Day 1.4 – An excerpt

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An excerpt from a novel I wrote a few years ago. This writing something every day is hard stuff. Here I go again…another 7-Day writing challenge.

So my sister and I were born. That was the start of a forever long adventure for my parents. Tinka and Randi. That’s us. We grew up slowly and for us life was one thing after another.

There was the time that my sister attacked a girl in our ballet class for saying that she looked like a boy. We were 8 at the time and all I remember was seeing my stick figurine sister flying across the stage in leopard leotard (it was leopard print or nothing with Tinka) and neon green tights and tackling another stick like creature to the ground. I remember my sister grabbing handfuls of this girls hair and slamming the poor childs head off the ground over and over until the ballet teacher pulled my sister off the girl who was just on the bad end of my sisters ass kicking.

I also remember the teacher saying “You little hellion, your parents must be savages to raise such a child!”

And I was absolutely irate at this.

“First of all you fat cow, no one calls my sister names but me! My momma says so! Second of all we are manners-challenged! Not Hell neons! Are you stupid or somethin’?”

“Excuse me?” It came out as a shiek of outrage more than anything. “What did you just say?”

“Did I stutter? Clean your ears out!” I shrieked back.

“What did you call me?” The fat cow was advancing on me and in that moment I figured out what that mad cow disease thing was everyone was talking about.

“Holy shit it’s what happens when ballet teachers go wrong! Everyone run for your lives!”

That was Tinka after having watched too much TV. Naturally mayhem ensued as my sister expertly whipped all the other girls in our class into a frenzy thinking that this was just another game like the others we often played. We were just imitating TV was all.

And as all the other girls ran for their lives out into the hallway where our waiting mothers were, I stood my ground and replied to the ballet teacher, “I called you a fat cow, you fat cow!”

“It’s the running of the bulls in here! Run for your lives!” My sister was screeching around in the studio now, feeding off the girls who were running and screaming everywhere.

“Children calm down!” The teacher looked up and bellowed at her screaming and screeching class that was now mostly in the hallway and probably telling on me and my sister. She looked at me again and I swore that I saw the devil incarnate there in her eyes. “Call me that again. One more time, say it.”

Me being the obliging child that I was, I unsurprisingly replied, “You fat cow! You are! You are! You’re a ugly fat cow everyone thinks so! Ask Mrs. Thompson! She’s always wondering why a manatee like you teaches this class! You. Are. A. Fat. Cow.”

“Randi! Run for you life! Mad cows salivate poison and if she gets you, you’ll have it too!” Then a little stick of leopard pring leotard flew headfirst into our teacher as my sister tried to save me. In my mind I saw the woman’s fat suck my sister head up and I thought she had beheaded my sister.

What can I say? I was eight!

At seeing my sister attack the teacher I ran at the plus sized woman and did the only think I knew how to do in a fight. I headbutted her and then bit her. Then proceeded to dig my nails into every inch of skin and fat that I could grab.

Eventually our mom showed up to find Tinka attacking her imaginary mad cow that she had conjured up for the purpose of her game. She also found me fighting to protect my sister from harm. My mother having dealt with situations like this before calmly scooped my sister up in her arms and grabbed me by my pony tail and gently dragged us out of the dance studio while muttering “at least they didn’t have anyone’s balls to kick this week.”

Day 1.2 – The Snart

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Note: I forgot to post yesterday. After a boring Geography lecture, a hard work out and relaxing bath, writing more or less slipped my mind. So here I go again! Let’s see if I can hit the 7 day goal and then work up from there.

In my second year of university I took summer courses so that I could finish my degree a year early. Sadly the four courses I was taking meant that I was in lecture 8 times a week and had tutorials (like labs, but for arts students) 4 times a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays I had three 1 hour and 50 minuet lectures back to back to back starting at 10am. Tuesdays were bad because I had a 1 hour tutorial right after my last lecture of the day. That meant for 7 hours straight, I was in class with 10 minuet breaks every hour.

This meant that I usually packed a lunch, packed snacks, my note books, my text books and two water bottles (one for water, one with juice). It also meant that if I had no time to really do anything else. My class breaks were long enough to go pee and the breaks between my classes were enough to either pee or get food and head to my next class. I didn’t have a lot of time for anything and being a girl that hates and refuses to poop in public washrooms (unless it’s my dorm washroom), that meant if I had to poop that I was holding it in until I got home just after 5pm.

Well one day I was in one of the bigger lecture halls at SFU and sitting in the very back row like I usually do. If you haven’t seen the lecture halls at SFU, they are actually fairly well designed to project sound really well from the front to the back and from the back to the front. Especially in the larger halls meant to seat hundreds of students. On this particular day I didn’t get to have my morning bowel relocation and my tummy was kind of demanding something be evicted and evicted soon. Not having time to run back to my dorm and do my business, I was uncomfortably fidgeting through most of my lecture while one of the girls that I’d met and made friends with that semester was demanding that I just go and poop my brains out to end my discomfort so I could focus on the lecture.

Sadly, I was the better note taker between the two of us so in her mind she wanted me focusing on note taking rather than on the fact that I needed to go twosies and I needed to go soon. Plus all my shifting around was somewhat frightening for her since she was, for the moment, living with the fear that I was going to shit myself.

Here I was sitting in the middle of my Political Science lecture, needing to poop and waiting 10 minuets for the class to end when my nose started to tingle and feel ticklish. I couldn’t help but think “Oh no!” as I rubbed my nose and hoped that my nose was just itchy and that I didn’t need to sneeze. I held my breath to try and get the sneeze to go away. I scrunched my eyes closed real tight.

I honestly did my best not to sneeze because I needed to drop a deuce that badly. I could hold it until the end of the lecture rolled around and I could run home to poop, but I didn’t know what would happen if I sneezed. Sadly after years of my mother yelling “LET IT ALL OUT” whenever I sneezed, my sneezes were never gentle or easy. They were explosive, powerful and always made me see stars for a few seconds afterwards. Can you see why I was doing my best not to sneeze?

Of course I sneezed, but it wasn’t any ordinary sneeze. Not only did my loud “AH-CHOO” echo to the front of the lecture hall causing everyone to turn around and glare at me, but one of the loudest farts I’d ever heard blasted out of me at the same time. Now, not only did it hurt to sneeze and fart at the same time, but to do it in the middle of a lecture where everyone around me heard, it was fricking embarrassing too. Sadly, being embarrassed about the fact that everyone heard me fart was the least of my worries.

My biggest worry was the fact that now I really needed to evacuate my bowels and the cloud of stink that was now drifting around me. And this wasn’t an ordinary stink. This was a stink that happens after you hold in a poop for over two hours. To me, it smelt like someone had taken a rancid baby diaper filled with green baby poop, stirred in rotten coleslaw and then left it out in a desert sun for a few hours while cursing at it the entire time. Now, we all know that we can tolerate our own stink that we create to some degree, which I did, but no one else is going to be able to handle it unless they have super strong tummies.

The girl that I was with was both gagging and laughing at the same time. In between gags and giggles she asked me, “Did you just snart?!” I had no idea what she was asking until she explained that a sneeze and a fart at the same time was a “snart.” Then I got it and had to laugh at that.

The girl in front of us gagged and ran out of the lecture hall while the guy on the other side of me looked like he had just puked in his mouth a little bit. And the rest of the class who couldn’t smell my stink was laughing uncontrollably at my “snart” while I just sat there stunned at this new phenom that I had met…the “snart”.

Then because I couldn’t do anything else, I laughed and wondered if class was ending early so that I could go and check my undies to see if any poop particles had escaped with my “snart”.

Day 11.1 – Role Modeling

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I woke up early this morning (early for a Saturday: 9:00am) and while I was going about my morning routine I decided to check Facebook. One of the first things I saw was that in addition to 6 notifications, I had a message. It was from one of my community members back home who had seen my blog on another friends page and had been reading my various postings on here. Firstly, you should know, this community member is not on my Facebook friends list, nor do I like or respect them very much. Apparently this person had read all of my Everyday Tangents posts and was not impressed with my style of writing. Basically the message said that I was disgusting because I wrote about my sex life, posted a picture of my bra, talked about my undies and all around proved through my writing that I’m a horrible role model and should not be allowed to work with the youth of our community.

This actually reminded me of the time when I was 17, in grade 11, and stuck a snake in a girls bathroom toilet. There were others involved in my shenanigans, but I was the one who got the snake from the grade 8 boys and I was the one who physically stuck the snake in the toilet. No one knew who did it, but after some searching and threatening our vice principle found out it was me who did it and found me in a foods class on my spare block mixing drinks with a couple of my friends. I was the one in trouble and according to my vice principle and I was in double trouble because I was a role model in our tiny little school.

I told him that I didn’t ask to be a role model so I shouldn’t get in trouble because of that.

I am fair certain that plain argument saved me from my first school suspension.

However, I still got lectured on the fact that I had to be better than everyone else because I was a role model and that putting snakes in toilets was wrong because I could cause a heart attack. In a high school. There was more to this talk but I zoned in and out until he started threatening my senior year sports. I probably earned that threat because the guy was a tool and I obviously had no respect for him. Eventually our talk on being a role model ended after I showed a slight amount of contrition and I was given detention the next lunch where I had to write an essay on why I shouldn’t take snakes out of their natural habitat.

The point to this story is simple: I’ve never asked to be anyone’s role model. Over the years I’ve wound up in positions where I am a role model for younger youth and I’ve become ok with that. However, over the years I’ve made a lot of mistakes, had a lot of fun and have come out of it all with a lot of stories to share. Not only that, but over the years I’ve become a fairly decent writer and I want to continue to grow as a writer, so here I am. And here I shall stay writing about anything inspires me even if it happens to be the freakiest, nastiest and most kinked up sex I’ve ever had. Even if it means I write about drunken shenanigans, dating all sorts of men, women and mixes of the two. Even if it means that I’m writing about underwear, failing out of university and burping in public. I’ll write about all of that and more because I am perfectly comfortable with the person that I am today.

Not only that, but I have spent years working up the courage to write something that people who I know in real life and people who I have known since childhood are going to read. Now that I’m at this point, I will happily flip off anyone who doesn’t like it because guess what? It’s a free world and you don’t have to read me or anything that I write.

I realize that I’m handling a little criticism very poorly, but you know what? I’ve put a lot of thought and passion into my words. I can understand constructive criticisms, but I will not let a mean and malicious attack go unnoticed.

So onto the main jist of this entry: I’ve never asked to be a role model, but I am and I’m happy to be one. However, one of your jobs as a parent and guardian is to teach your children how to choose their role models. It’s my job not to be a truly awful person and I accept that.

It is also my job to be perfectly who I am. I grew up in a community that believed it takes an entire community to raise a child…and they did. Not only did they raise me, but they brought up a lot of us. Through support, education, lots of encouragement and letting us be exactly who we are, we all grew up into amazing individuals. Not only am I different from the girls my age, but I’m different from the girls older and younger than me. Sometimes it’s deliberate because being different is fun, and sometimes it’s not so deliberate because I can’t help being exactly who I am.

Ergo, I am who I am and I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m happy with the person that I’ve become and not only am I happy, but I’m healthy and doing what I’m passionate about. Not only that but I don’t think of sex as a dirty thing, I don’t do drugs unless they’re prescribed by a professional and I’m not an alcoholic. I’m a forward minded, First Nations woman who is proud of exactly who she is, who she was and who she is becoming. I realize that I’ve made mistakes, I know that I’m going to make more, but because I’m the strong woman my family and community raised me to be, I’m going to keep on growing and fucking up and fucking around. I curse for emphasis because I believe swearing teaches us what we value in our lives. That all works for me.

I’d hate to advocate any of my shenanigans, but they’ve all worked for me and I think I’m pretty freaking amazing.

However, if you don’t like what I write, what I say, what I think or how I go about living my life, you don’t need to be a part of it, nor do you need to read about it. And if you think I’m a crappy role model for your kids, then that’s your issue and not mine. My issue is figuring out what the hell I’m going to write tomorrow and what I’m going to burn for dinner.

Day 4.1 – Learning How to Live Life

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I’m still suffering from that horrible thing called “writer’s block”. It’s not from a lack of things to write about, it’s from a lack of being able to write. I’ve sat down a number of times to write and everything that’s come out has been blah. Sadly I just feel like I’m lacking anything clever, intelligent or even remotely interesting to say. So I’ve been thinking about what this blog is going to be about in the hopes of directing my writings somewhere and towards something.

The best that I’ve come up with is this little blog here is going to be about me learning to live life. Or simply writing about life. Checking out human shenanigans, creating shenanigans of my own and who knows.

It doesn’t direct my writing overly much, but at least I have a “theme”…sort of.

I mean in the time that I’ve been on this Earth I’ve had my own unique set of experience just like everyone else on this planet. These experiences range from a weird amount of training for high school sports, a week by myself in Mexico, living on my own in dorms and various basement suites, jobs that come with weird experiences, drunken shenanigans, lots of sex, plenty of all nighters for school and generally living by myself which is always something to write about since surviving away from my family is an experience in and of itself. Plus I’ve lived through all sorts of events that are/will be iconic and I should make an attempt to remember them for the sake of remembering them. I mean, they’re not as awesome as the stuff that went down in the 60’s, but it’s still something to remember right?

For once thing, I was alive to see the Hide n Seek Champion of 2001-2011 finally get found. I’m referencing Bin Laden finally being found, if you missed that reference.

For another thing, I can better remember a drunken night in New Orleans than I can remember *insert historical moment of my time here*.

In short, I have a lot to write about if I really think about it. However, the problem is being clever, intelligent or even remotely interesting because someday I want to be a best selling author and…if I got nothin’ then I have a stack of hardcover novels that I’ll use as weapons when the world ends.

In the meantime, I have life to live and maybe something brilliant will slap my butt and call me Charlie tomorrow.

Day 4.1 – I got nothin’

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I’m conscious of the fact that I should be writing. I was tempted not to make a post for today because I have nothing much of anything to write. However, that’s just a lame excuse. This isn’t going to be much of a blog post, but who cares? I’ve made a goal, I’m sticking to it and hopefully I’ll come out the other end a better writer.

Usually when I get smacked by this horrible thing people call writers block, I’ll simply not write. And I’ll wait and wait and wait until I have something in my head to write.

But maybe by forcing myself to write, I’ll force myself to really start writing?

On the upside…I have  a really fun idea for a children’s book in my head. I actually have most of it written too! Now I just need to add pictures and let myself giggle.

 

Day One – Tangent of the First Order

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Some guy on another blog a few years ago made a New Year’s prediction that I would finish my degree and wind up writing poetry for the Times. He was wrong. I didn’t finish my degree, I can’t write poetry to save my life even though I used to love it and I’m definitely not writing for anyone other than myself right now.

I met another guy on that same blog site almost 5 years ago and I remember in one of his posts he wrote about how one author said that if you want to write then you should write everyday. He said that it doesn’t have to be anything great, it just has to be something. I clearly don’t remember that post clearly, but it’s the idea that I remember and it’s the idea of writing daily that has me enthralled.

Actually, it’s both of these ideas that have me deeply enthralled and bouncing around in my seat. I like the idea of being a writer and I like the idea of actually doing something with my writing. However, I know that it needs some work. Lots of work, actually. I don’t follow proper grammatical rules, sometimes I use words like “awesomesauce”, “kinda”, “gotta” and “nomnomnomnomnom” and I abuse the “…”. On the upside, my spelling is rarely corrected and I know how to sound out my words in a number of different languages. Despite the clear and obvious reasons for becoming a great writer (I can spell, that’s half the battle right?), I know that I need practice and I should probably practice writing for the masses.

So here I am…writing. About what? I don’t know. I know that all the blog sites say that in order to become popular you should write on one specific subject, but I’m going to break that rule. Instead I’m going to write something every day. I might not be huge,  insightful or particularly interesting, but the point is to write and write and write. This will be like in high school when I wanted to be the best basketball player in all of the universe. I practiced every day, whether it was just running (I learned on a Lute Olsen video that I should be able to run a mile every day to be a good post), shooting free throws or practicing my drop step around a folded mat. And my ego says that I got really good at that, so why not apply the same concept to my scribbles?

Well because I’m trying to finish my degree is a good reason. I should really be focusing on school…but I should also do what I’m passionate about and I’m so much more passionate about writing than I am about taking a stats course and two science courses so I can get a pretty piece of paper. Yes, I want to finish my degree, but at the same time I just really want to write.

So here I go…Writing something everyday for a week.

Yes, a week. I’m aiming to write something a day for a year, but let’s start with a week and see where it goes…