In the grocery store

In the line up at the Safeway cashiers:

Guy Behind Me: You sure can fit a lot in a basket.

Me: (Tired and not wanting to small talk): Yup.

GBM: I thought I was bad but wow you sure put a lot of stuff in yours.

Me: Yup.

GBM: How many vegetables does one person need?

Me: Yeah I just put whatever fits in there.

GNM: DID YOU SAY WHATEVER TO ME?

Me (in snobby voice): I said whatever fits.

GNM: Fine then BITCH. NICE TALKING TO YOU.

At this point I turn around to look at the crazy man yelling at me. He is probably 6'5, 300 pounds, dishelved and has terrible teeth.

GBM: Please don't look at me. Stop looking at me. GO AWAY.

Me: Ok.

I then opened an Archie comic and pondered why the crazies always follow me.

Vanity

I developed a fascination with mirrors at a very young age. At first it was innocent enough. I was trying, like many of my pre-desesters, to fall into the mirror and the world of "Into the Looking Glass" and "Alice in Wonderland" and out of a colourless reality. (I used to look for holes in the ground as well that might lead to Wonderland until I accidentally fell down a ravine at the age of 7 and bruised my tail bone, keeping me out of school for a week. Worst. Injury. Ever.) I wanted to meet the white queen and be her champion, to give the white rabbit a timex in exchange for his friendship, to not have to make sense and to talk in rhymes and riddles. My mother scolded me horrifically, thinking me to be the most self obsessed child she had ever met and told me to stop staring at myself. Of course, this is when I began to stare.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I'm fascinated. Other times I'm bored, surprised or disappointed. You think by now I'd know what my own face looks like, but I only have a vague idea. Its a blank canvas with a nearly perfect complexion, mildly high cheekbones, round distasteful nose, lackluster expression and lack of conventional beauty that can be garishly attractive with the accessories, but is less then adequate when not decorated. It does not represent who I am, and would trade some of the more desirable symmetrical qualities in order to be more disheveled, more unique, more reflective of who I think I am.

Nevertheless, I catch my reflection in patients' rooms, toasters, puddles and store window and stare at the stranger in the reflection as often as I can.

Christmas

I spent 90% of my adolscence hoping that people would leave me the hell alone and treat me like I was invisable. Most people dread being ignored, but any day where I wasn't taunted and made to feel like a pathetic freak of nature in school was a good day in my books. I remember being picked 4th last in gym one day and feeling like I won the lottery. YAY! THERE ARE BIGGER LOSERS THEN ME! HAPPY DAYS!

These days I actually wilt with too much isolation. Reading, writing and day dreaming are all excellent solitary activities, but there are only so many political debates that I can have with my cat before it begins to seem kind of one sided (her arguments are faulty), and a see-saw at the jungle gym is dull without a second person. I guess I look kind of silly on it anyways, but its not my fault they make these awesome playgrounds for miniature parasites (also known as children) instead of hard working, blue collared tax payers like myself.

But, yet again, I digress. The point I am trying to make is that, although I am extremely homesick during this time of year, I hate heading home. I love my parents. I love being cooked for, pampered and made much of. If it comes in occasional small doses and doesn't become too overwhelming, who doesn't? But I dread heading home and seeing that blasted "Welcome to Campbell River" sign. Its like every ounce of sophistication, social skills, and self worth that I have acquired since moving to Vancouver vanishes, and I am left with an awkward, empty shell of the person that I am now.

I don't have a snappy way to end this post, it feels unfinished. Just some reflections on the holiday season. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night :)

The Bath Tub Shark

Things are looking up. As of January I will have dropped down to a .77 part time line and started my distance education courses which I'm pretty psyched for. BCIT does resembled a ton of warehouse stores and is not at all like my gleaming UBC was, but it has a Tim Hortons and loads of non threatening, endearing engineering students. Reminds me of home. Also I am seeing an counsellor, eating again and occasionally venturing outside my bedroom. I'm even going to the airport to see a dear friend off to Uganda today although I am a little concerned because a few days ago a kayak er that we both knew was mauled to death by a crocodile in the Congo....but that's another story.

My mother is unconvinced that I'm doing better, so I'm going to take this post to try to address her concerns.

A) BUT YOU'RE SO SKINNY! ARE YOU ANOREXIC?

No. I am 5'7, 144 pounds and very found of butter. I am not thin at all, and would actually be considered fat in Hollywood. I only stopped eating because I am severely depressed and couldn't muster up the energy to made the 10 foot journey from my bed to the fridge.

B) BUT YOU WERE TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF IN THE BATHTUB, I SAW YOU.

No. I was face down in a sea of bubble bath and pretending to be a shark. My mother has her own key and I didn't hear her let herself into the apartment until she SCREAMED and tried to drag me away from hunting sea lions. I mean....taking a bath.

C) BUT YOU'RE ALWAYS IN YOUR OWN WORLD. I DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU.

Yes and you never ever will. But I love you mom and thank you for your concern.

Ugh

If Dominos would deliver directly to my bed then I would never ever get out of it.

Introspection

I think I'm actually a very simple, very sane person. Some of the very few of you who I gave this link to and actually read this may be laughing (CHERYL), but really, I am. I think maybe this is why I don't relate well to and am not usually accepted by others, because its very fashionable these days to be loud, proud, "unique" and completely and utterly plastic.

I'm quiet and introspective. I don't like loud noises like those that stem from car alarms or drunk hipsters and I enjoy subtle wit and beautiful things. Filthy humour is not my forte, it seems too easy and I enjoy a joke that doesn't climax after a phrase, but builds with time and patience. Tans repulse me and my skin colour is unfashionable in the here and now, and I am neither thin or curvy enough to fulfill the Canadian definition of beauty. I am awkward, I am stiff, I am everything that everyone feels, but is more skilled at hiding and I'm very very tired of defending myself for being true to who and what I am.

In conclusion I would like a simple life away from other people. A penthouse on the moon with a constant supply of oxygen, supply of hearty comfort food, servants and zombie Groucho Marx as a roommate will do in a pinch if my further flights of immagination are restricted. I suppose I'll allow the occasional visitor, but no broccoli, hipsters, or fatties allowed.

The hotel mini fridge diet.

So, after a hardy dinner of 2 pieces of beef jerky, 10mg of Valium and 2 miniature bottles of jeigermeister (I call it the "hotel mini fridge diet" but you can totally follow it in the comfort of your own apartment/mansion/condo/trailer park! Except you can't because I copy wrote the hell out of it and you have to buy my dieting book first. 9.99 on amazon.ca and you get a free bag of dry roasted peanuts.) I drunk texted this guy the other day.

Me: I get it. You're either:
A) Not attracted to me
B) Seeing someone else
C) Gay

Him: .........Definattly not a or, b.......

Me: Oh. C. I won't tell anyone. Don't worry.

Him: Wat! LOL. Im noot gay.

Me:.......................

Him: Im not good at multiple chioce questions

Me: No you are not. And you can't spell your way out of a paper bag either. Good day sir.

You trust this man with your health care? You poor bastards.