When I Was A Five-Year-Old Badass

I’m a good girl. Not to the point of sainthood or alienation (I’m not righteous or anything. People partaking in illegal activity doesn’t bother me, just don’t expect me to join in), but I live on the right side of the law most of the time — which is why when a cop pulled me over for the first time in my life I just about had a heart attack. I had just dropped my brother and his friends off at the Sunvalley Mall and was making my way toward downtown Lafayette and a movie night extravaganza. The road was pretty vacant but when I looked in my rear-view mirror I saw that a cop was behind me, just doing his thing. Then I saw I was driving below the speed limit. Because I’m neurotic, I sped up thinking he would give me a ticket for hazardously driving too slow but then I ended up going to fast. Just as I realized I was three miles per hour over the speed limit, the cop turned on his lights. My stomach proceeded to hit the floor and my heart quickely shot into my throat, because he was pulling me over.  If you have seen The Little Mermaid there is a line at the beginning while Ariel is visiting Scuttle, discussing what a snorfblat is,  and she remembers that she has missed her coming out concert. She says to Flounder, “My father’s going to kill me.” As I made my way to the curb, all I could hear was Ariel’s voice saying that line over and over and over again.

So, I promptly pull to the side and roll down my window as the cop saunters over with his flashlight shining in my face and I manage to let out a chipper “hi!” He asks me where I was coming from and I tell him, adding in “sirs” and trying to sound as innocent as possible — even though I really was and had nothing to be afraid of. Then he tells me that the light that illuminates my license plate is out and I let out an enormous “Oh” of relief. He asks for my driver’s license and as I give it to him he asks if I have had anything to drink tonight to which I reply, still in my terrified voice, “I’m only nineteen sir.”

But I didn’t feel nineteen, I felt like I was five:

When I was a wee lass in kindergarten, out of frustration, I hatched a brilliant plot to run away from school for a day. My family had just moved to Lafayette and my parents weren’t letting me have friends over while we were still moving in. In retaliation, I orchestrated a massive escape to my homestead with about six other kids, however all but one chickened out.

My best friend Melina and I were in the afternoon kindergarten group but spent the mornings at daycare on campus. On the walk from daycare to the classroom we slipped away from the line and made a  mad dash toward the parking lot. We then walked the mile to my house where we ate Oreos and totally destroyed my room. After I don’t remember how long, a cop showed up at the door. Being five years old and having watched a lot of “Batman: The Animated Series”, I knew that cops were the good guys so I opened the door. He asked me my name and if my parents where home to which I replied “no” (I really fail as a delinquent). Melina and I were then ushered into the back of a cop car and reprimanded the entire way back to school. I sat there, five years old and behind the thick scary black bars of a police car being told that if I ever did this again I would be sent to juvenile hall. Visions of tiny me in a damp, dark cell wearing rags and clutching”bunny”, my stuffed bunny, swept through my head and I got really scared. That was the last time I encountered a police officer. I still think it was pretty awful of him to terrorize two five-year olds like that but it worked — I have forever been terrified of getting in serious trouble.

But there I was, ninteen and on the cusp of being in serious trouble. The rest of the story, however, is pretty boring — the cop let my shaking nineteen-year-old self off with a simple warning and I cautiously drove home to switch cars before going to movie night. It took about ten minutes for my heart to calm down. I felt like vomiting and crying and laughing all at the same time. I don’t remember the little feelings my five-year-old self was feeling besides fear. My memory seems to have let go of the sense of relief when I only got a stern talking to and suspension for the day, if I even felt relief. The mash up of feelings that consumed my body as I drove away last night were enough to further deter me from breaking laws intentionally — if I did, my father would most certainly kill me. Although my parents admit that despite being angry with me for frightening them beyond belief all those years ago, they were secretly proud that I had the wit to concoct an execute such an intense plan at such a young age, but somehow I don’t think that pride would hold up if their nineteen-year-old arrive home in the back of a police car. So I will settle for the infamony of being the girl that ran away from kindergarten. — one unique feat of wrong doing is enough.  If last night’s events prove anything, it’s that I am destined to be a good girl all my days, and I’m okay with that.

Raindrops on Roses and Wiskers on Kittens

I am officially back in California. The past four days I’ve done nothing but lounge and catch up with friends and spend time with my family. It has been glorious. Getting here proved prolematic. Shortly after I posted on the bus, my dad called informing me that my first flight would be delayed and I would subsequenly miss my second flight. Never fear, however, they moved me to the next avaliable flight from Las Vegas to Okland. It has, however, become a trend on my flight from Buffalo to Oakland that I get horribly ill somewhere along the way.  I don’t know if it has to do with food or water or what. I’ve tried everything and usually end up vomiting or feeling like I want to vomit. This phenomena does not happen when traveling the other direction though. I dunno, it’s a mystery.

But here I am, safe and sound and feeling excellent. I forget how much  I love my childhood bed and the luxury of having my entire closet at my disposal. I missed dinner with my parents and my cats. I missed having a backyard and huge windows that open and look out onto trees, squirrels and green hills (as opposed to the crazy and or drunk people on Bloor St). I missed birds (that aren’t pigeons) and nature in general. As much as I love the city, coming home to suburbia is in its own way refreshing. As long as I have my suburban sanctuary to come home to I can go anywhere.  The first year when I went away I expected to come back and find everything drastically different, but it wasn’t– same bagel place, coffee place, school, stop signs.  Lafayette never changes (except for the new library and some road work).  It’s wonderfully comforting to know that it will always be here, no matter where I go or how much I change.

All Aboard!

Right now, as I type, I am on a double decker “megabus” slinking down the wet grey streets of middle of nowhere Canada en route to the Buffalo Airport watching a tv spitting out “did ya know” facts about Looney Toons and Granula (the first breakfast cereal). Yes, there is wireless on this bus (I would recommend “megabus” if you ever have such an opportunity); we live in a beautiful age. Every winter break, reading week and at the beginning and end of the school year I have to make this 13+ hour trek back to California. Today, I woke up at 7am, wrote a final exam from 9 to about 10:30 (I finished early) and boarded this bus at noon. We’ll get to the Buffalo Airport at about 2:15 depending on traffic and how smoothly the whole border patrol thing goes (you and all your stuff must exit the bus, stand in line with your fellow passengers and approach a booth where a stern person in a blue jacket asks you “how long will you be in the United States” and “do you have anything to declare”. I never have anything to declare and they always look at me suspiciously, like I’m hiding cocaine in my bra or something. Regardless, people are sometimes stupid and this whole process can take a while. The longest I’ve seen it go is an hour). Once I get to the airport, I check my bag. This year my mother is making me take back the massive and poorly designed garment bag so as I can bring home the quilt she’s made me (I’m really very pleased about the quilt). Every time I go to the airport I have to play the guessing game in regards to the weight of my luggage. Over fifty pounds and I have to pay twenty five dollars (for what? the added exertion placed on the conveyor belt?). So then I eat something non nutritious, buy Cosmo and settle down for a good hour before my flight leaves (at 4:15).

Today, my layover is in Las Vegas. Usually I’m stuck in either the Las Vegas Airport or Chicago Midway for some period of time. Last year on my way back to Toronto I was stuck in the ‘ Vegas airport for six hours. I boarded my plane in Oakland and sat on the tarmack for three hours waiting for water to heat up. Apparently, there is an enviornmental code in California prohibiting the use of the anti freeze used on plane wings so we do it the old fashioned way. Needless to say I missed my connecting flight in good ole’ LV and was stuck. They have slot machines everywhere in the LV airport. It was pretty hellish. Today, hopefully I’ll only spend half and hour there. I will roll into Oakland at 9:10 in the evening. Factor in the time difference and I’ve just spent twleve hours traveling.

But you know what the worst part of the trip is? Saying goodbye to Nathan. Saying goodbye now just reminds me that I have to say goodbye in five months and then I cry because one of the most painful things I’ve ever had to do was get on that bus last May. I’m really not looking forward to repeating the experiance. But there is a best part–I am home and for all the torture above, home is worth it in every way.

Help Me Obi Wan Kenobi, You’re My Only Hope

I go home in a little less than three days. This means family, friends, San Francisco, cats, good food, love, movie nights, fun, baking experiments, and a haircut. I might be most excited about the haircut. A couple years ago, when I was a young lass, a boy broke my heart. And how did I retaliate? I dyed my hair blond (several times. It wasn’t ever blond enough) and put pink streaks in it, or at least that’s what I intended to do.  My hair actually turned orange (see exhibit a =>). I don’t think it was as bad in person — at least that’s what they tell me– but in photographs I look ridiculous.  That fall I returned to school and auditioned for the play You Can’t Take It With You where I realized that everyone auditioning for the family members of my character had dark hair. So between my primary audition and callbacks I died it again, dark chestnut brown– though it turned out a little darker than I imagined. Needless to say my hair was a  little fried, and to this day I have a bright blond streak on the right side of my hair. It is a section that succumbed to all the chemicals and said “fine! if you want to be a blond so bad, you’ll be a blond!” and promptly died. Fortunately the rest of my hair has not followed suit. With each haircut that blond streak shrinks and I revel in the removal of split ends.  As my appointment approaches, I have to pick a hairstyle and because I don’t got to a fancy upscale salon, I have to bring a photo — usually I pick a celebrity with face shape similar to mine. This  (<= ) is what I have right now in all its shapless glory. My bangs have grown out and my layers have lost their edge.  I’m looking for a new ‘do.  These are the contenders:

All who have vaguely similar haircuts though with varying degrees of bang and layer (if you’re still reading this, I applaud you, I’ve totally gone into girl mode and written 345 words about my hair– I realize how dull this is). So what things you? Mandy? Reese? or Rachel? I’m personally leaning toward Reese or Rachel. But opinions are appreciated. MAYBE if someone had told me my hair was ORANGE I wouldn’t have kept it for so long.

If I Had A Million Dollars

I am a lover of all things literary. This includes but is not limited to: pens, pencils, books, notebooks, magazines, paper, planners, bookmarks and bookstores. These things, however, are expensive (especially bookstores) and due to my current scholarly state my lack of income only allows for looking and not purchasing. So I browse, A LOT, and make lists A LOT.  My list of current pine-ings includes, but is not limited to:

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier  and Clay by Michael Chabon

Magic For Begginers By Kelly Link and Shelley Jackson

Selected Poems 1934-1952 by Dylan Thomas

The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog by Dylan Thomas

A Red Graphic Moleskine Notebook

Flakeage Has Begun

Last night Toronto got its first official snowfall.  Before crawling into bed, I closed my blinds on a hard, wet, rain filled world and the next morning opened them to a nice, soft, white one. I love the snow, especially in the early winter months before it turns to brown slush and I start to miss the sunshine. As long as there is snow, I don’t mind that it’s two degrees outside and I have to wear leggings under my jeans to prevent frozen thighs. It really is so beautiful and totally magical.  I go back to California in five days; I knew that that the snow wouldn’t wait to come until after I had left, snow wouldn’t do that to me. But, hey, they did get snow in California this week so maybe I’ll have a white Christmas after all, as my dear friend Alison said  “I would PEE out of happiness”.

I Wish I Had A Personal Jet… Or Could Apparate.

I have the most intense urge to travel someplace new, or even someplace old, just someplace (criteria: someplace exciting, Buffalo New York does not count). I want to have an adventure-  sleep on park benches, ride camels across deserts, hit a language barrier, wear the same pair of unwashed jeans for a month. That kind of adventure. Even the prospect of an adventure inspires me. I don’t need to go tomorrow, I don’t have anywhere near the money to go tomorrow, but planning to go someday is thrilling enough. The problem is, I don’t know where to go. There are just too many choices.  Italy, Greece, Paris (again), Prague, Monaco, Barcelona, Madrid, Lisbon, Fez, Egypt, Amsterdam, Turkey, Machu Pichu, Thailand, England, Quebec, Montreal, Costa Rica, Seattle,  Boston, Chicago, Vermont, Savannah .  For now,  I’ll settle for San Francisco and home (which really isn’t at all settling).  Two exams, less than two weeks, two planes and two thousand miles between me and home. I’m so ready.

My Sincere Apologies

It is basically hell week here at U of T. I had two essays due today (one of which was on Russian lit), a final tomorrow and a final on thursday. To say that my brain is mush would be an under statement. My brain is beyond mush. Once I have gotten some proper sleep i will post something whitty or cute…

Puppies.

there, that’s cute. Also, if you feel like hating fox news, watch this:

now I’m going to go read about literary philosophy some more… oh the joys of college.

Trunks on Transit

Last night Nathan, Liz and I made our way over to a friend’s house for American Thanksgiving. It was absolutely wonderful- there was heaps of yummy food, good friends and it made up for the horribleness of my month in every which way. Any inkling of homesickness was banished. However, as the three of us made our way from the subway to the house we made a little discovery: someone had left a big blue steamer trunk on the sidewalk with an equally big sign reading “free.” Liz and I stopped and looked, we pondered if we should take it and if we could take it on the subway. Ultimately it was decided that if it was still there on our way back we would attempt to bring it home. And that’s exactly what happened. Four hours later there he was, in the exact same place. Maneuvering through the TCC with a big blue steamer trunk is not an easy feat, even with Nathan there to help (if it had just been me and Liz I’m not sure if it would have made it home). Getting it into the subway was not especially difficult, but getting it off the subway was another matter. We dragged the thing to three different exits before finding one that did not have a turnstile (because no way was the trunk fitting through a turnstile). People kept asking what was inside and were rather dissapointed and confused when we said “nothing.” Some passerby gave us strange looks. One severly drunk girl was actually afraid of it. He did get home though, safe and sound! It was a good adventure. Now only if we had a proper place to put him…

Liz and Nate Getting Their Gangsa' On With The Trunk

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving is not one of my favorite holidays, mostly because the day revolves primarily around the consumption of things I don’t eat (turkey, gravy), but I’ve found that I really do miss it terribly while I’m up in the wintry north. Especially right now, when everything is overwhelming and so many of my friends are in (metaphorical) dark and dreary places. So, just as a reminder that things are not so bad, I’m going to be stereotypical and sappy by stating 10 things I’m genuinely thankful for (in no particular order). Ohhhh all we need now is a really big pumpkin, Charlie Brown and a pickachu float.

1. My family: I know, it’s so typical, but I have a really awesome family/ set of parents. I can count on them to be honest and supportive with whatever I do. They aren’t perfect, there have been ups and downs, but they are consistently loving. It makes my life so much better.

2. My roommate Liz!: My roommate last year was hellish. Seriously hellish and Liz is SO the opposite of hellish. We get along so well and she is a great friend to have. I’m so thankful that our housing situation came together like it did. It has elevated my opinion and over all experience of Toronto ten fold.

3. Nathan JJ Storring: Do I really need to spell this one out? It would take me pages to go over all the good things Nate does for me. So I’m just going to leave it at that.

4. Chocolate Bars: in any form. They can seriously turn a bad situation a little bit better. They are a small comfort but a necessary one.

5.  Southwest Airline Rapid Rewards Tickets: They let me get to and from Toronto (and by Toronto I mean Buffalo) a lot more frequently than if we didn’t have them.  I salute you  Southwest. (also the peanut deal is damn good).

6. Acalanes High School: I say this begrudgingly because really I didn’t enjoy high school (save for my junior year), but the education I got at Acalanes is really incomparable. They really prepared me for college.  I don’t think that my U of T experience would be the same without them. Really. I’m serious. It was hell, but I’m thinking it was worth it.

7. Critical Approaches to Literature with Professor Cannon Schmitt: I went into this class thinking it was one thing and then discovering it was something completely different. Basically this was Philosophy with a hint of English thrown in. I really don’t like Philosophy and the course load was really heavy. We’re talking 70 pages of hardcore unabridged Norton Philosophy a week. I didn’t get through most of it. However, this was one of the most rewarding classes I’ve ever taken. It has opened my horizons to analytical possibilities that I was totally unaware of. It has enhanced my other classes because I can draw on Derrida or Jameson to make arguments and strength understanding. Originally I was going to sell the Norton they make you buy but now I’m going to cling to it for the rest of my life. If you have the opportunity to take this course, DO IT. Its horribly difficult but in every way worth it. (funny how that is the longest paragraph)

8. My Friends Back Home: I can not wait to see you. There is something so comforting about going home after a long time away and having the exact same people at your fingertips as you did in high school (or before).  I really consider most of them my sisters (and I have a couple brothers). I would do anything for them. No matter how long we are apart, we always come back together.

 

 

 

 

 

9. Theatre: Acting keeps me sane. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t care if I’m going to be doing it professionally or in school or on the side or whatever, I just want to be doing it. I can walk away for a year (or two) and it’s still the same constant wonderfulness that it always was.

10. Photography/ Photo Albums/  Kinkos Print It Yourself: I have this insane problem where I keep everything because I hate forgetting things. I keep useless crap because it’s tied to a memory of one kind or another. Photos are not useless crap but managed to capture those memories all the same. I love photo albums and taking pictures. I love capturing moments, I think its beautiful.

 

Oh and then there is running water and electricity and food and stuffl like that- all those basic things that I take for granted every day. I’m thankful for those things too.  AND you. Because you’re reading this and it’s horribly self involved on my part but yet you’re reading it, so you must on some level care. Which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. So thanks- to everything and everyone on this list. I hope you have pie today and I hope it’s amazing.