I decided to make a word cloud of the top 300 words I’ve used on my blog. I was actually very shocked to see that I’ve only said “fuck” once!
I decided to make a word cloud of the top 300 words I’ve used on my blog. I was actually very shocked to see that I’ve only said “fuck” once!
So here I am, back home and living with my parents and I’m sitting in my room. I’m sitting in my room quietly wondering all of the places my mom would have put a the Zumba for Wii game that I bought last summer. My bed is covered in dog fur because our little dog, Betsy sleeps with me at night and her fur gets just about everywhere, but I’m ok with that. As long as she doesn’t have bedbugs, her and I are happy as cucumbers in a pie.
I mean, wouldn’t you be happy if someone thought that you were so yummy that you should be baked into a pie?
Anyway! I know the game has to be somewhere in the house because mom wouldn’t give games away without mentioning it. She also wouldn’t lend any games out without mentioning it. So that means somewhere in all of the painting that happened in my house, the Zumba game got stored somewhere and forgotten. It’s not with all the other games, which I think is weird because these are the sorts of things that stick together, but maybe Zumba got ostracized because I happen to play it a heck of a lot more than I play the chicken shooter game or the Wii Sports games. It’s hard to be popular I guess.
I’m still sitting here wondering where it could be.
At the same time, I’m refusing to look for it because I always make a huge mess when I look for things in our house and my mom always yells at me for it. Since I’ve only been home for two days I figure I should try and avoid pissing my mom off so I’m trying to think of where exactly the game could be so that I can try to limit the mess that I’m going to make.
And yes, there will be a mess. My mom has a good way of organizing and cleaning things so that if they’re ever taken out of the box she put them in, there’s no putting them back in. It sucks because it means that I leave little messes behind me as look for stuff EVEN THOUGH I TRY TO CLEAN UP AFTER MYSELF.
However, this entry became very pointless because my dad came home 10 minuets ago.
Me: Hola papi! Como estas?
Dad: Whatjoo do?
Me: Looking for my Zumba game!
Dad: Oh. It’s in the basement. It got mixed up with the DVD’s when we cleaned.
Apparently my mom was wrong and it wasn’t in my sisters bedroom that I was about to terrorize. It’s a good thing dad came home when he did or I would have spent an hour in there making a mess to find a whole lot of not what I was looking for. Instead I got to go downstairs, look at our massive DVD collection with my dad and pull Zumba off the shelf where it was chilling in the Western/Action section of our DVD’s.
Oh and my dad and I totally don’t speak Spanish. When I was in high school and learning Spanish my dad would bug me about how he knew Spanish too and would yell HOLA! at me every not and again. Naturally because I’m a polite amateur Spanish speakerling, I would reply HOLA! back and ask “Como estas?” (How are you doing?) So now this is normally how we greet each other no matter where we are. It’s weirdly impressed a few of my friends who are all like YOU SPEAK ANOTHER LANGUAGE WITH YOUR FATHER?! *MIND BLOWN*
But I really don’t. We just say those two phrases to each other for funsies.
This is also the reason why my sister will sometimes say “Bon journey! Como estas muy bien gracias!” It’s the extent of her French and Spanish speaking skills and she used to say it all the time because it was funny.
Of course, having made an effort to learn Spanish I know a little bit more than they do. Besides the basic greeting I also know how to say, “Lo siento, senor! No comprende! No hablo Espanol” (I’m sorry sir! I don’t understand! I don’t speak Spanish!) It was my favorite phrase in Mexico when I was there for a week because saying that was easier than every other person on the street testing your Spanish speaking ability because they think it’s funny that you can’t really understand anything they say when they speak at their normal pace.
I’m going to end this post right here by saying that I found my Zumba game, but won’t play it because my dad is in the living room and I hate people watching me flail around like a moron unless I happen to be in a classroom full of people flailing about just like me.
One of my friends has gotten it into her head that she can leave me unsupervised with her three year old daughter. I think the kid is freaking amazing and only tolerate these shenanigans because my friend repays me in Sephora bags full of goodies and because the kid can wipe her own ass. The kid calls me “Annie Aay” because she can’t say “Auntie Rachael” and she is a tiny, blond haired and blue eyed angel that I love as much as I can love another person’s loin fruit. Today my friend needed an emergency baby sitter because she and her baby-daddy had to run a lot of errands that would suck for a three year old to tag along for. In her weird habit, she called me because the kid loves me and I can be paid off in eyeshadow and lip venom.
Now, if you read me you know that I’m probably not the best option for these sorts of things. If you know me, you know that leaving me alone with your child is probably not the best of ideas because I’m more kid than adult as well. However, my friend trusts me and I hate to betray that trust so I do my best to be a good baby-sitter and not let her child maim or amputate herself on my watch.
So anyway! Today I went to my friends house and was greeted with hugs and kisses from the kid because she thinks I’m awesome (she’s brilliant, by the way) and was informed that she had a play-date that she was unwilling to give up. Ok, whatever, I’ve taken her to play dates before and I kinda know the moms from past play-dates. I don’t like two of them because they’re haughty moms who think that being mothers makes them superior to lowly creatures like me who refuse to use their birth canals as birth canals even though their children are total shitbirds. The other three are about the most awesome women that you could ever meet. They always have awesome snacks and are fun to talk to because I can say anything that I want without judgement because I don’t judge them when they show up to a play-date and say their kid is being an asshole that particular day.
Whatever, we all have bad days. I happen to think their kids are pretty cool cats as far as children go and nothing is better than going to a playground and hanging out with women who love to gown down slides as much as I do.
So today my friends baby-daddy let me have his Jeep for the day to take his kid to her play-date. Did I mention that his Jeep has a banging sound system? I mean this baby goes BOOM and it goes BOOM hard. When he’s got this thing going full blast you can hear him 5 minuets before you actually see him and it is awesome. Oh and the three year old has a CD in said banging Jeep that she loves to listen to and sing along to. It’s one of those CD’s where the kids sing Top 40’s songs and is about the most annoying thing ever because it’s kid’s who can’t sing belting out songs that are so inappropriate for them to sing like “I Kissed a Girl” and songs by the Pussy Cat Dolls and even that “Party Like a Rock Star”.
We totally rolled up on the playground with this banging out of the Jeep.
Naturally the haughty moms judged me because I showed up 15 minuets late for the play-date because the kid and I stopped for Booster Juice and then I potentially damaged the child because I let her listen to loud music. Apparently that’s not good for their growth potential or chi or some other naturalistic crap these moms like to spew while they walk around in LuLu Lemon work out pants with Coach purses slung over their shoulders. Oh and did I mention that these women were judging me for having fun with the kid while their kids are total shitbirds?
Whatever, I had a great childhood and these women are just jealous because I can rock out to a kids version of “Party Like a Rock Star” and make it look damn good. Oh and emphasis on the fact that their kids are demon spawn because this is how I foreshadow the coming events.
The kids were running all over the playground with their moms slowly behind while I climbed all over everything because playgrounds are awesome. The haughty moms were judging me, the cool moms were telling jokes and I was getting ready to go down a slide with the three year old because slides are awesome. She insists she can go down on her own so I took the fireman/stripper pole thing down and waiter for her patiently at the bottom of the slide. She came down, I caught her and she was immediately followed by one of the demon spawn who looks like Hitler’s love child who I also caught because his mom was texting on her phone. The kids decide that they want to do it again so they grab hands and run around to the stairs to climb back up and I wait by the slide to catch them.
I’m watching them and thinking Hitler’s love child seems to be having a good day today because he’s behaving and smiling instead of screaming like a bat out of Hell like he normally does. I am pleased by this and pretend it is my calming presence that has him acting like a decent human being when all of a sudden I see him lightly push the three year because she was trying to get up the stairs first. So I yelled “Hey! Be nice and share!” thinking this was a good thing to yell, but started to walk towards the kids to make sure they made it up the stairs without incident when…
Hitler’s love child open-palmed slapped the three year old on her chest. Hard. I mean it was hard enough that I heard a distinctive slapping noise as he hit her and the world froze. My heart stopped because my precious charge had gotten hit and I wasn’t sure how she would handle it. She looked like she was in shock over being hit. The moms were frozen as they waited for Hitler’s mom to do something, but she was frozen too. Her and I made quick eye contact as I started to run over to the kids to comfort my charge when the little blonde that I love tackled Hitler to the ground and beat the tar out of him. I mean her little fists were flying as she lay on top of him swinging and kicking and making contact with him in anyway she could.
I mean she had this kid pinned to the ground and was giving him the beat down to end all beat downs.
Or at least that’s what she was doing until I scooped her up and ran with her to the other side of the park where we sat down on a swing and she immediately began to cry. She told me it hurt when he hit her and that he hurt her feelings. She looked up at me as she bawled her baby blue eyes out and yelled “I DON’T LIKE BEING HIT!” and promptly buried her face in my neck to sob her little broken heart out while screaming in pain over the slap she’d gotten. This was happening while on the other side of the playground Hitler’s mom was consoling her future wife beater and the other moms looked on in shock.
After a minuet one of the cool moms brought both me and my kid organic grape juice boxes and tissue paper made from recycled tissue paper and asked if we were ok. While the kid hiccuped and cried into her juice box while slowly sipping it I looked at the mom and mouthed at her “WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO NOW?” and she mouthed back “TALK TO HER ABOUT IT. HITTING IS BAD.” Then she quietly left me to try and explain to the kid that hitting is bad even if it’s in self defense and that if she had done this as a teen or adult that Hitler would go to jail for assault and she could probably sue him for some money, but in our playground world it was never right to hit someone else.
The conversation went like this:
Me: Sweetie, you know it’s not nice to hit right?
Her: But he hurt me first!
Me: Yes, but we’re not playing shot for shot today.
Her: I DON’T LIKE BEING HIT!
Me: I know, lovie, but hitting is never right.
Me: You know that you hurt your friend right?
Her: *sniffle* Yes.
Me: We shouldn’t ever hurt our friends right?
Her: No. It’s not nice to be mean.
Me: Exactly. It’s never nice to be mean and hit.
Her: Boys should never hit girls.
Me: I know, but he’s our friend. We don’t beat the poo out of our friends.
Her: HE POOPED?! I don’t poop my pants. I know how to use the potty.
Me: I don’t know if he pooped or not. But the point is, kid, we don’t hit people.
Her: I can even wipe my own bum and wash my hands by myself. I only poop in the potty.
Me: I know. You’re an awesome pooper. But you know it’s not nice to hit right?
Her: I’m sorry.
Eventually I convinced her that she was sorry for hitting Hitler even though she didn’t like that he hit her first. After that we finished our juice boxes and walked over to where Hitler and his mom were sitting on a picnic table and I assume they were having a similar talk. As we walked over Hitler started to cringe and you could see my charge had put the fear of the Gods in his eyes and that this would haunt him for a while. It was awkward but we stood in front of Hitler’s mom and her kid. The three year old and I were holding hands while I nudged her forward and told her to “say it” and she eventually said she was sorry for hitting him.
Then she walked up to him and hugged him and said sorry again. His mom poked him and he said he was sorry too. Then they hugged again and when they let go of each other she promptly said “It’s not nice to hit.”
She also asked him minuets later if he had pooped and told him pooping his pants was bad.
This morning just slightly before 6am I was woke up. I have no idea what woke me up, but I decided to get up and go pee. That’s when I realized I heard this strange scratching noise so I turned around and saw a raccoon climbing into my window! I flipped my shit because a) A raccoon was climbing in my window and b) I was buck ass naked. I mean, what does anyone do in that situation? I was clueless so I just stood there and the raccoon froze with it’s head in my window.
Then it hissed and I remembered how vicious these things are and one of my guy friends told me that he used to have to fight raccoons when he lived back in Toronto because they were crazy and mean little fuckers and that if you got bit by one you had to get a rabies needle in your stomach. And one was crawling into my window. Into my 10×10 bedroom. Where I was buck ass naked.
So what did I do?
Well if you look at the picture I’ve posted you’ll know what my room looks like. I mean that was after I’d cleaned so now there are panties, plates, 7/11 slurpee cups and all manner of things laying all over the place, but the placement of the furniture is accurate. Oh and I need to point out right now that there are shoes everywhere. Basketball shoes, my comfy runners, flip flops and ballet flats are all over the place because I take my shoes off and leave them where they land. Also if you look in the picture you can kind of see a pink sock monkey with its arms wrapped around a glass vase that holds my bamboo shoot that my mom bought me last month.
The raccoon was still trying to open my window and move my screen enough to crawl into my suite. I think it was stuck a little bit too so in a freaked out move I quickly grabbed the glass vase and set it on the ground next to a ballet flat which was near a basketball shoe that I picked up, took a step back and took aim at the invading animal.
Thankfully my daddy taught me how to not throw like a girl and all of those years taunting me that I throw like a girl to get me to throw harder paid off. Also thankfully my parents enrolled me into a lot of sports as a child and teen because I’m pretty sure having the ability to accurately throw anything that I have in my hands because I knocked that raccoon the fuck out. Not only did I hit it hard enough to knock it out, but I hit it hard enough to knock it out of my window and back outside from whence it came. A first I was all “Whew! Glad I didn’t piss it off by tossing a smelly shoe at it!”
Then I realized that I’d just thrown a size 10 Adidas basketball shoe at a tiny woodland creature with every once of strength that I had at a close distance. With that realization I realized that I’d just hit a tiny woodland creature with a size 10 Adidas basketball shoe that I’d thrown so hard it got knocked back out of my window.
Then I realized it wasn’t even 6am yet and I’d have to get dressed to go check on the raccoon.
So I pulled on a pair of jeans and dressed in clothes that I hoped were “raccoon bite proof” and walked outside to check on the raccoon to assure myself that I didn’t kill it and would therefore have to eat it because I was raised on the concept that you usually have to eat woodland creatures if you kill them unless they’re bugs. That was the chief worry in my mind: that I’d have to either bury or eat the evidence that I’d killed a raccoon.
Thank my lucky stars because not only was that mornings creature feature out cold, but it was also breathing.
It looked kind of cute too. I briefly debated hog tying it and attempting to tame it as a totally awesome pet. I’d name him Louie and he’d cuddle me on those cold winter nights.
Then I remembered that raccoons are vicious creatures that one of my friends used to have to fight and wondered exactly that the Hell my friend was doing that he had to fight raccoons. Is it something people do on the East Coast of Canada to pass time? Fight vicious raccoons? Anyway! I remembered that this was a vicious creature that would have murdered me in my sleep had I not woken up so I left it where it was lying and made a mental note to check on it later and I went back to bed.
Hours later when I checked on it, it was gone and the lady next door started to yell at me what a nice day it was. So I yelled back at her that indeed it was a nice day. Then I asked her if her raccoon problem was as bad as mine and told her about how one wanted to kill me this morning and almost succeeded until I woke up and beaned it with a shoe. She was horrified because I brought up the fact that not only did I bean the creature, but I hit it hard enough to knock it out for an unknown period of time and possibly give it the concussion of a lifetime.
Well, as it turns out, she called the SPCA and had someone come over and talk to me. The guy wasn’t the least bit amused when I told him that I was just happy I didn’t kill it because I didn’t want to have to eat it. He gave me a strange look and told me that cruelty to animals was against the law. I claimed it was self defense. He countered that I should be more respectful of Mother Nature’s creatures. I replied they should respect my personal space because I was naked after all. He said that if I hit the raccoon as hard I said it did, it probably woke up and went somewhere to die. I said he was fine. SPCA guy said that it was not fine. So I told him either the raccoon was alive and fine or it was dead and tasting fine. Either way, it was fine. He then tried to lecture me on how we have to share the Earth with these creatures and how by taking some cautionary steps I could avoid my home being invaded by these beautiful creatures.
So I showed him the picture that I have of my dad shortly after he shot one of his record book holding deer. I wish I had a scanner so I could post it on here, but I don’t. This is just a picture that I take with me whenever I move away from home because I think it’s pretty bad ass that my dad shot a record holding deer. The guy from the SPCA on the other hand…was horrified and immediately left with a warning for me not to harm anymore raccoons.
I’m pretty sure he went to call PETA and they are now on their way to kill me because PETA would rather see me dead than let another raccoon get a shoe whipped at its head for invading my personal space while I was naked.
And before I forget…HAPPY EARTH DAY!
I currently live in a world where all of my friends are having babies, have raised children in the time I’ve been in school or are in the process of making a baby. It scares the the dickens out of me that it feels like yesterday my friends were pregnant with little “Oopsies” and today a few of them are actually trying to get knocked up. While I’ve been in school two of my friends have raised two beautiful daughters that I got to see when they were little and were baby-cute and I’ve been around lots of adorable babies and toddlers, but I’ve never felt the urge to say “I want one.” There was a brief period in my past where I was with a man who I would have been ok having kids with, but I soon realized that wasn’t what I really wanted.
What I really want is to never be pregnant. Ever. It actually bothers the snot out of me that people keep saying “Oh, you’ll want kids when you get older!” Puh-lease! I’m twenty-freaking-five years old! Give me a little credit in being mature enough to realize that I never want my birth canal to actually be used as a birth canal. I mean, if I didn’t want kids when I was 16, didn’t want babies when I was 20 and don’t want kids now that I’m 25, I seriously doubt I’ll ever get the urge to actually birth a child of my own.
And here are my top 5 years why I’ll never have kids:
5. I’m by far too selfish of a human being – I’m the sort of person who slept through my dog trying her best to wake me up because she had to pee. I was really tired and when she tried to wake me, I got mad and pulled a blanket over my head and told her to go back to sleep. Instead she peed on my bedroom floor. I briefly debated sleeping in the living room after that and trying to convince my mom to clean the mess up, but I knew that would be an asshole move so I cleaned up the mess and passed back out again. Now, I love my dog, Betsy with all of my heart and soul. She is the most genuine and happy dog that I’ve ever been around. She’s not very smart, but she loves me and I love her. If I’m not willing to wake up to see to her needs, what will I do if there’s a crying baby? That and I have issues cleaning up my own messes (Ask my mom!), why would I ever want to clean up after some one else too?
4. I hate being sick – There is nothing worse in the world to me than puking. Or being sick without having any drugs on hand to make me feel less sick for a brief period of time. Though puking is about the worst thing that can happen to me. There is something about not having control over my body that scares the living crap out of me and turns me into a shaking and crying mess every time I decide to sick up. It’s even worse when other people get sick in front of me! The moment I see another being puking, it takes all my will power not to join them in a chorus or retching and ralphing. Mostly though, I hate the idea of “morning sickness” that I’ve seen and heard of my friends going through. The idea of puking that much just isn’t worth wanting to have a kid of my own. Don’t get me wrong, you as a mommy might be ok with that and all the power to you for that. You have my respect. However, I happen to hate puking a lot and as a result: I never want to have kids of my own.
3. I’ve never changed a diaper in my life – That’s right. Never. Even when I took a baby-sitting course when I was 12 I didn’t change a diaper since that was a requirement to pass the course. I still passed the course, I was just really sneaky when it came time for us to actually change the real baby that the lady brought in for us to practice on. Of course the baby had on those ridiculous diapers that needed the huge pin to hold them together! I was 12, not retarded, and there was no way in Hell I was letting myself be near an infant when I had a giant safety pin in my hands. I was just as likely to give the kid a fancy new urination hole in its tummy as I was to actually pin a diaper on properly. Since then I’ve actually turned down money to baby-sit peoples kids who weren’t potty trained. My rule has always been that unless they can wipe their own ass, I don’t want to take care of them. It’s actually my plan that if I ever do want kids, I’m going to adopt a child that comes fully potty trained and who I can eat cookies with…because I really hate the idea of changing diapers. In fact, I normally leave the room when it comes to changing time. If I stay in the room while you change your kid, I really like you. Or there is no where to run, but for friendship sakes, I’ll say that I really like you. You also know that I really like you if you happen to be one of the two people who I’ve offered to learn how to change diapers for. I also thank you for not busting that cherry just yet. Your child thanks you too. I’m more than likely to screw up diapering a kid than I am to actually get a diaper on them. Just envision coming home to your kid with a towel duct taped to its person because I couldn’t figure out how to change their diaper…
2. I don’t like pain – Well, I don’t like some types of pain. For example: I cried and was in a horrendous amount of pain when I dislocated my right knee a few years ago, but about two months after that I took 10 hard lashes that left welts from a whip and loved it. Another example: last year I took my dog, Betsy, for a run, but because our neighbours always let their rat dogs run loose and I didn’t want to get in trouble for my dog killing theirs I took her through some back trails to get down to the main road where we usually ran. We went a little ways off the trail and just as I was stepping over a log, Betsy saw a deer and tried to chase it causing me to slip and land straddling the log. I barely made it home and would later find out that I’d torn my vag-jay-jay in several places and was borderline requiring stitches in some spots. It hurt and if I didn’t like my vag getting some minor tearing from that, then I know that a baby coming out of there won’t be good times either. That type of pain I’d like to avoid and I can partially avoid it by never having kids. Spankings, piercings and stuff like that I actually like, but otherwise I have zero tolerance for pain and try to avoid getting hurt as much as possible. Read that as: I avoid getting pregnant as much as possible too! Hello two forms of contraception at all times!
1. Poop – That’s all I have to say for my number one reason why I’ll never have kids. Poop. Need I say more?
End note: I love my mom and I’m thankful everyday for the fact that she carried me to term, dealt with 36 hours of labour and a C-section to bring me into this world and then spent the next 25+ years taking care of me in every way possible. I also have a huge respect for my friends who have kids, are pregnant or planning to have kids. Every single one of you are by far better people than I am.
One of my weirder habits has always been my habit to fall asleep on the toilet. I’m sure everyone has had those moments where you wake up, need to pee and stumble out to the potty room with your eyes half closed to do your business. Well I do that too. Most of the time I’ll wake up and barely be awake when I think “Oh gosh, I gotta pee” and then I’m up and tripping my way to the bathroom. Other times that I fall asleep on the porcelain throne is when I’ve been pulling all nighters studying or writing papers. There is just something nice about taking a break that when I sit down to pee, my whole body relaxes and then my eyes are closed and I’ve fallen asleep. In either case, it happens sometimes and for the most part it’s the best two minuet sleep that I can get.
Emphasis on two minuet sleep. I rarely ever fall asleep for more than a couple of minuets. I usually realize that I’ve drifted off while sitting on the shitter and snap awake enough to drag myself back to bed. I can remember doing this since I was a kid. Especially since I was living at home because our toilet there is close enough to a wall for me to lean on while I pee. The combination of being sleepy already, having a nice wall to lean on and the bathroom usually being toasty warm causes me to close my eyes, enjoy peeing and quickly zonk out.
But like I said before, I’ve never fallen asleep longer than a few minuets.
Except for one time when I was back home for a summer from school. I’d just gotten home from a three night and four day camping trip with a bunch of kids that were in the summer camps I was running and I was exhausted. The week had been rough as I dealt with critical adults, rain and the kids. Truth be told though, the kids were great, it was just all of the extra adults who ruined our fun. So after a week of sleeping in a tent and being cold because I had to give up my extra blankets to a kid who forgot his and one of the kids bringing her leaky tent for the third week in a row I was physically tired, mentally exhausted and emotionally beat. Oh and I was dehydrated so from the moment I got home I was sipping on water consistently.
Naturally this meant that at just after 2am I really needed to pee. So I pushed myself up off my bed, tripped and slammed against the little piece of wall between my door and closet. I jiggled my door open, tripped and slammed against the wall across from my room. I righted myself, over corrected and staggered against the opposite wall until I could lurch into my bathroom. My shorts were down around my knees as I slammed and locked the bathroom door behind me. Halfway across the bathroom I was hopping awkwardly to the toilet because my shorts were tangled around my ankles. I actually almost tripped in my half asleep hurry to get to the toilet and barely caught myself on the counter before slamming my head off of the toilet.
Finally I sat down just in the nick of time before the longest pee in the world spouted forth from me. With how tired I was, I leaned up against the next to my toilet and closed my eyes.
I only woke up because I made a noise in my sleep and scared myself awake.
Then I got even more scared because I couldn’t feel anything from the waist down. I had been asleep on the can long enough that my lower body had fallen asleep! I mean I couldn’t feel anything. I poked at my legs and I could see my fingers poking at my thighs and pinching my knees, but I had no feeling in my legs. In fact, I couldn’t even tense my muscles to stand up. At this point I was starting to freak out because everyone from the waist down was dead. Did I just paralyze myself from passing out on the can? Was that possible?
Keep in mind that I was still half asleep as I tried to figure this out.
So I wiped, flushed and lifted myself up by bracing myself against the wall and the counter. Then I inched myself along the counter and started to force my legs to move. After a minuet my legs were able to hold my weight while I washed my hands. It was at this point that the pain started creeping into my legs. You know that pain you get when one of your body parts falls asleep and all of the tingling, sharp, needles all over pain. The pain was in my feet, my thighs, my knees, my calves and…my vag!
Oh my freaking gosh! I could have handled the pain in my legs, but these sharp pains needling my nether regions was horrific! With all of the pain that was happening from my waist down I wound up holding myself up against the counter while I flexed one muscle group after another in an attempt to get my lower self to wake up. I was in full on tears while I was trying not to fall on the floor. The moment was just too much pain and way too funny for me not to cry. I mean, here I was in my bathroom with my basketball shorts down around my ankles, I could barely stand and I was experiencing the worst pain in my groinal area that I had never felt before.
Eventually, everything woke up and I was able to stumble back to bed. It was just past 5am which meant that I had been in the bathroom for around 3 hours. Thankfully I had that Friday off because after the week I had and after my coochie falling asleep for the first time in its life, I wasn’t waking up at 7am for no one.
My mom originally came up with the idea for me to become a lawyer. She suggested it one night on the way home from one of my basketball practices in grade 10. I wanted to play basketball for the rest of my life, she wanted me to have a real plan. So she suggested that I be a lawyer because I have that “strong useless look about me”. If you don’t get that reference…go watch Pretty Woman.
Well shortly after that my research began. I knew becoming a lawyer meant that I had to go to university. I also knew that I wanted to explore the world a little bit and get away from home as quickly as I could, so I started looking at schools up and down the west coast of BC. Simon Fraser University, University of British Columbia, University of Victoria, Douglas College, College of the Fraser Valley, Capilano and Langara. My original plan was to study English because I liked to read and did fairly well in that particular course, so I figured that I could study in that area for four years before heading into law school.
From pretty much that night on, I made a concentrated effort to do well in school so that I could get into a “good school”.
I still wanted to play basketball so not only was I looking at schools with a great English program, I was looking at schools where I could go and play basketball. My search eventually took me down into the states. Specifically Washington, Michigan, Oregon, North Carolina, Louisiana and California. I even emailed a few of the head coaches to ask how I would get a spot on their teams. It was actually during this time that I found out about Criminology. I was very “meh” on the idea of studying English for four years, so when I found out about someone who majored in this thing called “Criminology” and found out it was the study of crime I was instantly seduced.
You see, I originally wanted to be a defense lawyer and already loved the idea of arguing controversial issues concerning the law and constitution, so when I looked into what a typical Crim program had in store for its students, Cupid shot me dead in the boob and I knew what I wanted to do.
Which immediately knocked off some of my choices for schools. Actually it left me with one school: Simon Fraser University. From then on, I worked hard with the intent on getting into SFU and majoring in Criminology.
In my grade 11 year I emailed the SFU basketball coach and found out there was virtually no chance of me getting onto the basketball team there. At the start of my grade 12 year, I emailed the SFU basketball and volleyball coaches to try and get myself onto a team, but again, that was a no go. It was disheartening, but at this point reality really started to sink in for me. It was doubtful that I was going to go past high school and play college sports unless I went to Thompson Rivers University or a college instead of a university. I also started to freak out about not being accepted into SFU at all. I mean, if I wasn’t good enough for their varsity teams, then was I good enough for their Crim program?
Long story short: I got into SFU. There was some drama and I moved 400+km away from home which was kind of traumatic for me, but I got into SFU and started on the road to becoming a lawyer.
The funny part is though, I didn’t even take a Criminology course my first semester. I wanted to be sure of my love for a subject that I’d never studied and decided to take four other courses: Linguistics, Sociology, Psychology and English. I loved English and hated the rest. Sociology was boring and I hated reading my text books. Psychology…I had a really bad prof and an even worse TA who led my tutorials. Linguistics would have been more amusing had it not been a three hour lecture Monday nights that started at 6:30pm and ended at 9:20pm.
My next semester I was about as attracted to Criminology as someone can be to a subject you study in school.
I blame my professor, Barry Cartwright. His teaching style was engaging, easy to follow along and even though I already knew I would love the study of Crime, he made it at least 100x better than I’d expected. I seriously have never taken so many notes in my life! I was so in love with what I was learning, I took as many notes as humanly possible in his class. Reading the text books was easy and I actually liked flipping open those over priced tomes and learning me a lil som som about crime.
And my passion grew from there. Not only did I learn about crime, but I fell in love with learning about legal systems. Then I fell in love with the Canadian Constitution and the Charter of Rights and Freedom. As my knowledge base grew, my passion for anything in the Crim department grew. Well except for Research Methods and anything involving research. That stuff can kiss my ass, but everything else is amazing. I will happily spend hours reading past case law just because that stuff is damn interesting.
I screwed up a long the way to getting my degree, but…I think that was what was best for me. I needed to fail and learn a lot of hard life lessons. It’s made me even more passionate about what I study, who I am and what I want to be whenever I decide to grow up. I know that eventually I will become a lawyer because I think that’s how I can make the biggest impact in the areas of aboriginal rights, youth justice and the political arena .
So why do I study Criminology?
Because it’s darn interesting and I have a morbid streak that loves reading about famous crimes around the world. There’s something delicious in delving into the deviant and…learning it. It’s one big episode of “When People Go Wrong” and weirdly it gives me hope for a better future.