Songwriter? Check.

I wrote a song this morning. It's called "My Little Monkey." I sang it to my cats.

After all, it was written for them.

I dunno, but early reaction would indicate that it's a hit.

Coming out... of the front closet

Yep, these are my ski goggles, circa about 1993.

I'm pretty embarrassed by them. I even LIED to a guy I was dating last year and told him I didn't have any goggles so I could borrow his and never ever have to let him see them. I'm sure he would've gotten quite the kick out of 'em. And even though he was quite a bit younger than me and he knew my age, I didn't need to give him any unnecessary ammo.

But I'm finally coming out. Yes, I admit that these are my goggles. Now I'm trying to decide if I should wear them or buy a new pair. They always worked well, but let's just say that they don't quite 'match' the rest of my outfit. Not that the rest of me matches, mind you.

Plus retro is "in" now, right? I mean, if the one piece skisuits are back then why can't I wear my neon goggles?

I don't mind being a goof sometimes, but around some people, maybe, just maybe, sometimes, I don't wanna be a total joke.

Ah what the hell, let them laugh.

Hotel Des Alpes

One of my favourite places on our trip was a gem we stumbled on, nestled on the side of a mountain, Hotel Des Alpes.


I could not BELIEVE the view from our room!!! AND we had a balcony too! I was in heaven.




Literally in heaven... In the morning, we were even higher than the clouds.


There was a small ski hill just 3km up the mountain on a narrow winding road with no guard rails and steep drop offs that had Mom pretty scared (ok, me too at times).

















On the way back down we saw some deer.

In retrospect the view was awesome, but the whole experience at the hotel was also impressive. It wasn't just the 8 good-looking Germans that rode in on their motorbikes and sat at the table next to us at dinner and breakfast either;) It was also the man who ran the place, I think his name was Leo? He was soooo nice to us! In the morning when we were checking out he said, "Vous êtes joli." I thought he was posing a question... Are you happy? and I told Mom that's what he'd asked. We responded, "Yes we are, VERY much so thanks."

It wasn't until later when I figured out that joli meant beautiful. Oops. YES. YES WE ARE. Hahaha. Good one.

I'm an idiot.

Disaster Area

I realize that you all must think I have it really "together". Yeah, uh huh.

However, if my desk is any indication, I'm about 3 more papers from completely LOSING IT!!! I'm supposed to graduate by August 31st this year but unfortunately just getting through everything on my desk will probably take me until, oh, June I figure.

While you're visiting my office, check out the metabolic pathways poster I put together when studying for my candidacy... It gives the impression that although I may be disorganized, I'm actually somewhat of a biochemisty dynamo.

Rrrrriiiiiiiiiigghhhttt.

Speaking of which, I found out something about myself the other day... I was thinking about what a disaster area I really am, and thinking that sometimes people who are a disaster in one area are usually really really smart in another area of their life. And well, I somehow got into grad school, so maybe there's talent there (besides totally pulling the wool over my supervisor's eyes)? So what do you call a person who is usually a meathead but has some kind of freakish talent? An idiot savant!!!

idiot savant: An intellectually disabled person who exhibits extraordinary ability in a highly specialized area, such as mathematics or music.

My area of specialization: nutrition and metabolism. Everything else I suck at. Oh well, keeps things interesting I suppose...

Brush with Distress

Distress can be defined as “To cause strain, anxiety, or suffering to.” My brush with it began when I skiied down “The Exhibitionist” at Marmot Basin in Jasper in January 2002. Shortly afterwards I wrote this about the experience...

It was my first time skiing in a few years. There was 4 of us traveling from Edmonton to Marmot Basin in Jasper… My friend Nancy, my boyfriend Scott and a fellow PhD student David. It was exciting to get on the slopes after so long! Skiing is an expensive sport, and as a long-time student it had been difficult to find the time or money for this activity. I had also injured both knees hitting the dashboard in a car accident a couple of years earlier, so it was nice when I got cruising down the hills and my knees withstood the punishment.

It was later in the afternoon and I decided to follow Scott down “The Exhibitionist”, a black diamond run covered in these huge moguls. They were ‘do-able’ moguls though and I like to challenge myself, so I decided to follow while the others chose another run. It was near the start of the run when I was rounding a mogul, one ski succeeding in doing so and the other… uh, kept going straight down the hill. The rest of my body also went straight down the hill and I landed face down in the snow. My left leg twisted behind me. An incredible pain gripped me. I wanted to cry it was so bad, and I’m no crier!!! (At physical pain that is…) It took a few minutes for me to get my breath back and regain my bearings. Scott helped me up. I tried to put weight on my left leg and couldn’t, it kept collapsing. I really really wanted to just finish the run on one leg but I couldn’t. There was no possible way. So Scott set up the ski’s in the “skiier down criss-cross”, and went for help. Some people above me on the chair lift were nice enough to ask if I needed help. Yes, I had done this with and audience, hence the name of the run I suppose.

It seemed to take forever, but help arrived. I wasn’t sure how they’d get me down the hill, on the back of a snowmobile? But after checking my leg out, they lay me down on a tobaggon layered in blankets and plastic. They zipped me up so that I had a small space to peer up at the sky, and then a skiier pulled me “horse and sleigh style” down the steep hill. It was a long haul to first aid but we got there ok.

I couldn’t believe the state of my leg. I had never had an injury so serious before, nothing that left me so helpless and in pain. I fought back the tears. I couldn’t straighten it, bend it, or put weight on it.

Later in Edmonton, I lay on Scott’s couch as he ran to the store for crutches, Advil and a bag of frozen peas, bless his heart. He even helped me with difficult tasks such as getting in and out of the shower which is impossible on one leg.

I spent the whole next day in the emergency room and the following day I returned to school, wearing baggy pants that fit over my knee brace, and hobbling around campus on crutches. I had no idea that crutches were so hard to deal with. My arms were so weak by the end of the day that I couldn’t even hold myself up any longer.

The specialist told me that week that I had torn my ACL – anterior cruciate ligament. It’s the ligament that stabilizes the knee, running down the center and keeping it from bending too far one way or another. Once it tears, it never repairs itself. Hearing the doctor tell me that my knee would never be the same again was extremely HARD. Surgery was an option, where they take a tendon from another place and form an ACL from it. Being the surgiphobe that I am, I hoped this wasn’t necessary.

Anyway, after my first few days on crutches, I went on David’s suggestion to rent a scooter. I found out that the Office for Students with Disabilities rents them out for $2 a day. I had hoped to get stronger on the crutches, but the scooter offered an opportunity to get around farther and faster, particularly on campus, while not exhausting me by the end of the day.

The scooter ended up being very useful, except that there were some drawbacks. First of all, any friends or colleagues who saw me trying to get around the school got quite a chuckle at my expense. Bastids!!! Rose wanted me to wear my “special friend” helmet and old glasses to complete the look. This was probably not the most politically correct, but they thought it was funny sight either way, meanies! Other people looked at me differently too. I have to say that I learned a lot about what its like to have a disability, even if it was only for a short time. It was like they were looking at the disability, not the person. The worst part was that EVERYTHING you do is a chore. I swore A LOT. The simplest thing like making dinner is a major task, hopping around the kitchen and hopping and hopping around the kitchen till dinner is made. Then you sit down to eat and something needs more salt, you forgot your knife, or you need to get up again to get a drink. Hop hop hop!!! F*&% F*&% F*&%!!! Not to mention carrying anything like dinner and a drink on crutches or while hopping is quite a unique challenge. I already mentioned getting in and out of the shower with only one usable leg, or doing anything around the house for that matter. Out of the house, I couldn’t drive because my car is a stick shift and my left leg for using the clutch was useless. Rose had to drive me to school every day.

Around school, the scooter really helped, but driving it was almost more painful than helpful. I can really empathize with people in wheelchairs. Just learning which buildings had handicapped access ramps and doors, and where they were was quite a task. My office was in an old building called Newton Research. Luckily it has a ramp, however the front door opens toward the ramp, so that in order to get through the door, I had to drive past it and then somehow reach back to get it open, and back the scooter up while trying not to tumble down the stairs to the immediate left of me. Not easy by any stretch. Sometimes a nice man outside smoking would open the door for me, sometimes I would get off the scooter and somehow try to hold the door open and drive it in from on one foot. Elevators were another story. One day I had to get across campus for a meeting ASAP, and left early as always to make sure I could get there on time. After waiting and waiting outside the elevator to get down from the 5^th floor, I finally abandoned the scooter and got my crutches out. At least I COULD get the crutches out, some people don’t have that option. I struggled but gained a new respect. What a helpless aggravating feeling. I found out later that the elevator was out of order.

Another thing about the scooter was that it would stall for no reason. Sometimes this was simply annoying, and sometimes it was downright embarrassing! For instance, back to the need for elevator use… well, people would hold the doors open for me and as I went to enter the elevator, the scooter would just STOP. They would wait while I tried to get it going again and finally I would get so embarrassed that I would just wave them on and say I’d catch the next one, hoping the scooter would come back to life in time and not pull that shit again. But by far the worst scooter stalling times were when I was crossing the street. I would enter the crosswalk with my fingers crossed, praying that it would go smoothly and sure enough, it would stop right in the middle. I would sit there like a dork, trying to get it going again while drivers and other pedestrians looked at me like I was nuts. I’m sure they wondered to themselves as to why I would possibly stop in the middle of the road… like I thought hanging out in the crosswalk when the light was about to turn was a good idea!!! One particular time David was escorting me to a seminar where I had to give a presentation, specifically so I could get there on time and avoid any unforeseen obstacles. Sure enough, I went to cross the street and the scooter stopped. Around the corner a bus came upon us while David tried to push me across to no avail. I got off and we both tried to get the scooter across while a busload of people watched. Eeesh.

Anyways, there were countless other little mishaps, but I got through it… pretty distressed. The mishaps built on each other, and I got really cranky throughout the whole thing and even completely lost it on a couple of instances. It finally got so that if something went wrong, I would just say, “it figures”. However, in retrospect I am very grateful. I learned a lot about what its like to have a disability. However, my brush with distress was just that, temporary. I guess its like that old saying about walking (or in this case not walking) in another’s shoes. My knee may not be the same ever again, but it’s not a permanent disability. There are people who deal with these difficulties every day of their life, and have a good attitude about it… that’s the key, a good attitude. Also good friends to help you out! The truth is that you may not be able to change your situation, but you can change the way you deal with it… in between the all the crying and swearing and throwing of things!!!

Rum makes you dumb (and other discoveries)

Ah, what a weekend... Movies, Häagen-Dazs and assorted treats, and me running!!! (Yeah, mostly just my attempt at undoing the 1000s of calories of ice cream and treats)…

And then I got to go and see a concert!!!! Yay! It was the Armchair Cynics (with Ellis and Long Way Down).

It was sooo much fun. I learned a lot too. For instance:

Bang is dirty dirty song! I thought it was actually about a GUN. Guess not.
The lead singer of Armchair Cynics seemed to have an ego about the size of his bulging biceps, but somehow it was OK.
Rum makes you dumb, gin makes you grin and Jager makes you stagger.
Keeping tampons in your jacket pockets is a drunk person’s brilliant idea of theft deterrent.
I still have a toque fetish.
Drunk or ovulating? I blame the gin.
If a guy admits that he normally lies about his name at the bar and you tell him you normally lie about your age, then his name is Chris and you're 25.
Confessing your age (ahem, 25) gets you free drinks (mmmmm Jagerbombs:).
Apparently mullets are cool if they’re spikey and funked up (i.e. “retro?”).
You wouldn’t really know if a guy wearing a toque had a mullet until it was too late.
Musicians aren’t so impressed when you point out that their hairstyle is technically a mullet.
There isn’t a better way to end a night than an adorable boy telling us that we’re “absolutely beautiful.”
I'm still an idiot around cute boys (could blame the rum though).
Compliments under the influence in a dark bar still go in one ear and out the other, but it’s nice that they pause to sink in, even if it’s just for a fleeting moment.

Oh oh-oh I'm Still Alive!

It's pretty cool that I made it through another year. Yippee! And I have a great feeling right down to the bottom of my toesies about this one. I know it's going to be a gooder. Maybe, just maybe, if I'm REAL GOOD, I'll finally make parole!!!

By the way, the New Year's party was a lot of fun. There was wine, but only enough to make my head implode this morning. Although I thought I was going to hurl today when I heard the guy downstairs puke his guts out (forevermore I shall call him "Basement Ralph"). Yikes. Unbeknownst to him, he almost started a vomit chain reaction. I seriously thought I was going to woof my cookies after that. He had been drinking something called "Hypnotics"? I'd never heard of it, that I know of. Anyways, I don't think I made too much of an ass of myself, so I was pleased. Or maybe I should check in with a few people who were there, because sometimes I don't know I've been a dork. Oh well. Bygones. Oh yeah, so there was a bonfire, firecrackers, and sometime in the wee hours we thought it would be fun to play Cranium and then poker (scrabble doesn't really fly with drunk people). Geez, we didn't go to bed until about 6am. Honk shew.

So my first resolution is... you guessed it- no more drinking!!! Actually, I take that back. I'm a realist. Plus, I don't make resolutions. Maybe I should take it a little easy on the ol' brain cells though.

Damn it's going to be a good year!

The World’s Largest Midget

Man, some comedic lines are gold. I LOVE those one-liners that keep me laughing days later.

On that show My Name is Earl, his bro was talking about the Fair and how they had the ‘world’s largest midget’ there. He said, “I think he was about your size Earl.”

Haha. I guess they had the world’s smallest giant too. Perhaps it was the same person?

Oh, I guess the term "midget" isn't very politically correct anymore. I'm kind of bummed about some of the words that are no longer "PC". It's really hard to drop 'retard' from my vocabulary since it's so ingrained. However, every time I hear about someone who had a kid or a sibling that was mentally retarded and how it hurt their feelings whenever they heard it used in that way, I feel bad. Although I still love to make people say this out loud: I M WEE TODD ID.

So I'm not only NOT PC, but I'm also insanely immature. Oops, is insane now going to be taboo? Oh man, I'm SUCH a RETARD!

Since I'm off on a ramble anyways, that just reminded me of watching Chris Farley on SNL the other night (I have the video and stuck it in for some instant comic relief). Holy, that guy KILLS ME. There were a few of my fave skits that weren't on there, but the clips from 'The Chris Farley Show' were. When he'd asked a particularly dumb question he'd go, "STUPID, I'm such an IDIOT!" and he'd pull his hair. I liked it, I liked it A LOT. Ok, that's it... I could get into Dumb and Dumber and how I can do the perfect 'most annoying sound in the world' but I won't. I'm just going to ZIPPIT.

It's nuts how movies/tv affects pop culture.

Scary

There's something about being in costume that makes me think I can act like a total idiot (it might have some relationship to booze consumption as well). Anyways, on Saturday night I was a dancing dynamo. I did every type of dance move I could think of, even some breakdancing (which probably looked a lot more amateur than it felt at the time).

Many many of my body parts are still aching.

I think I've missed my calling as a mascot. It's a bit scary to think about how the complete anonymity of a costume plus a huge viewing audience might influence my behavior.

The dork factor

I figured out the other day that looking like a dork prevents me from being free to do as I choose. I have trouble finding clothes in my closet that don’t make me look like a dork. Does this match? Is this totally goofy looking? I have no idea. I also don’t like to hang out with people I don’t know; for fear that I will look like a dork… Don’t walk into the bar alone, get out of the limo at the front door, dance when I’m sober, tell someone I like them, go meet my boyfriends parents or friends… The higher the dork factor, the more likely it is that I will make excuses not to go somewhere, do something or talk to someone. I know it’s not all about me. Half the time people couldn’t give two shits what I’m wearing or doing. Why is the dork factor so deterring?

I looked it up in the dictionary… it’s actually in there.

dork n.
Slang. A stupid, inept, or foolish person.
Vulgar Slang. The penis.

Dork = Penis??? Dork? That’s one I haven’t heard! There are a lot of D words that mean penis (i.e. Dick, Dink, Tallywacker... haha, ok that starts with a T but I just had to put it in there). Either way, I haven’t heard of Dork that way!!!

I’m confused. In order to find some clarity I decided to do a net search (as I often do in these situations for some reason). I came across this…

Dork (v.) To engage in the act of sexual intercourse.

What the? I’ve never heard this either!!! Don’t they mean “Pork”, as in to pork someone? Geez. Maybe dork is one of those words that is so generic you can use if for almost everything…

“How was dinner?” “Oh, it was so good that I just dorked it down.”
“What did you do to your toe?” “Oh man, I totally dorked it on the corner of the coffee table.”
“Hey kids, quit dorking around!”

Hahaha. I just came across a funny site! It has a dork quiz on it…

http://www.csua.berkeley.edu/~sarahfsk/dork.html

And guess what?!? I’m definitely a dork!!! My friends say I’m strange but I take it as a compliment… tripping on smooth sidewalks… Gonzo! Haha.

The quiz said about me, “I bet you tell "I'm a big dork" stories on a fairly regular basis. You're a member of Alpha Beta Needa Data.”

That cracked me up! Yeah, the bigger the dork factor the better the story! Man I love it when I find out I’m not aloneJ So then why should I pretend to be otherwise? I guess in front of my friends I don’t mind so much. They laugh at me. They think I’m a goof. I don’t care. I even try to be a dork to get a reaction at times. It can be fun. My nickname in junior high (only known by my best friend at the time) was TGG (the gutless goof). Now if that doesn't have DORK written all over it... But sometimes it’s annoying when I’m really trying not to be a dork and my friends make fun of me. Like when all I could afford was this ugly bike helmet, and Rose used to laugh at me every time I wore it. She called it my 'special friend' helmet. And in some situations and in front of some people, well, I don’t want to look like a total dork. I don’t want to be judged at all. I want to blend in. I’d rather be invisible than appear the dork. Why? Because dog-gonnit I want people to like me!

And you know what… I’ve come to the conclusion that people like a dork better than someone who appears to be perfect.

I shall make an effort to embrace my inner dorkdom.