Sooo… again this is from Bre. Basically, the idea is that someone sends you five questions and you answer them. Which, in my opinion is a great idea, because I love, love, love talking about myself. I kid. Sort of.

1. What is your earliest childhood memory?
I grew up on an acreage and in the spring my mom would pack a picnic and carry my brother and I out to a field to eat and play in the sand. I remember eating a honey and peanut butter sandwich and crying because it fell on the ground. My mom gave me a Popsicle instead and then my brother purposely dropped his sandwich. My mom threw her head back and laughed. I think I was about four. The next earliest memory is my fifth birthday when I got my pony. Yeah, I just had to say it.

2. What about blogging appeals to you?
I like how writing helps me organize my thoughts. Sometimes I won’t even know exactly what’s bothering me, or why I can’t sleep or why I’m skipping happily into my office until I start thinking of how I would write about it. Once I do that, everything sort of falls into place. I also like the challenge of it, the idea of taking an ordinary story and making it more interesting, or something someone can relate to. Or knowing I’ve used the best possible word in a sentence. Man, that sounds sort of nerdy now that I typed it…

3. How do you spoil yourself on a daily (weekly/monthly) basis?
It’s all about the afternoon naps… oh, and expensive (albeit extremely glossy) fashion magazines that weigh more than a phone book.

4. What is the most ridiculous thing that has happened to you in the past week?
Um, I found myself watching this movie. And honestly, if that doesn’t sound ridiculous then you clearly haven’t seen the preview. Or, being one of the only ‘non-accountants’ at an ‘accountant’ party… there were some ridiculous aspects in that… such as me busting out the Snoop while other people watched.

5. What is a relationship dealbreaker for you?
Other than cheating? Bad kissers? A close relationship with cocaine? A hate on for dogs? Hmm, I would have to say I don’t like the idea of being with someone who isn’t confident. I don’t require a man to be arrogant, but I really need to be with someone who feels secure enough in themselves that they don’t question every choice they make. Reflection is good, but a guy who doesn’t have the confidence to make the first move, or stand by a choice he’s made is probably not a guy for me.

And thus concludes my five. If you are interested in participating, here are the rules:

Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me!”
I will respond by e-mailing you five questions. I get to pick them, and you have to answer them all.
You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Though I’m reckless and fickle, I can be a planner. I like laying out my clothes the night before, getting my concert tickets ahead of time, choosing the reason of my post instead of just ‘free flow’ writing it.

But sometimes planning feels instinctively wrong to me. Like wearing rubber boots with your prom dress. Or smearing ketchup on chocolate cake. Or trying to read a novel underwater. Or thinking out a planned response of sympathy to a tragic event.

I suppose the reason I can’t plan what to say about Virginia Tech, is because if I tried, I would feel… silly. It’s not my school, it’s not my town, it’s not even my country. Adding sympathy or trying to comment on something so tragic leads to me grabbing fistfuls of cliches, “I don’t understand”, “Everything happens for a reason”, “I just don’t know what to say”.

I would like to say something memorable, something relatable, something that would provide my brain a moment of rest while it races through dictionaries of words and lists of quotes, but I’m just left with cliches. And then I realize, cliches are cliches for a reason. Because they give everyone who doesn’t know what to say something to reach for, and in times like this, that’s what people need.

I work in a college. Everyday I see kids walking through halls, ipods jammed in ears, laughing with their friends. With the approach of spring, the laughter has grown and the mood has seemed lighter- even finals haven’t dampened the mood. Until now.

Today the halls are quieter. There is not less to laugh about for them- their lives still hold the same people and promise they did yesterday or the day before, but I think, I think they have been reminded of what the look of loss is, how it’s painted in shades of grief and agony. And that it can be found anywhere. At anytime.

Even, in a school like their own.

So without knowing what to say, I will say this. The loss of lives at Virgina Tech has saddened not just the nation (as put by George W Bush in his speech to the students) but anyone who has ever felt like their world was secure. Who has ever felt a bounce in their step, or a reason to laugh.

It has saddened me.

And that’s all I can say, on a day where I don’t know what to say.

Picture it: A Saturday night house party. Except, instead of being in high school surrounded by people drinking Mikes hard lemonade and wearing Ikeda jeans, I’m surrounded by working professionals drinking wine and wearing Hugo Boss. For reasons I’m still a little vague on “Gin and Juice” is being played (because really, isn’t that what all accountants listen to in their spare time?).

T: Um, did you know you are singing to this song?

Me: Ah, no I’m not. I don’t like this song. At all.

T: But, but you were just singing. Really.

A moment goes by. Wine is sipped, talks of a taxing tax season are overheard…

Me: Holy shit. I’m singing along. Why am I singing along?

T: I just want to know when you learned all the words. Now, would you like a glass of gin, some crack and a ho to go with your cup of cranberry juice?

Me: Shut up. Just shut up.

So a few days ago I posted this lovely ditty. I thought it was well said, with some interesting points written in a lovely, non-confrontational way.

I checked my email later in the day to accept those who disagreed with me and feel warm and fuzzy for those who did. I expected compliments and flowers. Disagreements but acceptance. I expected sentences that started with ” Well, I don’t agree but…”. Instead, I got crickets.

There were no comments.

At first I thought nothing of it. I have always felt that all you bloggers secretly meet to discuss when you post, since you always do so when I least expect it. (This is frustrating since I’m always the 14th person to comment and all my “original” comments have been said already by persons 1-13). I imagine the “blogger.com” people meet in a warehouse drinking dusty kool-aid out of plastic cups and eat prepackaged foods high in sugar and low in taste. The ‘wordpress.com’ kids get together at a Ramada hotel and drink diet sodas out of real glasses and marvel at the pretty landscape paintings adorning every wall. And those with their own domain? They meet each dripping in diamonds and sweating in mink, via satellite- since they are all on their own yachts and phone reception is iffy.

Anyway…

So the ‘no comment’ thing didn’t bother me. I mean, as I recently told Miss Fabulous (who herself has started her own blog), writing for comments is like, working for the man. It’s prostituting greatness, and if I’m going to prostitute myself, I’m going to do it for big bucks. More bucks than the man could ever pay. (Actually, I think I just told her I didn’t write for comments, and left the man out of it). I was sure that you were all busy with Easter and work and family, and the comments would come flooding in, and suddenly my world would make sense and I would once again, feel whole.

I checked back.

Nothing.

I re-read the post searching for something that would have caused you all to slap me with silence. Did I accidentally type “I believe the only good orphan is a working orphan?”, or “I believe when my *grandma doesn’t polish my shoes the way I like, it’s a free pass to pistol whip her and kick her good hip while wearing stilettos?”. Nope. I didn’t say any of those things. So what the hell?

I was stumped.

Later on I started getting emails from people saying they couldn’t comment. I checked back and realized I had the ‘no comment’ filter on. Suddenly, my world made sense again. People weren’t shunning my post, they were forced to not write something. It was only when I realized this, did I fully understand how comments can really be useful, or at least nice to get once in a while. In short, I realized, I’m a comment whore.

This led me to think about all the times I read something I enjoy and don’t comment. This was the last one I read on someones site that I really, truly and madly enjoyed and left without commenting. All the comments seemed to be what I was feeling, so I didn’t add anything. Now I realize how important every comment is. So do I go back and comment and say ‘ditto?’, or do I just leave it? Sigh, I don’t know. Perhaps I should invent an abbreviation for the line “I really enjoyed this post, and wish I had an original comment but I don’t. But I still want you to know I enjoyed it”. Perhaps this could be shown as “IRETPAWIHAOCBIDBISWYTKIEI!”.

Or I could just stick with ‘ditto’.

* the grandma reference was just for you e.b.

I have a confession. I’m a runner.

No, I’m not confessing to slipping on my pink and silver Nike’s at the twilight hour and running until a thin film of sweat covers me and my body aches in appreciation of being tested. My running isn’t healthy and doesn’t do anything positive for my heart. I run from people. Problems. Discussions where arguments hang heavily in the air like the smell of a burnt dinner that’s ruined the night.

I don’t run from every argument, every person. Just the big ones. The really big ones. The ones who matter, the people that earned an explanation before the shotgun goes and my legs start. The ones who deserve you to plant your feet and have the talks you don’t want to. The talks where your awkward fingers dance on tabletops giving you a focus other than someone else’s apologetic eyes.

Running doesn’t mean I don’t say sorry. When I feel something is my fault, when I have been in the wrong, chosen the thoughtless word rather than the the thoughtful act, I apologize. And I mean it. But when someone has hurt my feelings, suddenly my only option is to throw on my sneakers and sprint to a safe spot, avoiding the hurdles that come with a healthy relationship.

Perhaps running would be fine if I wasn’t the type of girl who liked to look back, but I do. I like seeing where I started, how far I’ve come. I need to see my progress, whether it’s the distance between me and the starting line, or me and a boy who broke my heart. But lately, looking back has only shown me how little I’ve moved. Instead of running on an open track, where the perspective changes with each step, I’ve been on a treadmill- pretending. Pretending that my aches and breaks, pains and gains have been worth something, and you know what? They haven’t. Running only works if you feel better from it.

I don’t feel better.

So maybe it’s time to hang up the sneakers and try something a little better for my health. Something that doesn’t promote regret and make my heart ache in a way that only making a big mistake can. Perhaps table tennis.

* I got a few emails about people asking why they couldn’t comment on the previous post. I accidently had the comment section turned off. Sorry.

So once again, I’m stealing an idea from Bre, because sometimes stealing is the only way I can be inspired.

Things I believe in….

I believe that “sleeping on it” always helps figure out life’s big problems. Unless you are sleeping on a rock, then I’m against it.

I believe if your $15 lip gloss makes you feel like a million bucks, it’s worth it.

I believe that the only thing more dangerous than a president with a narrow minded personal agenda, is a public who votes him into office. Twice.

I believe in forgiving people, not for them, but for yourself. I believe, this is easier said than done.

I believe that everyone belongs to someone.

I believe that drinking alone doesn’t make you an alcoholic. Only drinking alone, maybe…

I believe that a true, honest, platonic friendship rarely can occur between a man and woman, but that it can occur. I believe I’m cynical about this because I’m much more like Harry than Sally.

I believe the hardest lesson to learn is that you can’t help who you love, and trying to understand why you do, will lead to a weekly therapist appointment and a strange love affair with late night television.

I believe that you don’t have to call your best friend at 3am, to prove she’s your 3am friend.

I believe everyone looks prettier when they are happy and are happier when they are feeling pretty.

I believe in thank you notes, tipping even when the food wasn’t great, and solo break dancing performances at weddings.

I believe that crying when your sports team loses a big game is perfectly acceptable- crying every time they lose a game, is not.

I believe in regrets, and that I’m a girl who needs to say I have them.

I believe every song sounds better live, every pie tastes better homemade and every shoe is more fabulous when it’s on sale.

I believe teachers are undervalued. I believe I think this because I’m a) a teacher and b) someone who sees on a daily basis the gigantic impact a teacher has on students. I also believe that anyone who utters the phrase ‘two month holiday’ in regards to how easy teachers have it, has never heard the phrase ‘ school wide lice outbreak’.

I believe that money provides freedom, and freedom provides happiness.

I believe “I’m sorry” always sounds better than “I apologize”.

I believe you can love someone more deeply and clearly than ever before, and still be the absolutely wrong person for them. I believe that knowing this, doesn’t always bring comfort, in fact, it usually doesn’t.

I believe that a woman should choose what she does with her body. I also believe, that abortion shouldn’t be used as a form of birth control. I believe that this is a topic that needs more than three sentences to be fully explained.

I believe opening your presents on Christmas Eve is cheating.

I believe that forgiving someone doesn’t mean you need to be friends with them.

I believe if someone wants to propose marriage to you, they will. I believe that asking for a proposal is asking for something I would never want.

I believe in the usefulness of interactive toys, light up games and sturdy Baby Einstein books. I also believe that an empty refrigerator box is the best gift you can give a child.

I believe that unless you voted, you haven’t earned the right to complain about the government.

I believe every success I’ve had has been the result of a mother who gave me a truckload of confidence and an eye for great shoes.

I believe people need to let the Anna Nicole thing go. Seriously.

I believe being ‘complicated’ doesn’t make you interesting. Some of the most fascinating people I know are those who live life simply, without the tanglements of drama.

Lately I’ve begun wondering if the last-minuteness of my life is necessary.

I’m that girl who started cracking my textbook the week of finals, who drinks the last sludge of milk in the carton that smells iffy because she hasn’t gone to the store, who always gets the ‘guaranteed or it’s free!’ coupon from blockbuster because I only rent movies at 11pm after everyone else has picked up all the ‘two thumbs up’ releases.

I started thinking about this, my love of procrastination, this past week. I’ve been on holidays (more stories of me, piano bars and 3am mass emails about my love for Oasis to come in future postings), and have had a lot of free time. Like, I can put lotion on my legs and wait for it to dry before getting dressed, sort of time. And honestly, it’s weirding me out.

I kept going to sleep rolling through everything that I thought I had to do, should be doing, or was late doing. Because, the thing with procrastination is the rush of adrenaline that comes with it. The addicting metallic pulse that comes from realizing you could fail and if you did, it would be only your own fault.

I love that feeling.

I’m the queen of procrastination, a wizard at wasting time, a true master at the art of doing nothing. Which would make you think spending a holiday doing nothing would be enjoyable, and something I would relish. But I’m realizing that I work best when I have a looming deadline, because then I will fill up all my time with making myself busying doing something else. Having nothing to do, makes me do less.

Realizing that I have no crazy work to-do list, scheduled doctors appointment, report to write, oil change due, or meeting to attend, makes me a little anxious. Because suddenly, I could spend an entire day doing nothing. And once you realize, all you have is time… well then you are forced to discover that you can do anything you want.

And realizing your only limitation is yourself, can be more frightening than the current lycra leggings revolution.

Oh, the updating of my blogroll, will get done soon. I promise. I just have to put some lotion on…

Ohio lost. Instead of winning my pool, I tied for first place.

Perhaps if I was a middle child, or a native from Switzerland, or a generous Pisces or just someone who didn’t know better, I would be happy with a tie.

But to a Leo, who is the oldest child, who sometimes enjoys winning more than she should and who at times likened herself to Luke Skywalker in her battle against evil forces such as an NCAA basketball team who just won last year, this tie feels like a loss.

Good things need to happen immediately.

(NOTE: Apparently when I’m feeling sad, I need to use a lot of italics.)

Actually, I didn’t get kidnapped. But Ruby tagged me to do this, and she got kidnapped and I was just trying to outdo her. Why? Because at first I thought there was nothing interesting left for me to say about myself since, I succumbed to pressure and wrote out this, and then.. this. But, then I thought to myself ’self, you ARE entertaining and there is MUCH the world doesn’t know about you, so do it! And do it well!’. Hence,

FIVE Things You Don’t Know About Me

1. I’m a reading dork.
Now, I’m a teacher so I promote reading all the time. It makes you smarter! It expands your vocabulary! All the cool kids are doing it!, but the difference between being an avid reader and being a reading dork is what you read and how often. I’ve made no excuses to hide the fact that I’m not so secretly in love with Bob Woodward. I have, however, recently discovered a new lusty-like feeling for George. If I just enjoyed the good political book that would be fine, but I like to sprinkle them in between re-reading Harry Potter for clues to what will happen in Book 7. Because, I think I’m going to find all the answers by re-reading the end of book 6, oh, 4789 times. (And to further hammer the dork point, I will admit that I got panicked thinking I wouldn’t get Book 7 the day it came out, so I pre-ordered and then asked what time the store opened so I wouldn’t be waiting in line until my 35th birthday). And if that still didn’t prove how much I loved reading, when I was 9 years old I told my brother that I loved books so much I wished I could eat the pages so they would always be inside me. Okay, I said that when I was like, 14. Okay… like 22. He still makes fun of me for it.

2. I’m anti-”blog”
I hate the word blog. Because it rhymes with my two least favourite words- slob and glob. The word ‘Blog’ makes me think of old sweatpants that smell like sour milk and spray cheese smeared on the side of someones face. I prefer the term ‘Post’, as in “I posted about Ohio”. To me, “post” implies that I typed while wearing creamy white gloves while sipping chamomile out of a dainty teacup adorned with hand painted buttercups. I’ve never actually typed while wearing gloves, or drank tea out of an actual teacup with saucer (I prefer comfy pants and a juice box), but the idea of it makes me feel better.

3. I’ve lived in a tent
Not permanently. But, growing up my dad’s hobby required travelling every summer, so each year from June to August, my family would travel all over Western Canada. And because for the entire summer we lived in our holiday trailer, and as much as I love my family a girl needs some space- I took to sleeping in a tent.
Every night. Every summer. For ten years. (And for this sacrifice, my parents rewarded me with a very cool tent of my choosing for each summer. To this day, I get ridiculously excited when I see the tents up at Costco for you to buy)

4. I like hospitals
I suspect the reason I like them is because when I’m there it’s me in the hospital and not anyone else. If I knew someone who was always in the hospital, I suppose I would detest them with the same fury that Paris would shun polyester. But, because it’s me, I enjoy them. When I’m there overnight, I love the blankets they give you with just enough scratch to exfoliate (too bad they didn’t smell like this) your body and dim lights- dark enough to make you sleepy, not enough to make you scared. I get blood taken a lot (mostly, to just re-confirm the fact that the blood I do have is bad), and doctors waiting rooms make me feel just as good. I like reading all the old Housekeeping magazines that give me quilting advice or tips on making meatloaf. Perhaps the reason I like hospitals and waiting rooms is because I know neither is permanent.

5. I’m always gettin’ lucky
When it comes to winning contests, or getting money for doing nothing, I’m always getting lucky. The last contest I entered and then forgot about, I won. First place. Hundreds of dollars in gift certificates to the mall, new sunglasses and two tickets to a three day outdoor concert. When I was in university I applied for this obscure funding option based on the fact that my grandmothers grandmother was Native, and I got my last year of tuition/books/rent paid for. Plus a healthy spending allowance. And even now, I get random cheques from the government and I have no idea why.

And now you are fully in the know about me. Oh, one more thing… I’m trying to update my blogro-, er, postroll, so if I don’t have you would you just leave a comment so I can keep track of everyone I need to add?

So I just realized this is my third post with the word “Ohio” in the title. I’m not overly fascinated with the State, but maybe this is a sign I should pay a visit?

Anyway, March Madness is winding down (tear) and yours truly has a chance of winning her pool if Ohio wins in the final. (I actually picked both Florida and Ohio to be in the finals, but I’m trying not to brag since they were both a number 1 seed….). So, all I’m asking is for you to all cheer for Ohio on April 2nd. Face painting isn’t mandatory but it would be a nice touch.

Oh, what do I win if Ohio wins? A few dollars, bragging privileges and 5 haiku’s that discuss my greatness.

Fingers crossed.