It didn't go off though! That means it worked, right?

I set fire to a yam. Not on purpose, I mean, why would anyone try to set a yam on fire on purpose? I stuck a plate in the microwave with cut up pieces of yam on it and thirty seconds later, a corner of one of the pieces was totally black. Just a tiny little speck. Except that speck reeked of smoke that went straight to the smoke detector directly above the microwave, which made me panic.

You know in stereotypical pagan ceremonies where women dance all naked and "free" and worship the moon? I looked like that, but with clothes on and waving a towel at the smoke detector.

I have a love/hate relationship with bike helmets. I hate them because they're disgustingly ugly, but I love NOT being injured.

One time I rode smack into the back of my dad's pick-up. Another time I tried to do a one-handed maneuver and now I still have the scar on my knee. And one time I rode straight into a telephone pole and chipped my front tooth.

So now that I've been biking again, I've been reluctantly wearing the helmet.

Last week, I fell off my bike, scratched up my legs, got dirt everywhere including inside the handlebars, and broke the chains that attach to the pedals. But I'm okay because I was wearing the friggin' helmet!

I have a thing for talking inanimate objects.

They just make life better, you know?

This one I found outside of the Education wing at school. It's such an Education-major thing to do too, you'd never find it in the Crim wing. We just post newspaper clippings of weird ways to kill people.

Also found at school, the existentialist garbage bin:

This is a legit staircase that legit leads to the Chamber of Secrets. I'm 99% certain. Not 100% though because there's no way in holy hell I'm going down there to find out.

See? Make. Life. Better.

Happy 27th

I asked my brother what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday, and he sent me this:

(source)

I said um, no. Acceptable answers would have included "chocolate," "vanilla," and "Dairy Queen."

Eventually I got my act together and spent several hours googling peanut butter. Did you know if you use natural peanut butter in baking, it'll separate and be yucky? So you can't even pretend it's healthy.

I made two cakes, two frostings, and one fitness bootcamp. That's balance, right?

Five by Five

1) I saw a guy walking down the street literally stop and smell the roses. Either that or he thought he could snort them. Hard to tell.

2) I am the photocopy machine whisperer. Feel the photocopy machine. Be the photocopy machine.

3) Why does everyone hate on February? It's the month of love, people. Love and reading breaks. Best. Month. Ever.

4) There are three important arts reporters in the city and one of them called me at home. I mumbled "Hello..." then did that frantic oh shit cough and attempted to sound like I wasn't still lounging in bed watching the Family channel and downloading the Twilight movies at one in the afternoon.

5) Roll Up The Rim is back and I'm 0 for 6. Statistically, 1 in 6 is a winner. Statistically, I'm getting my ass kicked by paper cups. Update: 0 for 8 0 for 16!

And then I melted into the carpet and was never seen again.

After a break, all the women were called back to rehearsal. I tucked my water bottle under my seat, and flipped open my score.

And hiccuped.

Loudly.

Flushing, I pursed my lips and tried to listen to the music director discussing the rhythm of a particular section. We'd had issues getting the timing right and it--hiccup!--didn't help that the words were in Japanese. Meanwhile, I was trapped in the middle of a row of seats, surrounded--hiccup!--by the alto section on my left and the rest of the sopranos on my--hiccup!--right, with no means of slipping out quickly.

Or quietly.

I tried concentrating on my breathing; I tried not singing; I tried clutching my score to my chest like a blankie. My face felt hot and red.

For a minute, I thought maybe they'd gone away so I sang, "O ni! Bikkuri shakkuri--hiccup!"

Even the music director snickered.

And then I died. The end.

This is what happens when I go unsupervised.

- Get off at the wrong bus stop because apparently there are two 148th streets.
- Spend half an hour walking through the suburbs looking for a shopping mall.
- Realize a shopping mall is unlikely to be located in suburbia.
- Find the other 148th street, find the mall, only to remember I'm a broke-ass student.
- Head back to bus stop.
- Realize student ID card (with Upass) has fallen out of pocket.
- Panic.
- Power-walk back to mall, frantically scanning the sidewalk with big bug-eyes.
- Panic some more.
- Spot student ID card on the other side of the street, at the corner of an intersection.
- Sprint towards it without checking traffic.
- Narrowly avoid getting smushed into pavement by red car.
- Snatch up student ID card.
- Skip home.

I am unimpressed.

My work got graffiti'd, for the first time since we opened last year. I wouldn't be so bothered by it except they wrote this:

Seriously? That's the most creative thing you could come up with? What happened to graffiti art? I demand high-quality vandalism.

This would never have happened in a text message.

To graduate, my school makes everyone fulfill writing, quantitative (math) and breadth (other electives) requirements. An advisor finally called me back today and while I had him on the phone, I realized I didn't know if I'd completed them all.

Me: Oh, okay. And what about my...the requirements... What about my width?

Advisor: ...

Me: Not my width. I mean I know my width. I mean the... the required... writing and math and...

Advisor: Your Writing, Quantitative and Breadth requirements are fulfilled.

Me: Breadth!

Advisor: ...

Me: Sorry.

Pretend this was posted December 26th

Christmas 2011 consisted of lights,

food,

and Justin Bieber. Life-size.

I learnt that there is no way to wrap a frying pan without it looking like a wrapped frying pan; that not everyone is familiar with GPA (I said 4.0 and they said outta 10?); and that sometimes, you're gonna get photo-bombed by a shark.

No really, a shark.

Shit My Teachers Taught Me: Fall 2011

This semester, I transferred to university. The campus is huge and confusing but they post helpful signs like this:

Groovy.

They also post WARNING signs, like when there are bears on campus. You might think that's terrifying, but don't worry, it's not like bears want to be on campus. Unless the campus is in their home. Unless the campus is smackdab in a forest on top of a mountain.

But think positively! No one has been mauled to death in their dorm by a bear in ages. Plus, my Psyc class taught me that optimistic people tend to live 7.6 years longer. So relax! No one's gonna die :)

See? Even the Timmies on campus (there's a Tim Hortons
 on campus!) draws lil smilies if it's not too busy :)

The first time I went to campus to scout out my classes, I got off the bus and trailed a group of students heading up the main stairs, hoping to figure out where I was and where to go. Turns out they weren't going to class--they were going to Tim Hortons. Best welcome-to-campus ever.

My major will be criminology, so my classes this semester were Canadian Law, Criminology, Research Methods in Criminology and Psyc. Crim is fascinating. It's also one of the few programs in which you probably shouldn't tell people much about it. Imagine meeting someone for coffee, getting to know them, saying, "That's so interesting! My speciality is prostitution!"

...

There's really no politically correct speciality in Crim. My Research Methods prof can talk for hours about drugs. Any drugs, all drugs. His 'favourite' is weed. If it's an illegal narcotic, he's there.

If I weren't planning on law school, my speciality would be sex offenders.

...And that's why I really need to go to law school. I have filled my quota, humming Christmas carols, writing about sex offenders. I wrote three papers this semester: one on adolescent sex offenders, one on treatment of adult sex offenders, and one called "Statistics: Misunderstood and Under-appreciated."

(What's more evil? Sex offenders or statistics?)

Also, you may not know this, but our Charter is the bomb. Spectacular. It should have it's own holiday. Maybe a mascot. The whole constitutional law plus common law thing we have going may be complicated, but man, we got it right. Charter win.

Did you know that there is almost zilch crime in back alleys? Unless they're right behind a nightclub or bar, the idea of the dark and dangerous alley is a myth. Everyone sees them as so scary that they avoid them, potential victims and offenders alike.

Shit My Teachers Taught Me: cut down that dark alley, it'll be fiiine.

The Matching Hypothesis, according to my Psyc textbook, states that you are most likely to commit to a partner who has the same level of physical attractiveness as you do.

Shit My Teachers Taught Me: if you want to marry Bradley Cooper, you're gonna need a treadmill first.

Administrative law is not as mindblowingly dull as it sounds. It includes human rights tribunals, so if you're discriminated against, you can do something about it, assuming it's listed in legislation.

Shit My Teachers Taught Me: being ugly is a legitimate (and legal) reason to fire somebody.

Isn't university great!

O Christmas Tree

The Christmas tree was lying on the truck bed, bristles poking out of every branch, as my sister and I stood in front of it. Sister clutched at a blue saw. I clutched at my cellphone and checked out my manicure in the yellowing  night lights.

We'd assumed that our parents would be home already and thus could help us chop off the bottom and stick the tree in water. AKA Dad would do it. Instead, it was just the two of us freezing in the driveway.

Sister wanted to get it cut now, before it could dry out anymore. She stuck the saw against the thick bark and went to town, hustling back and forth, little bits of sawdust bouncing out.

She got an inch in before the saw got stuck. Then it kept getting stuck. I kept getting colder. I helped by looking for the camera because that's what you do in awkward situations, right?

I couldn't find the camera and when I came back, I was promptly handed the saw and told it was my turn. I stared at the tree. A sawdust crust had formed around the cut.

I texted Dad to see when he'd be a home.

The saw felt light and flimsy. After twenty seconds of flailing, the weapon was taken away. Good move, Sister.

"We should flip it over." She said.

I regarded the honking, prickly bush. "...How?"

We exchanged looks. Sister went to work again, and I texted my brother.

Ten minutes later and we'd only gotten another inch in. We ended up both grabbing an end of the saw and pulling back and forth.

I'm pretty sure there was a challenge like this on Survivor. We definitely would not have won immunity.

Miraculously, the stump finally fell and we grabbed onto the tree at both ends. Well, she grabbed, I gingerly avoided spiders. We heaved it into the garage, plonked it into water, and stepped back to appreciate our feminist accomplishment.

Success!