so easily if everybody had parents who would talk about these sorts of things. This thought continued to be brought up repeatedly over the years and I became the go-to girl more and more often (just as, I might add, many of my friends were becoming sexually active). I've provided basic explanations, even sketches sometimes, as well information about STIs, and provided hand holding for friends as they went to have pap tests, pregnancy tests, and hiv tests. I demonstrated the appropriate way to use a condom, stressed the importance of using protection every time, and even brought in a spare bra one time to teach a male friend of mine how to undo them. It's not that I minded it at all, but I couldn't help but think that there was an easier way. And what about all those people who didn't talk to me? (By this point I had decided that most people were completely helpless when it came to sex ed, which, although probably not fair, concerned me to no end.)

Now that I'm in university, the lack of communication again strikes me, but in a different way. By now we women are, for the most part, comfortable enough to discuss things like that with each other, but when it comes to communication with our partners, that's another story. Girls complain that they are unsatisfied, that their man doesn't know how to please them, and that sex is boring and painful. They feel completely comfortable telling me things like, "If he just did such and such" or, "I wish he wouldn't do such and such", but will they talk to the man? Heck no. If I suggest such a thing I'm invariably greeted by, "Oh God Haley, I could never do that!"

Why not? What is he going to do? And, more importantly, how are they going to enjoy their sex lives if they don't talk to him?

My reply is always, "Honey, if you can't talk about it, you shouldn't be doing it".

So for the love of God, parents, teach you children that it's perfectly normal to communicate about sex. More than that, that it is important to communicate about sex. Do that, and you're not only protecting your child from embarassment in grade school and setting your child up for a healthier and safer adult life, but you're letting kids like me out of a whole lot of awkward situations!

New Comments

I thought it would be a wonderful thing to sign up with Haloscan for commenting and trackback. It just gives me a little more control over comments and such. Don't be thrown off by the different look!

As a side note, I sadly lost all of the past comments because I didn't think to back them up. How tragic!

Winter Cometh

The buzzer in the apartment went off at just after nine this morning. My roommate answered it, and it was Purolator, bringing me a delivery. Birthdays birthdays. I got up, and received my package, and decided I might as well shower. An hour later I'm dressed, more awake, and sitting again in my room. I have no classes to go to as they are over for the exam period. Now I have only to study. Joy of joys.

Outside there is a thin layer of icy snow lying over everything. There seems to be a strong wind, and I'm willing to bet that it's a cold one. Right now it's 2 degrees below Celsius. It's been hovering around -7 or -8 (19 and 17 F) the last few days. We've also got snowsquall warnings in effect. Blowing snow, lovely.

Inside is delightfully warm. I've recently discovered the joys of living on the fifth floor of a large apartment building: you never have to turn on the heat. It has remained a steady 24 degrees (75 F) inside all week, and we are paying for naught a degree of it. All those poor suckers living in the lower floors are unwittingly heating us as well.

Jackie and I are planning on doing a little shopping today. I just love the malls at this time of year. I love the decorations, and the endless Christmas carols. I have to wonder though, why is it that Christmas carols in the malls are fine, but city officials cringe at calling a decorated tree a "Christmas Tree". Q wrote on the subject, and I remember a similar thing happening at home, at the town hall just a few steps down from my high school. As an anthropologist, events like this make me sigh. Sometimes it seems like we're all too keen to hide, ignore, and punish our culture. Yes, multiculturalism is wonderful, but it doesn't preclude the expression of Christian tradition. That's a talk for another day, perhaps.

My father kindly sent me some pictures of Rumble, back home with the family.

Here we can see him cozying up on the printer, no doubt a warm spot in the cool house.

And here he is peering into the microwave. You can just see it: "What's cooking?"

And my very favourite. My kitten thinks he's a receipt.