Adult in Training

Hear yee, hear yee.  The latest issue of The NewEnglander (and yes, I left the space out on purpose, although what purpose I am not sure) has come out, and so I would like to take this time to share my latest gem with each and every one of you.

           I was hanging out the other day, watching a little TV, oddly enough.  I was waiting for a commercial so I could go and get a snack without missing anything.  By the time the first commercial rolled around, I felt like I was on the verge of dying from hunger.  Until I realized that it had only been eleven minutes since the show had started.  Really?

            Was I perhaps in a time-warp?  Had I inadvertently fallen into a worm hole?  Or could it be that I’m so used to cramming so many things into every minute of my day, I find it odd when I can sit for more than seven minutes, without having to do anything?  And I really don’t even have that many things to do, compared to most people.

            The fact of the matter is that in today’s society we are all over-stimulated.  We are all so used to multi-tasking and getting the most out of our time, we don’t have the opportunity to enjoy anything that we’re doing.

            Raise your hand if you have ever found yourself watching TV, doing homework and IMing at the same time.  Or talking on the phone, while trying to cook dinner and check your email.  Guilty.  I try and multi-task all the time.  I stink at it, but I continue to try valiantly.  But why?

            Why should I have to?  Why does it always feel like there aren’t enough hours in the day?  If I feel like I have to continually split my attention, what’s going to happen to me once I have a real life, with a real job and real responsibilities?  Because, if I am honest, there aren’t that many things I have to do in the average day right now.  So then, why am I writing this column, while doing laundry and watching America’s Next Top Model?

            The human brain is an amazing machine.  There’s no denying that.  But even today’s fastest computers can’t multi-task.  It seems like they can, but in reality they flip-flop back and forth between tasks, fast enough that you don’t notice. 

            The human brain works similarly.  According to Hal Pasher, a psychology professor at the University of California at San Diago, unless you’re doing something as menial as walking, or breathing, you aren’t actually multi-tasking, your brain is flip-flopping back and forth very quickly.  Unless you are me, and then it flips, but doesn’t really flop back to where it came from, it flops back to somewhere else.  Unhelpful.

            Regardless, no matter how many things you think you can do at one time, you aren’t doing them as well as you could if that was the only thing you were paying attention to.  Your homework will always have fewer errors if you aren’t IMing and talking on the phone at the same time.  And the person on the phone will likely feel more appreciated if you don’t forget what you are saying every other sentence.  And the person you’re IMing will feel more appreciated if they don’t have time to cook a turkey in between your responses.  Everyone wins.

            I will be the first to extol the wonders of the internet – especially since it’s the only way a broke girl can talk to her family long-distance.  But it seems I’ve traded more accessibility for a more demanding lifestyle.  The exact same things that are supposed to be making my life easier are in reality just making it easier for other people to demand more of me. For me to expect more out of each minute.  

            When did it become normal to do everything at the same time?  Why should I feel lazy when I’m only doing one thing at a time?  When did silence and relaxation become scary?  Apparently it happened while I was busy paying attention to something else.

Every girl I know believes in the value of a little retail therapy.  How can you deny the scientific data?  Everyone knows that when you are having a bad day, giving yourself a present is a great way to feel better.  Unless you are having a bad day because you are overdrawn, in which case buying anything is likely a bad idea.

I love the mall as much as the next person. Well, that’s actually a lie, I don’t really like most malls, because I have a fear of large crowds, and at the mall near my house it’s full of like slutty teenage girls and crazy Asian moms with like toddlers running willy-nilly.  Its hellish for me.  There are stores that I much prefer.

The Home Depot.  I love the HD. Which, might seem odd because I don’t really have any skills that pertain to building or painting or anything that involves tools… or really any useful skills at all.  But I do know how to jump a car now, thanks to George, the resident Athletic Department Handy-Man.  Now, if only I knew how to hot-wire a car, I would consider myself set.  But I love the HD because inside there exists such possibilities.  If a person had skills, there are so many choices!  You could make almost anything. Fix almost anything. Be prepared for almost anything.  And, if you don’t have skills, they are willing to teach you.  How can you not be impressed with that?  It feels almost magical at the HD.

The other stores I am a sucker for are the Target/Zellers/Wal-Mart-types.  The stores that sell everything you could ever want. And at a reasonable price.  I love the feelings that no matter what I need, it’s likely that these stores will have it.  And each of these stores have certain other perks.  For example the Wal-Mart near my school has a high concentration of mullets and/or NASCAR fans.  And assorted other weirdos.  The Target near my school has the best cards, t-shirts and some pretty cool furniture.  And Zellers is Canadian.  Enough said.

Unfortunately, the only thing I feel like I’ll be buying in the near future is gas for my car.  Because I am that cool.

Ever since Ben came home and told Nanny that I sucked at snowboarding, I have been on a mission to suck less.  I started out slow, keeping to the easy slopes.  I went yesterday with Katie and Carboni and CJ.  And all of them are better than me.  I was definitely the slow girl holding up the line.  Because I am still really nervous about going fast.  Because it hurts more when you wipe out – which for me is often.  And also, I don’t really know how to “carve”.  I still like to “feather” which is like the difference between driving on a street, and idling around the parking lot.

So today Berman and I went by ourselves.  Because that way we can work at a slower pace.  And we spent the day on the beginning beginner’s hill.  Which is basically flat.  And it was raining, but that just made the snow softer when we ate shit.  It was pretty cool, since we had the entire “hill” to ourselves, which meant no one to laugh at us.  While Berman was learning basically how to get down the hill without injuring herself, I practiced carving.  Which didn’t really go that well for me.  Almost every time I went to my toe side, I fell.  And it didn’t really slow me down, which was the effect I was hoping for.  It seems to bode ill for me when I get onto a real hill.

Afterwards I went to the rink to check in with Renee, who gave me the delightful task of end-of-season hometown releases.  And then made a phone call to my other boss Lori and all I heard from her end of the conversation was “Yeah, she’s even wearing snow pants” and “I don’t know if she’d get up on the roof”.  Nervous?  After she got off the phone, she offered me an opportunity I couldn’t say no to.  Lori was going to pay me $100 to shovel her roof.  Hell yes I will risk falling off a roof into three feet of snow for $100!  I fell of the top row of the bleachers for free.

I will say this though: Should I ever own my own house, where it snows a lot, I think I’d invest in tin roofs.  At home, I don’t think we’ve ever had to shovel our roof.  And it’s shingle.  But apparently it’s not uncommon here in New Hampshire.  It’s also not very easy.  While I managed to leave with my limbs intact, I am paying for it now.  Heavy, heavy snow.  Flinging it off a roof.  While it was raining.  Awesome.  I’d do it again in a heart beat, as I am broke, but I am going to be more than a little sore in the morning.  In fact, I was more than a little sore after I lay down in my bed for 45 minutes to warm up after I got home.

So all in all, one of the most productive days I’ve had since I came back in January.  Sweet.  It’s a good feeling.

Bugs have never really scared me that much.  In fact, when we lived in the suite sophomore year, I was the resident spider killer – even when I was on the phone long-distance to my family.  And, as I mentioned before, I did shower once with an African Cave-Dwelling Spider.  But there is one thing that has been starting to give me the creeps since I’ve been living in this house: Ladybugs.

I know you’re probably laughing at me right now.  It’s like being afraid of bunnies or something.  Ladybugs are one of the only bugs that little girls won’t run screaming from.  They don’t bite, the look pretty…what’s scary about them?  The ones in my house are magical.  It’s really, really creepy.

At the beginning of the year, we had a biblical infestation of ladybugs.  They swarmed our house every day, there were hundreds of them clinging to the walls outside.  And then, as soon as the sun went down, they disappeared.  It was so weird.  We tried to deter them by spraying them with the hose pretty much every day, but all that seemed to do was anger them.  If ladybugs get angry.  We had to vacuum Berman’s room pretty much every day for dead and living ladybugs.  They found a hole in her window somehow.  They also made their way into all the other rooms, which was sort of annoying when you’re trying to sleep and ladybugs are landing on your face.  But then winter came, and they all died, and we were lady bug free for like three or four months.

Until now.

They are spawning in my washroom.  I don’t know how they’re doing it.  Or where they came from.  But every time I go in there and see one more, it gives me a rather ominous feeling.  It started with just one.  Which is weird enough, when it’s the middle of winter, and all the other ladybugs have died.    But one, I can deal with.  Then there were two.  Then, yesterday there were three.  Now there are five.  Something is wrong.  Where are they coming from?!  I’m pretty sure that ladybugs hatch, and don’t “mate” like mammals, or spontaneously reproduce like…aliens.

So maybe I’m being a little paranoid.  Or maybe I’ve been kicking it old school too much, watching “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and “Angel” too much.  But it’s weird.

Its not a secret that I yearn to be famous.  I’ve made no bones about it – in fact at one point that was my official response to the question: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”  All my friends’ parents thought I was kidding.  But if there is one thing true about me, its that I never kid.  But my question is this: How does one become a member of this elusive club?

Because it seems like a pretty sweet deal.

For instance: I am watching American Idol, and Paula just debuted her comeback video.  How long has it been since Paula has done anything since drink herself silly on American Idol?  I’m going to say it’s been at least 15 years. And really, before that?  She danced with a cartoon cat.  If she was taking a page from Whitney Houston, who wanted to “dance with somebody” I’m fairly certain that even during the crazy eighties, while Whitney was swirling around a room that contained only a table, chair, window, coat rack and gay backup dancer – notice the lack of walls – even then, Whitney wouldn’t have danced with a cartoon cat.  Because Whitney wasn’t doing drugs then. But seriously.  And now she gets to make a comeback?

Unfair.  I would just like to break on the scene.  I would even settle for 10 minutes of fame.  I don’t even need the whole 15. I would settle for being a junior publisher’s terrible mistake.  Although, I’d like to think I wouldn’t be that disappointing. Once I get back to having a real life, and stop talking to Avalanche like she is a person, and not just a dog that responds only by spider-biting me.  If only I knew someone famous, then I could totally ride their coat tails.  Like Bow Wow and Romeo and… who else has famous relatives and no skills?  And why can’t I be skilled in an area like that?  It’s harder to ride coat tails if you want to be a published memoirist and not just a recording artist.

But since I’ve been thinking a lot of how to become famous (thinking a lot, but not coming up with any ideas) I was also thinking about who I would have play me, should my life somehow provide fodder for a movie-of-the-week.  Actually, I think about this all the time.  A girl has to be prepared, if I should die under tragic circumstances, or disappear or something, I need to have things in order.  I like to have things planned.  So, to play me in a movie, I would elect: Zooey Deschanel. You may recognize her from: Failure to Launch (as the crazy best friend), The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (as Trillian), Eulogy (as the lead female) or Elf (as Jovie).  And here’s why I would pick her:  In a lot of her movies she has a really dry sense of humour and a cutting wit, so I know she can nail my personality pretty well.  And I think she’s pretty in a non-conventional way, and everyone knows the first rule of the “Who Would Play You in a Movie” game is to pick someone who is prettier than you are, since you wouldn’t want everyone who sees it to think you are uglier than you were in your real life.

Or, once I become famous, I can make my comeback by playing myself in a movie-of-the-week.  It’s the best of every world.

I hate Valentine’s Day.  And I’m not just saying it to be a bitter single girl.  If possible, I hated it more when I was a – terrible – girlfriend.  It’s a stupid holiday.  It’s good when you’re younger, and you get valentines from everyone in the class – because the other kids’ moms make then give one to everyone.  And you get lots of candy and chocolates from your parents.  And a mini-party at school.  Who wouldn’t enjoy that?

But when you are 22, and you are a professional third wheel, it’s a lame holiday.  And even the people I know who are in relationships, some of them don’t like it.  And it sucks that Hallmark has foisted this holiday on  the masses, and anyone that doesn’t like it is seen as cynical or bitter or unromantic.

The only Valentine’s Day that I spent with a boyfriend was a total bust.  It had all this pressure around it, and I had no idea what was expected of me.  And to top it all off I spent the morning in the Concord ER, trying to get someone to look at a mysterious (though non-STD related) rash that I had developed over a month ago.  And then I spent the remainder of the day doped up on Industrial-Strength Benadryl.  So after I nearly fell asleep in the car on the way to the restaurant, in my food at the restaurant and on the way home from the restaurant, I passed out in bed while my boyfriend and I were (trying) to watch “Ray”.  So, awesome.

I just don’t get it.  People complain all the time that Christmas has become over-commercialized.  And no one says they’re cynical.  In fact, lots of people agree with them.  Sometimes I do.  But as a society, we eat up Valentine’s Day - which is, as far as I can tell,  a holiday based very, VERY, loosely in Catholicism (since, technically it’s St. Valentine’s Day) and over-hyped by Hallmark, Hersey and anyone who owns a jewellery store.

So call me a cynic if you want to.  But I really hate February 14th.  I would skip it every year if I could.  I wish I was like Paris Hilton or something, and had the popular-culture power to just invent a day for single people or something.  A way to celebrate being single, and being fine with being single.  Where all the single people, and especially all the people trapped in “The Friend Zone” or stuck as the third wheel on someone else’s relationship (tip: always claim that you are the big wheel in the front) could be appreciated.  Or even, dare I say, envied?  Once I get famous, I think that will be my first order of business.

So some of you may know that I am a columnist for my school’s newspaper, The NewEnglander (and no, there shouldn’t be a space there).  It’s a pretty pimp job, I won’t lie.  Every two weeks they print my column, and my editor doesn’t give me any rules.  Whatever I’m thinking about, that’s what I get to write about, and that’s what they print.  I won’t lie, when I found out, I told practically everyone I saw.  Anyways.  Here’s the column that will be appearing in news stands (and by news stands I mean in piles around campus) tomorrow:

 I’ve lived part-time in the US now for five years.  And I still don’t really understand some things.  The electoral system is one of them.

Growing up in Canada, my family tried to instill in me the grand importance of voting.  And so, while there are some times I fail to see the merit of growing-up, I do secretly enjoy voting.  That, and buying lottery tickets, was the best part of turning 18.

So naturally, when I came to NEC in 2003, I thought it would be beneficial to try and understand American government.  I mean, this is supposed to be the most powerful country in the world.  The solution I came up with was to watch “The West Wing” every morning I didn’t have class.

I’m sure you can guess that while I was drawn in by the characters, I didn’t really learn that much about American government.  So the job fell to my friends to educate me. Except that when I asked them questions like: “Why are there so many candidates but only two parties?” or “Wait, so you vote twice?” and “So you vote, but it doesn’t really count…?” the answers were always vague.

Five years later, I still don’t really understand.  I know that right now the country is in the middle of the primaries.  But why doesn’t everyone vote on the same day?  That seems less time-consuming and less expensive for candidates. Also, what makes some of these candidates think that they can win?  Is there a limit to the number of candidates a party can support?  Because the answer to that question seems like: “Haha, no!”

And please, let’s not get started with the Elector College. Who thought that it made sense to let the people vote, but then have a fail-safe, so that if the people – those that your government is supposed to be of, by and for – get it wrong, a group of special individuals can ensure that the right person gets into office. That worked really well with the 2000 elections.  I mean, at least it gave Al Gore the time off to make “An Inconvenient Truth”.  So everyone wins I guess. 

It’s all so confusing!  No wonder most of my friends don’t vote.  At home, it’s easy.  There are five parties (six if you live Quebec).  Before Election Day, each party elects a leader.  Come Election Day (that’s right, everything happens in one day) you vote for a party.  The leader of the party with the most votes becomes Prime Minister.  And there you have it; the Canadian Parliamentary system in a nutshell.

So I’m sure you can understand the quandary I find myself in whenever I try to comprehend the hoopla that is going on right now.  I frequently turn to John Stewart and Steven Colbert for guidance.  I don’t think I could handle the “serious” news shows.  For one thing, they take longer than 15 minutes.  For another, they may as well be speaking another language most of the time.  At least I can count on a laugh when I watch “The Daily Show”.  I’m trying to break away from constantly wearing a confused frown, as I’m told it causes premature wrinkles, and at nearly 23, I am no longer what some may call “a spring chicken”.  

And so the learning odyssey continues.  Although, if I am honest, I don’t think that I will be able to fully understand things by the time I leave in May.  But maybe, if I’m lucky, I can convince my friends to vote. Because even though I don’t understand everything, I understand enough to realize that democracies only work when people get involved.  Or, if you prefer the words of my mother: “If you don’t vote, you don’t have the right to complain.”

Sundays are the best days. Some people may say Saturday, but I would disagree. Saturdays are fun.  But they aren’t Sundays.  Saturdays are for doing your weekend errands.  They’re for doing fun, family activities.  If you’re lucky, they’re for sitting in hockey rinks or playing hockey (if you’re unlucky they’re for working for nine hours in a rink, not the same thing).  You do things on Saturdays.  Fun things, but things none the less.

Sundays are brilliant.  Sundays are the one day when I don’t feel bad about sitting around with Avalanche all day.  I slept in today (until 9:00…) and then watched TV and read for the whole day.  I even got dressed before noon.  And you know what?  If it was any other day, I’d probably feel lazy. But not on Sunday, the magical day.  Sundays are for being lazy.  Or, if you are inclined to do something productive, the only thing that should be allowed on Sunday is baking. Delicious cookies and/or bread.  Nothing else.  

Katie and Berman are silly, and both of them worked today (starting at 8:00) and normally I feel sort of bad when they have to work all day, and all I do is watch their dog, and sometimes go into work for a whopping three hours.  After all, I do have a big project I’m in the middle of.  As a side note to that, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but there is no need to our Field Hockey coach to keep all the things she does.  For instance: I don’t have any need of old shot charts (especially since in FH there are like ten shots a game).  Nor do I have any particular interest in the old programs that she seems to have collected.  But, I digress.  On a week day I would feel bad that I relaxed all day – and even napped despite the fact I slept in and didn’t do anything – but not on Sunday.

And so, I salute you, Sunday! For that matter, I even salute you, Sundae!  Both equally amazing.  One is an amazing day, the other an amazing ice cream concoction.  And even though, when you work from home, every day feels like the weekend, there is still only ever one Sunday. 

Guess what I did today?  While I helped The Fiancee out of his driveway after the plough man finally showed up, Carbs came out and we were chatting, and it was decided that once everyone was safe in their driveway, we would go to The Peak.  That’s right ladies and gentlemen, today I became less of a dork.  Because now I can add “Not Sucking at Snowboarding” to my list of skills.

Carbs took me to the bunny hill first, where we looked for Berman – since she was hoping for the easy bunny hill today – but it wasn’t meant to be.  However, I conquered my first fear when I made it onto the mat and all the way up the hill without eating shit.  Okay, so the lift guy had to hold my hand while I got situated, but I made it up none the less.  And I made it up the second time all by myself.  And I made it down the hill without knocking into anyone, so I consider it a success.

Then we graduated to a green hill.  Big step for me, because it involves an actual lift.  Lifts present me with two problems.  One: they remind me a little of ladders, in that they go up quite high, and I’m in charge of myself for not falling off.  Two: the dismount requires a certain amount of co-ordination and usually I fall off the lift as soon as the chair is out from under my ass. But Carboni showed me the secret (after she calmed me down from the minor panic attack I had at the beginning of the lift) and I managed to make it down the dismount hill before I panicked at my success and bailed.  Already I was doing better than usual.

After that we went down “Whisper” three times. The Peak named all their runs after weather systems.  Like, the double black diamonds are named like “Hurricane” and “Twister” and “Vortex”.  So you can guess how easy “Whisper” was.  But I made it down all by myself.  I fell a few times, but I managed to not kicked myself in the head at all, so… SUCCESS!  Although, I shant lie, my quads were SCREAMING by like halfway down the hill.  I am going to be one unhappy woman tomorrow.  Especially while I am working back to back hockey games.  Definitely the best weekend ever!

I will just have to remember that I am  now three steps closer to having a “x” skill.  Which means that now when I buy snowboarding stuff, I won’t feel like a complete prat.  And I am about one step away from crossing one more thing off my Life List.  So despite it’s dismal start, today was a good day.

It snowed here again last night.  I have never feared the weather before I came to live in NH.  Or rather, before I brought a car to NH.  I’ve driven in snow before.  In fact, that was the only good thing about our Chevy Tracker (aka Over-Sized Lawnmower) – it was a beast in the snow.  But I have never feared the snow.  The only thing I ever really worried about was making sure I could come to a stop without skidding into the intersection.  But now I have a new problem: moving.

It snowed last night, but before it snowed, it rained all day, and then it sleeted for a little while, just to make sure that the roads today would be truly hellish.  Normally I would take this day to hibernate in the house.  For my own safety of course.  Or I would at least wait to go out until after the plough man came to make things safe.  But apparently he’s on strike, because the worst of the storm passed four hours ago, and he has yet to show his face around here.

I was forced to leave though, because Berman had to go to work. I was going to solve my problem by putting in some hours at The Place Where Files Go To Die, but Renee had already left (since her driveway is paved) and I couldn’t find anyone that would be able to let me into her office.  So I came home.  And totally thought I was going to make it, because even though I almost stalled trying to get up the hill, I managed to do it.  But then I got stuck before I even made it past the second house.  Sweet.  I knew it was too good to be true.

Lucky for me the fiancee of Previously Bitchy Volvo Lady had just finished getting his car out of the exact same spot.  I put on my best “Helpless Girl” face and got a little help.  But not help getting up the driveway.  That possibility was did not even cross my mind.  Instead we just spent like fifteen minutes to move me five feet to the side, just enough to keep me out of the road.  So that anyone who wants to can attempt to make it up the hill.   They have my best wishes.  We bonded over our mutual hate of the plough-man.  The Fiancee had actually put a dent in his car he was pushing it so hard.  Luckily, my car is lighter than air, so pushing it isn’t that hard.  I only feel a little bit bad when other people are pushing while I sit in the nice, warm car.

So now I have been helped out of the snow by everyone on our driveway except for the people who live next to Previously Bitchy Volvo Lady.  Also known as Retarded Triple “A” Lady or That Sad Boy Who Doesn’t Have Friends or The Make-Out Queen.  Depending on which on of them you’re talking about.  The good thing is that now I know I have really nice neighbours – for the most part.  While I don’t think we’re going to be having any street parties any time soon, its still nice to know that they aren’t just going to point and laugh at me when I get stuck outside their house.  Which, if I am honest, will likely happen again.   So between rallying against the slack-alice plough man and chasing after my magical dog, I have managed to make friends.  Or, alternatively, convince everyone on the street that I’m partially retarded and shouldn’t be living on my own.