An Alligator Named Ralph

In second grade we had a killer snowstorm. The teachers went on strike for a week and it was the perfect week to frolic in the snow....for every other kid on the block. Steve and I, on the other hand, had to stay inside with our new teacher....... My mother.

She wasn't really that bad. We had to read a story of my choosing (or I would bite her and Steve). Then Steve had to write a story about a subject of our "teacher's" choosing and I wrote about whatever I wanted (see previous sentence for the reason why).

The first day I wrote a killer story about a crocodile named Ralph who tried to escape from the zoo by biting a zookeeper and then was killed by the zoo keeper's vengeance seeking family. They threw him in the lion's den and he cried while being mauled to death, and was sorry for his past crimes. See? Suspense! Drama! A twist ending! A dynamic character! Fabulous!

My brother wrote a lame ass story about a pencil sharpener named Chris (his best friend's name. See the lack of originality already) who liked blue pencils and not brown ones. Guess which story Mrs. M (she wouldn't let us call her mom) raved about and put a gold star on? Ummm....IT DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A PLOT.

The next day Steve wrote a story about a shoe named Ryan (his second best friend) who liked red socks but not brown socks and liked it when people washed their feet before putting him on. YAWN! I wrote a story about an angry crocodile named Louis that ate his mother and a pencil sharpener named Chris and then wore a pair of shoes named Ryan and killed them by wearing them. I didn't get a gold star or a any recognition from Steve, but I did see the first flicker of fear in my mother's eyes and she made me my very first psychologist appointment that very day.

I'm pretty sure my mom has given up hope.

One sided heart to heart talk with Mother Dearest on the phone today while still in bed at 6:45 pm (work is at 7:30 pm). My eyes were still closed and the snooze button was pushed intermittently.

Mom: I just know when you meet that special someone, they will understand and accept the real you. You don't need to worry. It will happen.

Me: Mmmmhmmmmm.

Mom: Your father and I will accept them into our hearts, no matter who it is.

Me: Yup.

Mom: We will always accept and love you no matter what. Now get out of bed sweetheart. Or you will get fired.

Me: Ugh. Yeah. Loveyoubye.

*Click* *Rush to feed cat/brush teeth/put on hideous hideous work uniform*

Me: Wait a minute. Gender neutral terms, often in plural and incorrect form. Themes of acceptance of abnormality.....

Indeed. My mother thinks I'm a lesbian.

Rock Bottom

Rock bottom has been a long time coming, and now it is here. I literally cannot get out of bed, even to get up to eat and I am a notorious glutton. Livestock at petting zooks literally used to cringe and draw back when I approached them because of all the ghosts of past eaten steaks and chicken strips that followed me around. My body is banging, but my cat does not seem to appreciate the hipbones that disturb our cuddle sessions and actually swatted and hissed at them this morning. Fear not though citizens, my favor was soon restored with a lengthy ear scratch and exciting session of "catch that ribbon" (spoiler alert: she caught it).

I'll be ok though. I made the first step towards getting help by visiting a walk in clinic and terrifying an Asian doctor who wrote me a prescription for an SSRI and fled the room ASAP. Poor thing. And I will keep going from here because the only way to go is up. And now to take some fine african valium and attempt a nap before night shift.

Trophies For Mediocre Grown Ups

I think a lot of kids measure their self worth by trophies and awards. I know I did. My brother and I used to win the average amount of them, and I thought we were a pretty talented pair of siblings....Until I started reading the engravings:

Brother: Basketball, Track team, Judo.

Me: Great Colourer! You're Pretty! Good at Jump Rope!

Yes. My Dad made me fake trophies because I'm completely and utterly talentless and he didn't want me to realize it. How cute is that?

I think most people have moved on from the trophy era, and I'm sure that my Dad assumes I have too, but of course I have not. Daddy, for Christmas I would like one of the following:

YOU FIT INTO YOUR SKINNY JEANS
YOU HELD YOUR COOL AROUND THAT CRACKHEAD
EXCELLENT HYGIENE
YOU CAN KEEP A CAT ALIVE!
YOU MADE EYE CONTACT WITH THAT HOT GUY

That is all.

SEWF seeks....(Single Extra White Female Seeks)

Once upon a time a naive 21 year old from Vancouver Island graduated from UBC with a BSN and entered a new life full of misguided hope and vigor. She would lose her freshman 25 (she was an overachiever ok?!), touch the life of many a patient, have a core group of companions much like the beloved North American sitcom "Friends," travel the world, fall in love and start the perfect family.

HA! Here I am at 25, thinner and better traveled but more disillusioned then ever before. I hate the majority of the aspects of my job, jump at the chance to have any comatose patient so I don't have to listen to their bloody boring life stories and various complaints, went to Africa and did not have the expected life changing experience, and have yet to have a quality relationship with a male. I have many amazing female friends, but they have moved on to adult courtship rituals that remain a mystery to me and I am left to my own devices. Hence the blog. I am bored and there is only so much tetris one can play if one wants to stop having dreams that one is being bludgened to death by an L shaped block.

Yes, lets move on to today's point because I may actually have one. One of my nearest, dearest and least sane friends is pushing me to make an online dating profile. I'm having so many problems with this though. According to her, one of my biggest problems with men is that I'm far too honest. Whatever happened to "be yourself?" Apparently that trend is out and I'm supposed to be unavailable and mysterious and yet still intriging....but I really think that the future Mr. (blogger's name) will respect and love me for who I really am so I'm going on honesty. Here are some examples of what I'm coming up with here:

Single, extra white and 75% emotionally available hundredaire seeks tan millionaire. Must love cats and insane mother in laws with cleaning fetishes.

Do you enjoy laughing at your own jokes? Have you recently fallen asleep while watching jeopardy and eating a tub of ice cream only to discover that its suddenly tuesday and your cat is licking Ben and Jerry's off of your face? Wow, we must belong together!

No, really. I know. I can and will do better, but I should probably be in a less sarcastic mood.