jessiedwheelie

Due to my increased activity in random groups and stuff, just thought I'd make it public that this journal is friends only. If you want in on the witticisms and general gabbery, leave me a note.


Yip cha.

On January 31st, 'X' number of years ago, two people who would change the world were born. One makes the opposite sex swoon with the tiniest twitch of a hip, has travelled the world to please ravenous fans, and has teen fans a twitter wherever they go. The other is Justin Timberlake.

Man I am suffering from some weird death exhaustion that is truly kicking my ass at the moment. I'm not talking about feeling tired, but this brutal kind of full-body BLEGH that makes everything seem about 1000x's harder than it should be.  Due to this, I've spent a few hours on the couch over the past two days and made two discoveries, one hideous, one awesome.

The Hideous:

Guess what??? Nick and Aaron Carter have three sisters! And they all live in a house!! And do stuff!! And it's BRUTAL. I can tell you right now that NEITHER of the two blond-ish sisters resemble anything like that picture, and one of them is kinda fat. Also, Aaron Carter has bad skin. Like Pro-Active "Before" kind of bad skin. Yet this does not stop him from hitting on chicks right left and centre. God this show may have caused me permanent brain damage.

The AWESOME:

MANTRACKER!!!

I think Cathy originally told me about this show where this Albertan cowboy/hunter/tracker extraordinaire 'hunts' his 'prey' through random Canadian Wilderness. Two people (ie. the 'prey') have a head start and have to get to destination about 40km away within 36 hours without getting caught by MANTRACKER. MANTRACKER has his awesome horse, his super tracking skills, his moustache, and some choice profanity to assist him. This show is basically happiness in half an hour for me. This pretty much the scenario I used to play in my head when trail running ON TV. And it rules. God that would be so much fun I can't even express it. Apparently it IS possible to beat MANTRACKER but I am skeptical. I also now have a crush on MANTRACKER.

And finally, I finally downloaded both Old Crow Medicine Show albums and they are twanging their way into my heart as we speak.

CRAP I HAVE SO MUCH WORK TO DO!!

I am not as cool as everyone else with their photo-dialogue updates so just deal with the WORDS OK.

I am procrastinating in the hugest way right now but it is 10pm on a Saturday for chrissakes and I can hardly be held responsible for not doing work, right??

Last night was pretty damn hilarious. A bunch of us went to the Cambie for Episode 3 of Season 1: Friday Night at The Cambie. That place. I am kind of in love with it. For those who have never experienced the glory, it is an ancient pub in a scary/slowly-turning-hip part of Vancouver that I usually go to school in. The pub is filled with the most random mix of people you will ever see EVAR. Backpackers from the hostel upstairs, construction workers getting off shift, baby revolutionaries in their Army and Navy shirts, the odd scenster who has wandered way, way off track, and of course, a homeless dude or two for good measure. Oh, and occasionally a drunk girl in a wheelchair. Amusing events never fail to transpire, especially when my inhibitions are lowered juuuuuust enough that I will talk engage in conversation with whoever stops me and accept drinks from anyone. Safety first!!

Last night was classic in its own right. Early on some dude proclaimed me "The most gorgeous woman in the place!" but I was not drunk enough to respond, let alone care. Fast forward an hour or two and suddenly the dude is somehow sitting beside me and telling me all about his meaningful Chinese symbol forearm tats that mean 'Life' and "Death' because "That's what it's all about. No joke. That's what it's all about." Awesomely, he continued by telling me that he's kind of an asshole, has a pitbull, a REAL diamond in his ear, and when he "buys his property and builds his place" it'll be back on the island. Obviously, he was a TOTAL catch.

Eventually, however, I began to sober up and he became rapidly less amusing. At a stupider point in the night, I had ridiculously given him my number (WHAT) and when I put two and two together, decided I should pull a runner and hope that he entered it wrong. Thus, I deftly wove through the crowd to lose him, caught Jason and Cathy and urged them to MOVE OUT!! And we were so close too!! We almost made it! I have no idea why the dude at the door stopped us but Random Man caught up and followed me out! NOOOOOOOO.

And then commenced a pretty awesome scene that involved a homeless dude asking for change, Random Man being 100% asshole and yelling "Get a job!" (Apparently girls love it when you kick people who are down. Guess I didn't get that memo) , me telling him that WOW he IS an asshole! and Random Man suddenly becoming incredibly contrite, begging to see me (oh baby) and couldn't I see that he was trying here??? Like really trying?? Awesomely he blurted out "I want to see you. TOMORROW!" at which point the barely suppressed laughter burst forth and I blunty broke the news that he had no chance in hell.

But he still might have my number. Which means I could end up being his Chinese symbol tattooed Baby Momma shortly before the child gets its faced chewed off by the pitbull.

God Bless The Cambie.

PS. There were many more hijinks including a pub-wide "Does my eyebrow make me look angry?" poll (answer:no), a 'We Cannot Make Out' ban being issued, the adoption of a street wise street urchin guide, the loss of a purse, the finding of the purse, and eventually (inevitably) the breaking of the ban.

Jess says:
goddamn i just got a little choked up at a tim hortons commercial. sometimes I hate estrogen
! #adam says:
haha what the fuck
Jess says:
shut up it was for Timbits hockey and it was totally cute
! #adam says:
"son... i have cancer" "dad... i got you a coffee" "thanks son this will take away my pain"
Jess says:
hahahaa
Jess says:
you could work for them
! #adam says:
an all new low in coffee advertisements
! #adam says:
i like it
Jess says:
"dad....I hate you for abusing me emotionally for the past 35 years" "son..I got you a Dutchie" " dad...I.....thanks dad *smiles endearingly"
! #adam says:
"gather round my loved ones... i know that the recent news of my terminal bowel cancer has got a lot of us down.  but after talking with your mom i've decided that we're going to do this the old fashioned canadian way.  with tim hortons old fashioned donuts and the GOOD OLE HOCKEY GAME"
! #adam says:
(pan to moose spirit smiling outside of house)
! #adam says:
hahaha
Jess says:
(pan wider to see beavers slapping their tails in tribute on the ice of the family's backyard rink)
! #adam says:
well played
! #adam says:
fuck there was actually a news segment about the impact of global warming... that's right families all over canada are having trouble building back yard skating rinks
! #adam says:
OH THE HUMANITY
! #adam says:
it hit a little close to home, i had to go outside and take a lot of breaths to try and absorb some CO2
Jess says:
I heard that people in Toronto were thanking their lucky stars that the outdoor rinks have cooling pipes under them. Nevermind the fucked up weather and that we're all going to die in 50 years, IT'S THE HOCKEY THAT COUNTS
Jess says:
adam, you shouldn't fucking do that. Only if you exhale into zip lock bags.
! #adam says:
good call
! #adam says:
i'm going to have to whip myself tonight in reparation
Jess says:
a little self-flagellation never hurt anyone. No pun intended

One of two things needs to happen: either it needs to warm the eff up or I need to hack a big hunk of my hair off. This whole 'must blow dry' every time I get it wet is getting seriously old, seriously fast.

Other than that, I have nothing of interest to report so.....

I've been crying for approximately 88 minutes now. Not constantly, sometimes laughing in between, but more or less weeping for over an hour. I'm not going to lie, I'm a bit of a Secret Crier. I've been known, on occasion, to turn on the taps in the bathroom, think of something sad, and have a little bawl for a few minutes. Very cathartic. Gets rid of the tension. Good for you, in small doses.

I AM NOW OVERDOSING, EVERY SINGLE NIGHT.

Damn you, Sandra Oh. Damn you, Ellen Pompeo. DAMN YOU HARRISON GIRLS AND YOUR STUPID GREY'S ANATOMY DISC SETS!

I don't watch these shows for a reason. That reason is because they turn me from a Secret Crier into a horrible, ugly, very Public Crier. A sniffling, streaming, soggy wet HIDEOUS CRIER.

I have rules. I am not allowed to watch The Horse Whisperer more than once every 5 years. I do not watch it with other people. I do not read books about the Maritimes or Ireland. And I most certainly do not watch shows that use stupid emo music to TWIST THE KNIFE in my already bleeding heart.

So help me god, Grey's Anatomy, I am only four episodes into Season 2, but I will best you! You will NOT turn me into an emotional, girly, Public Crier. I know your tricks. I can sense your well-timed musical accompaniment before it begins. Use your humour to disarm someone else's defenses before dropping the emo bomb, I am READY for you I tell you.

I will best you, Grey's Anatomy, as I have bested everything else that makes me weep! I AM WOMAN, AND I DO NOT CRY IN PUBLIC!







PS. No more making Sandra Oh cry for realz ok? That was rly not cool.

 I was browsing through my pictures, making back up CDs, adding them to Facebook (yes I have officially joined that CrackSpace as well --though it seems even stupider than myspace) and I came across this wee gem.

Oh to have found my Eden yet have it yanked away. To taste such sweetness if only for a brief time! Closing out! NAY! WHY GOD!
WHHHYY COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN??

The irony forces me to chuckle.

Ok so I know i haven't updated in a bajillion years and I've told no one about Florida, Gingerbread Showdown 2006, Christmas, or Games Night XXXtravaganza and while I WILL, I was totally just distracted by laughing at this picture for a good 5 minutes.

I just got home from Florida (more on manatees, obesity, and Disney World later) and lookee what I got!

Captain's Log - Stardate 26/11/06. Timecheck - 10:15 pm.

My mother is lying on on my hide-a-bed, cackling away. She is absolutely hammered. I don't think I have ever seen her in this state. I mean, a little tipsy, yes, but not SMASHINGLY DRUNK! The occasion? None. We had dinner at my brother's girlfriend's house tonight with her dad. Very chill occasion. And then the original 'Fun Bobby' came out. I talk about Party Jess. I have just met her ancestor. Her mother. MY MOTHER.

She cackles! She falls out of my car. She slurs her words. She stumbles. And the she laughs uncontrollably. Dear god. I wonder what my grandparents were like.

In other news, I played in a basketball tournament this weekend. Will post some photos when I get around to plugging them into my computer. I make hideous faces when I play sports, so you will be suitably amused. I also flipped over backwards and appear to have broken my elbow. Well, not really broken, but it fucking hurts and is purple. Probably the best part was checking this dude in the last game and OWNING him even though he was faster than me. He's on the Canada Games team too, but was playing with his club team. Beating a guy is awesome at anytime, especially when he's marginally good players and faster than me. Probably the worst part was going into the Death Spin and flipping over. Did I mention my elbow effing hurts?

And finally: WTF VANCOUVER?? I MOVED HERE TO GET AWAY FROM SNOW. Snow is the Devil's HellSpawn. Snow is quicksand. Snow is GLUE!!! WHY ARE YOU DUMPING IT EVERYWHERE? Seriously, there is a good chance I may not be able to get out of my condo tomorrow. The Lizard, my (drunk) mother, may be pressed into some snow removal service. Or at least hunting down the building manager to remove the snow for us. Pushing in snow is killer. It's so deep out there I had to stop and REST halfway to my door. It's only 80 ft from the buliding! I can play two full basketball games back-to-back, race 10km in 30 minutes, generally haul ass at all times, and I had to stop and REST. I cannot actually remember the last time I had to stop and rest in my day chair.........

......nope still can't. Fuck you, snow. Will also post pics of the dream/nightmare that is outside when I wake up and can't leave tomorrow.

Here's hoping the Mothership isn't too hungover to do some manual labour! Come to think of it, that was her punishment whenever she would catch me drinking in high school, so perhaps some repayment is nigh!

Yesterday I unraveled the myth of the Harbour Centre Parkade. HC is SFU's downtown campus, where I have approx.90% of my classes, and where parking as ASS RAPINGLY expensive at around $16 a class. You heard me. $16!!!

Last year, I got 'in' with the parking dude after he came to get mad at me for pulling right up to the ticket machine. You're supposed to park and then get your ticket, which is lickety split for bipeds who can walk the one flight of stairs up to the school, but made no sense at all for me when the ONE WHEELCHAIR spot was THREE flights down from the ticket machine. I explained I used a wheelchair. He was abashed and pitying and completely mortified that he had dared admonish me about something in the way (it seems) that only non-english speaking, foreign born men are. They see the chair and instantly go into super overprotective/ultra respectful mode. I wish all parking attendents did this. So me and buddy had a little arrangement. If I was late for class or forgot to put my little sign up, he'd cut me breaks. Just the other day I thought the ticket machine was broken and when I saw him (down on the bottom floor) I told him that's why I didn't have a ticket (for $16!!) He explained it wasn't broken, I said I'd bust back up in my chair (not actually a big deal) but he wouldn't hear of it. The dude is cool.

But then. BUT THEN!

The other week I just couldn't stomach dropping $16 (!!!) for parking, so I bought the $12 ticket instead, even though I knew I'd be 30 minutes over. There had been entire DAYS that I'd parked without tickets before so I was all "Pshaw! Like anyone is going to care." Famous last words. I get down to my car 20 minutes after the stupid thing expired and I had a FIFTY DOLLAR TICKET. DAmn you Impark. You godless sons of Sodom!

It made no sense! The one WC spot appears to be permanently occupied by someone who works in the office tower so I'd been parking in this reserved spot that always has this jeep parked illegally next to it. I never understood how this jeep got away with doing this in an Impark (godless sons of Sodom) Bastards lot, but the Jeep provided me the room that I needed to get the chair in and out. I have NEVER gotten a ticket when I park there and I'd say I've gotten to the point where I pay only 50% of the time. But on Ticket Day that spot was taken so I had to park across the way and BOOM! Ticket for being 20 minutes late!

How do you go from parking multiple times for 8 hours at a stretch with no ticket and then get hammered for a mere 20 minutes???? I will tell you.

It appears I have been parking in the designated (but unmarked) building maintenance dudes' spots. There are only a few, but these spots are pure, pure GOLD. They are totally get out of jail FREE spots. No passes required. Parking dudes don't even glance at the four or five cars in those spots. And how do I get away with parking there you ask?? Me and the building maintenance guys go back a long way. There have been a few altercations involving large semis getting stuck in the parkade, high pressue Vancouverites freaking right out and honking, which annoys my to no end, so I generally end up fingering them or giving them some sort of "Calm the fuck down already" gesture. Each time I have done this, the building dude(s) have seen it and have gotten immense satisfaction that I'm on 'their' team, if you will. Also, the spot I park in is right in front of the door they all come in and out of going to...I don't know, Secret Maintenance Land, so they see me ALL the time hopping in and out of my car. So pretty sure the chair is working its magic as well. Oh yeah and once, when the elevator was broken,  I had to go up/down their shipping ramp. That mofo is steep, and they were suitably impressed. So we go way back.

I finally figured this out yesterday when I couldn't find my keys, thus had books and coats and various bags spread all over the place in front of their door. The space beside my car was empty and this green truck pulled in. I've seen the green truck a million times before, usually in that spot. Out pops Jolly Irish Maintenance Man who was completely appalled that I appeared to need some form of help and thus ensued a rather amusing comedy of errors as he insisted on picking everything up and handing to me, me putting it immediately down again, and finally ending with him satisfying himself by propping all my books up against my wheel. Ah Jolly Irish Maintenance Man. That's when the parking mystery fell into place.

I will now abuse this to the best of my ability.

In re-goddamned-diculous news, I got ANOTHER ticket up at SFU. Their system isn't QUITE as expensive (only $11 per class-GAH) but here's the thing: the machine only takes credit cards or change. For some reason I didn't have my credit card with me today. Still don't really know where it is.  I thought, whatever, I've got cash. BUT NO. It doesn't take cash.

Dear SFU: When you rape people for parking, at least make it POSSIBLE to pay in some other form than credit. Yes I KNOW you can pay in coins, but who has $11 in coins kicking around, EVER?? I put as much coinage as I could muster ($5) in and that got me a sweet two out of seven hours that I needed. WICKED. Thus I came out to yet another $40 ticket. I don't actually know what happens if you don't pay these. I will soon post to the SFU community to find out, but I really don't plan on paying these until they somehow force me to....like Impark (godless sons of Sodom) and their collection agency thugs. I respect those bastards because they are ruthless. SFU? Not so much.

I knew I was going to have a ticket, but I had heard rumours that if it was your third one in a semester (which this one was) you got towed. However, I've also heard an rumour that you can't get towed with the disabled placard, which to me seems like an Urban myth. I decided to test that theory out today. I figured I'd at least get a boot put on, but nothing. Come on SFU, if you want me to play ball, PLAY BALL. I don't respect your little tickets. Withholding grades? You might get me to pay. Not letting me graduate? I'll pay, but not for another X number of semesters. Tow me? And I will fricking buy your stupid tickets everytime even if it means making the 5 minute journey to the coffee shop, buying something stupid so I get change, coming back to get a bloody ticket, and THEN going to class. Like seriously, earn my respect already.

Bah. Parking is a nightmare.

So my alarm didn't go off this morning leaving me to experience what can only be described as The Psychadelic Morning Dreams of Inappropriate Insanity. Shall I fill you in? Short version of course, because I've over slept like no tomorrow.

I dreamt that I was at some weird sporting camp thing that was kind of a cross between hideous 4-H conferences I'd been to and the basketball nightmare in Toronto. It was definitely for some sort of para-sport, and yet no one was really in a chair (including me, weirdly). There was this guy there from Alberta's Canada Games basketball team, Chad. Chad is pretty hot, in a youngish, ADD kind of way. This didn't appear to matter to me, however, as quickly Chad and I were an item. He kept saying "So I'm your boyfriend??" which completely pissed me off.

Enter Donald Trump/ Head of Para-Athletics Canada/ Some other older, handsome gentleman. A combo of all three if you will. He invited me to a dinner party with some other noteable people which greatly impressed me and pissed Chad off to no end. I guess Chad saw what was coming. I wore a really form-fitting gold dress that had death straps that cut into my shoulders and chafed badly. Enter Kristy Yamaguchi, dinner party guest and now a paralympian? Kristy was ecstatic to see me as it had been so long since 'the good old days'. I tried to tell her that I'd never competed with her in figure skating. She convinced me otherwise. There was also a third woman there, really beautiful, wearing some sort of corset-y dress.

At some point it became apparent that we were actually being given the opportunity to be this man's concubines. Or something to that effect. Maybe we were his concubines already? I was pretty pissed off. There was only one thing left to do. ROLLERBLADE THE ANGER OUT! Oh yes, I stormed back to my room and got my sweet rollerblades, and proceeded to hit the mean streets of the annonymous city we were in (still in the gold dress) and rollerblade away the rage! It was pretty awesome. I miss rollerblading.

I came back, hot Chad was still hot (WOW is it going to be kind of awkward when I see him again due to the freakishly real events that transpired in this dream) and we really pissed the Donald off with some public displays of affection that I was completely uncomfortable with. Chad continued to piss me off by asking if he was my boyfriend. Kristy Yamaguchi was still my friend. And then I woke up. What the fuck.

Dear Mensus,

Please stop making my life a living hell.

K thnx.

JD

Here is something fun I got from </a></b>melly_gloworm. If you fill out my survey, I'll fill out your survey (Oooh baby).

The Stalker Survey:

(2 Points) My name:
(1 Point) My last name:
(5 Points) Take a stab at my middle name:
(3 Points) Who was my first celeb-crush:
(2 Points) Do I have any children:
(2 Points) How old are they:
(2 Points) What work do I do:
(3 Points) What am I afraid of:
(2 Points) Do I smoke:
(3 Points) Do I drink:
(2 Points) Do I have any siblings:
(2 Points) How many:
(1 Point) Do I like 'em:
(4 Points) What's one of my favorite things to do:
(2 Points) How many tattoos do I have:
(3 Points) What's my favorite type of music:
(4 Points) Am I shy or outgoing:
(3 Points) Am I a rebel or do I follow the rules:
(2 Points) What’s my favorite colour:
(3 Points) Name something I hate:
(4 Points) Name a talent I have:
(4 Points) What kind of shoes do I wear:
(4 Points) Do I have any pets:
(2 Points) Who am I dating right now:
(5 Points) What did I study in university:
(5 Points) What is the colour of my room:
(5 Points) What is my worst habit:
(5 Points on creativeness) If I were stranded on a desert island, what would I bring:


I'll reply with your score once it's marked.


80-85 Points; Stalker Extraordinaire!
70-79 Points; Hard-Working Stalker
40-69 Points; Decent Stalker
20-39 Points; Stalker-In-Training
00-19 Points; Crappy Stalker or New Stalker

Last night was 'date night' with my Aunt Andrea. After playing phone tag (badly) for the better part of 6 months, she finally left a full-on invitation to come over to her place whereupon she would cook dinner and perhaps we could 'see a film'.

Commence family guilt pangs. We live in the same city. In fact, we live about 15 minutes away from each other. She's perfectly harmless (I think),but she's pretty much batshit crazy. I accepted, thinking "Get in, get out, get gone". Oh ho. How wrong I was.

I went over there for 5pm last night, hoping dinner would be ready to go, we'd eat, we'd head to a movie, we'd part ways, and I'd be home and ready to get some work done by 10pm. Or at least go to bed so I could get up and get some work done. Or update my livejournal. Whatever.

But this was not to be the case! Dinner had not been started, which, whatever, no big deal. Or so I thought. My aunt has lived in the same ground floor bachelor apartment for approximately 20 years. I know now how she has kept her slim figure all her life. Her apartment is a fucking heat box. Bickram Apartment! Because I am always ALWAYS cold, I had a tank top/undershirt underneath my big sweater and a coat over that when I arrived. Coat goes instantly. Then the dilemma: I had not planned for the occasion that I might have to remove my sweater, thus was wearing a completely inappropriate bra with my white undershirt. Think like, red, black, lace bits....oh god. My aunt, I'm pretty sure, is completely celibate and has been for a number of years. Even if she were to get a man into her apartment, I think it is safe to say he would see her massive collection of religious idolatry and paraphenalia (complete with Pope picture and prominently placed rosary) and he would be running for the hills. For a long time I entertained the notion that she was a closet lesbian, but later discussion that night proved me wrong. But I digress: It was SO DAMN HOT in that apartment that I was dieing. I HAD to take off the sweater, but I was just waiting for some sort of crazy fire/brimstone "HARLOT!" call to come from my aunt....but nothing.So far so good in the Bickram Apartment of Religious Idolatry. DInner was an amusing affair of my aunt being weirdly flustered the whole time and apologizing for everything. I imagine that I was probably her first house guest in a while. We talked about her cat who's death she still mourns 6 years later. We talked about my grandma ( her mother) who's death she definitely still mourns. We a.........................I'm falling asleep. Entry truncated.

Entry continued! It's now 10pm and I appear to be hitting my stride. What the HELL has happened to my body clock? I stay up late, I sleep in...this is bullshit. I need to start training again if only to give me regular hours. Anyways, I digress:

We were eating dinner and I noticed that it was getting on. I thought "Sweeeeeet...I'll get out of here EXTRA early now!" but no. Oh no. Auntie was all over hitting up the late show. Since when did my spinster aunt start staying up past 9pm? This is the same aunt that, I kid you not, goes to bed for THREE DAYS at a time if she 'feels a cold coming on'. Her employer must hate her. Obviously I had to say yes. If she was up for it how could I be all "Oh....I've got a reaaaallly early day tomorrow" especially after I talked all about how I was just doing school work all weekend. Arg!

I'm not sure at what point it came up, but somehow we got talking about how she refrained from taking her Gr.8 art class to the Art Gallery because there was a picture on the 2nd floor of two 'homosexuals'. Apparently the artist "used two bunnies in his painting to lure the viewer in before you noticed the two men". Hello Crazy Aunt Andrea. I knew she had to show up for reals at some point! I really didn't want to get involved in this, what with the Pope watching me from at least 4 different vantage points in the apartment, but I kind of gently said something like "I think that most Gr.8's know what a gay dude is...." at which point the Aunt got all flustered and I let it drop.

Off we went to the movie The Prestige. I didn't know anything about this movie going into it and all I really have to say is HOLY HOTNESS HUGH JACKMAN. That man looks so good it's got to be a sin. While waiting for the movie to start, somehow Aunt Andrea and I got talking about politcal correctness in schools and before I knew what was really going on, we were totally having a giant debate and my Aunt was getting all loud! It was......totally weird! Then I remembered that I more or less go to school to debate that exact subject (institutionalized removal of various 'hot subjects' that unfortunately generally comprise a large portion of someone's identity ie. religion) and said as much, if only to spare the poor people around us. Nothing like going to the movies with your 50-something Aunt and having her more or less shout out "YOU SHOULD SEE THE SCHOOLS IN FRANCE! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THEY DO THERE! NO IDEA!"

AahhhhhhhhhHHHH! I was all about kids being able to wear crosses, yamukahs, read the Koran on break etc. which I guess is really not Kosher (no pun intended) in Pub. schools anymore. Who knew? I hate political correctness. Whitewash everything so no one is offended EVER EVER EVER! I'm not even religious! I'm a happily lapsed Catholic! I reserve the right to mock 'my' religion and perhaps go to church on Christmas and Easter (ok FINE only Christmas), but I could care less about doctrines and prayers and while I think I believe in some Great Organizing Principle, I would hardly call it 'God'.

Which was the totally weird part, because here you have the agnostic fighting for the kids' right to express the religosity and the crazy Uber Catholic trying to explain to me why wearing her gold cross necklace to school would be 'exclusionary'. Bah. Whatever.

In the end, the movie was long, Christian Bale used to be totally hot but he always plays such weird characters, David Bowie! shows up, I get sent home (late!) with cinnamon buns, and Aunt Andrea and I will do this all again next year. Same Pope time. Same Pope channel.

Jesus Christ, Ralph Klein. Even I am offended by that. Even with my admittedly (often) low-brow sense of humour! You're a fucktard.

Klein refuses to apologize for remarks.

I downloaded Season 2 of America's Next Top Model, the only season I haven't seen to date.

This morning I became one with my couch and watched three episodes in a row. I managed to detach my ass from said couch to get out and do some mildly productive things. And then I came home and watched two more.

Around 7pm I flipped right out because I had done NONE of the graphics work I had wanted to have finished. Commence Work Spree 2006. Four hours of solid, intense, make-you-go-blind formatting and editing and oh GOD photoshop.

11pm. Nothing else could be accomplished without some serious decisions being made that I don't feel ready to make. What to do? AMERICA'S NEXT TOP MODEL, THAT'S WHAT!

So I just watched another episode while stretching in bed. And then I caught the teaser for the next episode. WHYYYYY SHANDY WHHHYY!!!!!! Don't have sex with that random Italian man and break your boyfriend's heart over the phone!! And don' t bloody allude to this event at MIDNIGHT when I have to be up in 6 hours!!! Because now I HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO WATCH THE HORROR OF YOUR INFIDELITY!

I will stay up way too late, sleep through my alarm, miss all of my super-crucial appointments tomorrow resulting in me failing my classes, getting kicked out of basketball, becoming seriously ill, and eventually ending up in a van (and by van I mean box) DOWN BY THE RIVER.

Fuck you, America's Next Top Model. Seriously.

Played basketball all weekend with BC's Canada Winter Games Team AKA Teen Boy Squad. It was surprisingly fun and I had a much better time than I anticipated being as I am a) the oldest at 23 years of age and b) the only girl on the team. When I arrived Friday night for the sports psychology session, the psychologist said "I think you're looking for the room down the hall? The Classifier's clinic?" and I kind of inwardly groaned and said "No....I'm in the right room. I'm The Girl."

Ack. Sort of funny. Looking back, I suppose I was expecting the weekend to be a little similar to my experience of forest firefighting, being the only girl in a physical situation, and the absolute mental exhaustion I felt after being subjected to truly neanderthalic male exploits day after day after day. But, as my sister pointed out, I was dealing with a very different creature last weekend. We weren't removed from society, we weren't hidden in the woods for days at a time, and they didn't give the guys chainsaws (what I suspect tips even the most cultured male over The Edge).

However, when I expressed my enjoyment of the weekend and my surprise at how nice all the boys were to the coach Marni, she replied in a bemused, cynical tone "It's because they're all in love with you." The assistant coach of Team Manitoba sitting on the couch chimed in " Yeah. My team too."

I will admit, I was somewhat speechless after that. But I suppose it makes sense. I'm pretty much the only girl. I'm not totally deformed (let's remember the context here). And I'm older, more confident, and smarter than all of them. Probably combined.

I AM THE MRS. ROBINSON OF WHEELCHAIR BASKETBALL BC!

I can only hope this awed distance stays in place for the duration of the season and the Teen Boy Squad remains appropriately in love with/terrified of me to remember their manners, pass me the ball, and leave the hell alone when we're not in the gym.

First things first:

I got a my first massive paper returned yesterday. The prof gave this giant speech about how she marked very hard, and that if you followed her copious notes and revised your paper, your mark would only go up etc.etc. I was pissed because really all that means is more stupid work for us. Like, honestly, just mark normally, give people what they get and let bygones be bygones. I was preparing myself to get a mark I wouldn't be impressed with when BAM! A FUCKING PLUS BABY! I got an A+ on the "marked extrememly hard" paper!

Seriously, I am the Street Fighting Ninja of Communications. I am going to roam the seedy underworld of some nameless American city and fight crime with my truly insane Communications skillz. When I come across some thugs doing thuggery, I'll be all "Stop that right now!" and they'll be "How're you going to make us!" and I'll be all "By explaining exactly how modern media continues to propogate images of the racial other by repeatedly printing images and creating storylines in which other ethnicities are reduced to over-sexualized primitive beings that are lower class than those of European descent using the theories of Focualt, Miles, Said....." and they'll be all "uuhh...we can still take you!" but then I'll crush them with "....and the psychoanalysis of Freud and Lacant thrown in for good measure, BITCHES!" and they'll totally run off.

I am so totally a Ninja. I gots mad skillz.

In other news, I just committed to going balls out to make it to Beijing in 2008. For racing that is. While this is somewhat terrifying, I am pretty effing pumped. I have been pretty hesitant to make any sort of statement like that because a) it's only a year and a half away which is insanely soon, b) it means working my ass off starting in two weeks and pretty much not stopping until September 2008, and c) actually making it a goal means I could fail.

I don't like to fail. In fact, I don't fail. It's like smoking or watching day time TV or collecting stuffed animals. Things I don't do. I am hard pressed to think of the last time I failed at something I actually gave, say, more than 85% effort. The semster in Calgary of "What Happens If Jess Actually Tries at School"? Not straight A's, but damn close and nothing below an A-. I'd say my effort was probably around 87-90% on that endeavor. But this. This could be totally diffrent. In the past I've awknowledged my athletic limitations early on in the game (I guess you have to in able-bodied sport -- if you're not a superstar by the time your 10, you're done) but this time it seems kind of wide open. I know this makes me sound like a mildly obsessive-compulsive over-achiever but, let's be honest, I pretty much am. Type A's, can I get a wut wut?

Ohhhhhh lordy. I'm getting all twitterpated thinking about it. This does, however, mean some serious changes. School is going to have to become more negotiated. I may have to scale back my Ninja prowess. I'm going to have to make a 'Calendar of Life' that honestly covers the next year so I can try to figure out how to balance both these things. Because there is no way I can do both 100% at once. If I'm going to give'r, I am GOING TO GIVE'R, know what I mean? I'll probably have to drop it down to two classes, and even then, talk to the profs about flexibility in deadlines etc. I will use The Power of the Chair to it's fullest extent, and it wouldn't hurt to throw around "National Development Team" if I could get on the damn thing.

This also means that basketball is offically a recreational sport. I will make this announcement AFTER the Canada Winter Games in March (if I make the team this weekend). Hello free trip to Whitehorse! I'm not passing that up.

And finally, it means that Coach James is officially my coach, as he is the one in the loop, associated with the big coaches, the provincial sport authority, actually COACHED me this year, and generally (in my opinion) a better fit for me. I now have to tell Coach Peter that he is not my coach. This I am not looking forward to doing. I am going to attempt to phrase it in some hideous, non-bridge burning way, but I kind of get the impression that  this sport is all stupid about things like coach switching. Don't even get me started on the politics. Gah.

Oh baby.

Watch for this Ninja, Beijing, 2008. I gots to be there.