I have to include the following phrase into my story 🙂
I mean, we’ve had such a good relationship so far, and now….
Let’s just say I’m worried.
Today I’m in Ottawa, having taken a 6pm flight from Halifax, and I’ll be here for a few days before taking a train to Toronto.
Before my flight, though, I had to finish up packing, shower (By the way, if you’re going to be travelling, SHOWER BEFORE HAND. Sincerely, Someone Who May End Up Sitting Next To You In The Future), and I managed to finish that a little after 3.
I did Siobhan’s dishes since I had the time, and then looked up the best route to take to get to the Halifax Airport.
I put Siobhan’s street as the ‘from’ and got the address of Halifax’s Airport, clicked for the best route via busses since it would be cheaper, and…
Sorry, we don’t have transit schedule data for a trip from Siobhan’s Address, Halifax, NS to Bell Blvd, Enfield, NS B2T 1K2 at the time and date you specified.
Get driving directions from Siobhan’s Address, Halifax, NS toBell Blvd, Enfield, NS B2T 1K2.
… Sorry, what?
Google, what are you saying? There’s a bus route FROM Halifax Airport, I know that because I checked it out when I first got here, and now you’re saying there isn’t?
…Are you Lying to me?
How could you?
Google is a horrible Liar
Reversing the to/from did nothing as well, Google playing dumb with me (like THAT would work, really…), and I was getting frustrated.
I did get help from a different source, and took the bus part way there, but I still had to call a cab for the rest of the trip.
But really… How did I get to this point?
Is Google angry at me for some reason? Have we lost that spark that was once between us?
You know there are problems when lies are brought into a relationship…
Especially bold-faced OBVIOUS lies like that.
Anyone want to offer relationship advice?
So I’m in Halifax.
Like, right now.
I’ve been trying to find the time to visit my friend Siobhan in Halifax for a while now, and now there’s reading week!
And them I’m visiting my friends in Ottawa!
So much travelling!
And it didn’t start out well…
Yesterday (16th) I had everything packed (except my camera charger, dammit!), and was out of the door at 4:30 to get to the airport for my 6pm flight.
Then there was a blizzard.
So we lost some time.
THEN I hear that my flight is boarding about the time that I’m heading off to go to the closest Timmy’s to get some food to bring on the flight, since I hadn’t had time to eat much earlier.
So I’m hungry, and warm, and in the plane, and decide “why not a nap?”
An hour later I wake up, and we’re on the ground, and I think “Oh, that’s weird they didn’t wake me up for takeoff…. wait…” I check my watch. It’s 7.
Plane leaves at 6… 2ish hour long flight… wait…
“Have we taken off?”
(The guy sitting next to me wasn’t much of a talker…)
Three hours later, talk of bits and pieces of the plane having broken (WHAT???), refueling AGAIN (WHYYY????), and a de-icing that make me think of a car-wash without the multi-coloured soap trails (strangely mesmerizing… like whoa), and we were off.
By this time I was starving.
Off the plane and after the long walk to the baggage claim, and I was just waiting for the luggage to start rolling by when I hear:
“Sorry, are you Darcy?”
This is startling when the person saying this os someone you
a) don’t know
b) is saying it when you’ve just gotten to an area you’ve NEVER been before
c) are unprepared for.
Apparently Siobhan (her tumblr link above) had asked a friend to meet me, since she was meeting another friend who also happened to be on the same plane, and we shared cab fare, so that was convenient 🙂
I got to Siobhan’s at about 12:40 Toronto Time (1:40am Halifax), and met a couple of her friends, and generally lots of fun stuff happening, so I’m enjoying seeing her and hanging out!
This was mostly an update of what’s happening, and I may have a couple of more posts to put up to talk about my time here, but for now I’m still tired, full of chicken (Huzzah for already-cooked whole chickens at the Superstore!), and having fun 🙂
Anything else to add?
Well, it’s wet!
I turned 19 on February third of last year (2012). And now I’m 20.
19 is one of Those ages, I’ve figured out…
Those ages, in case you’re wondering, are usually ages in which it’s hard to multiply to get without 1 being one of the multiples.
You know, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23 etc, etc, etc…? I’m probably missing a number in between that, but…
Well, from what I can figure out, most of these numbers are significant ages to be, either to parents or to society or to you, as you are at that (or before that) age. It is from these ages you compare yourself to your younger self.
A baby turning 1 year old is a landmark in aging. But, like with dogs and pets in general, it’ll probably be until that baby is close to or past the 2 year mark before your age will be measured by years consistently, rather than by months.
If you ask Lexy how old Gwynn is, she will respond with “Almost three” or “Three in March” but once, for a while, she used wild numbers like 13/14/15/… months old.
It was a strange time that made me have to think a moment as I subtracted 12 from that number, and then… wait no, that would make him…
(You redevelop math skills like this when you get a pet, or a baby, by the way. You don’t realize how much simple math you’ve lost until this time comes)
Turning 3 seems like an important age to me, as it is the first year after you’re two, giving you one full year of being referred to by year-age rather than by month-age. I don’t have a baby, and Gwynn is not yet 3, so I wouldn’t be able to tell you any other significance, except that maybe at the 3 year mark Gwynn, and possibly babies in general, will have learned a few new tricks.
Perhaps he will have learned not to go ape-shit over cats.
Unlikely, but a hopeful possibility.
5 seems to be that age that you’re constantly hearing/reading/seeing children being thereabouts. They are either almost 5 or are corrected to that they are only 5, not six for a couple of months yet. Or, they “Justh turned thixth”(say with clear lisp) and have likely lost a tooth. 5 is that age that you just want to BE. You never hear about your inner 4-year-olds or 6-year-olds. That’s because 5 is infinitely better than either of those.
Because you’re FIVE.
Later in life you will find out that you like fives even better, especially when learning your times tables, and find out that multiplying 5 is even easier than multiplying by 2’s.
But enough about 5’s, let’s move onto 7.
7 is important for a number of reasons, and not just because Voldemort had 7 Horcruxes and you always forget the last one or two from the list you try to keep in your mind, and not just because it was one of the most important numbers I learned because Mom sat me down and had me learn the days of the week. This was when I once thought that it was the weekend on a Wednesday based wholly on the fact that the alarm hadn’t gone off. 7 is important because you can finally leave 5 behind.
The memory of 5 is an immature phantom of a memory, filled with scuffed knees, grass stains, hair pullings and crying for no good reason. You have moved past the age of 6, even, with all the reminders of being 5 being brought up, and you are now free to luxuriate in your maturity and lording your advanced age over those stuck in the vortex that happens around 5.
Writing down your age becomes a skewed checkmark of age and maturity, writing it in letters gives you the chance to write a ‘V’ for something other than ‘GIVE’, and you take something from that and maybe think if there’s a number out there that has an ‘X’ in it, or maybe a ‘Z’ because you really don’t get to use those that often.
Of course, Lexy has a friend she’s known from childhood whose name is Aziza.
I doubt she had thoughts like these.
(I think I stopped having this wonder for the letter ‘Z’ when I realized fully that one of my middle names could be spelled with a ‘z’ and decided to spell it as such, and it was only in the past couple of years that I have confirmed that on my birth certificate the possible worry of being an Elisabeth Rose was left for the certainty of being an Elizabeth Rose. Because I’m trying to be as honest as I can be while on the Internet, I’m going to admit that for a while there I think I was overzealous and decided I was an Elizabeth Roze)
(It made sense at the time…)
While moving on to 11 I am going to stop for a moment and take away the notion that 9 or 10 are important figures.
9 is a multiple of 3 and while it may seem mysterious by being almost as hard as your 7 times tables, it is not. You are past the smaller vortex (in comparison to 5) of 7 and are next to the little ball that is 10.
10 is insecure but vicious. If 9 tries to pull weight, it simply rolls over and squashes 9 with the fact that 10 is better than 9. 10 has 2 numbers.
It’s Double Digits.
9 can’t get past that. If you’re 9 YOU can’t get past that.
You must remember here that I’m not making up personalities for numbers, this is how I half remember/half imagine a child’s mindset is like. I wrote a great deal of my Harry Potter fanfiction “It’s Green” going on this, and managed to get a number of reviews on my realistic and odd young Harry… Which is flattering, but also makes me think that I won’t be able to write the personality of anyone over the age of 11…
And that would suck.
Back to numbers.
10 is insecure because while it has lorded its double digits-ness over 9 and occasionally 8, it IS right next to 11.
As grand as entering the double digits of age is, it’s not nearly as awesome as moving past that pinnacle to a new height of age.
10 has the misfortune of having a zero in it.
Zeroes, as we have been taught in school, means nothing.
10, as great as it is, is written down as a 1 and a 0, a something, and a nothing.
11 has the amazingness of being the first number in the double digits that doesn’t have a 0 in it. 11 is also when you leave all the 9’s behind, because you are beyond being 10 and have no time to play with babies. Because that is what anyone is if they are still stuck within the limitations of the single digit of age, at least compared to you.
12 year olds matter nothing unless you yourself are a 12-year-old with other 12 year olds, or you are a 12-year-old who knows or encounters a 13-year-old.
Because, a 13-year-old was once… not a teenager.
But is one for the next 7 years or so.
(it’s hard to shake that image from The Adult’s minds)
Yes, when you turn 13 you are experienced in the ways of the double-digit-age enough to be accepted into the ranks of teenagerhood.
I imagine it’s very much like being accepted into street gang. Or maybe the Mafia.
It’s dark, it’s dirty, you are going to be introduced to a whole slew of sights, experiences, smells that you would have liked to be spared from, you will meet people who you may not like but are now part of different rules, ones that will remember you if you report them to the authorities of the Parentals… the ones from their district or yours, it matters not, they will remember and do their best to repay in kind or else find some other way to return the favour.
They will shank you for your candy…
And give bald-faces lies to the Adults about what happened, and you can say nothing.
I know (for the most part) that that’s not how it works, not exactly, but if someone can come up with a better example of what you are getting yourself into by unknowingly agreeing to join this… group… well. Feel free to step forward with your own post, and link me 🙂
But, regardless of your newby status, Parents will expect just a bit more from you, as the Responsible Teen you are, perhaps playing on your sense of new duty and responsibility to get you to do more around the house, set a ‘good example’.
This is an important stage in your life.
The next is 17.
I think that people will think that 16 should be one of Those ages, but aside from “Sweet 16” what is there, really? You can now get your driver’s license… Wonderful.
Due to new laws (at least in Ontario) you must wait a full year after getting your G1 to get your G2. You will be 17 when you are even remotely close to getting your real license.
17 is important for more than this real license, though, and it’s the reason why, in Canada at least, 18 is only really important if you’re in (or, I guess, beside) Quebec.
17 is when you’re preparing yourself for the fact that you will soon have to take the consequences for things that may or may not get you into serious trouble.
18 is when you are putting to use all these thoughts or concepts of responsibility, but 17 is for where you can get paranoid.
It’s about this time when you also have to start thinking about the Future… about University and College, what your major will be, what you want to do with THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.
Feel free to feel paranoid.
It’s be a whirlwind, gale forces of GRADESGRADESGRADES whipping around you, sharp rocks of EXPECTATIONSEXPECTATIONSEXPECTATIONS will give you shallow cuts that sting, and you’ll be desperately trying to stay near the eye of the storm.
You’ll be desperate to stay there, because there’s always that possibility that the winds and rocks will chuck you any which direction, and you could land anywhere.
It’s not likely it’s going to be a place you like.
A few will actually be able to stay in the eye of this storm… until they’re turning 18 that is.
Those who have been struggling to stay near the centre will have gained endurance, will have scouted were they could land, and will have calmed down some by this time, but those who were suddenly jolted from their place at the Eye…
Well shit it’s scary being plucked from your comfortable place, isn’t it?
17 is the slightly more significant time, I think, and if you think it’s actually 18…
Well, of course you’d think so.
17 is desperately gripping at 18 and trying to stay grounded in that shit-storm as drama and grades get thrown around in school, jobs and money problems biting at tender unprotected areas like vicious mosquitos, and 18 is freaking out.
17 has already screamed itself hoarse, why else would 18 be louder?
For those who have later birthdays, it IS 18 that’s scary, but I’m talking from my own experience, so stick with me okay?
Well 19 is scary.
And fantastic if you happen to live somewhere that the drinking age is 19.
Like, perhaps… ONTARIO???? Or Canada… (I live there, whaddya know…)
I was in luck while in Ottawa in that Hull (sketchy part of Quebec, drinking age 18, sketchy party/club central for the underages of Ottawa), in that for the few months before my birthday I could get alcohol, and afterwards I could still go out drinking with my friends whose birthdays were in Oct-Dec, and so were less than legal in Ottawa.
(I’m not saying anything about having an apartment-style res and being legal in a group of under-aged friends. Also, yes, 2+2=4)
But yeah, 19 means first year uni/college, or else it means succeeding in surviving first year, or not.
(Me? Kind of not, but I’m working on getting back in that tipped canoe, it’s a bit hard, but I’m doing it)
It means you’re trying to find the friends you’ll likely be closest with for the next four-or-so years, making connections, keeping your head above water and clothes the least wet…
But a very important time.
Well, I’m only turning 20 now (Happy Feb 3rd everyone! Happy Birthday to me!), so I don’t know how it’ll pan out, but I have hopes.
I feel like I’m significantly more mature (Maybe… My mom would laugh, as would Lexy and maybe just about everyone who knows me), but it could just be because now I can say “I’m 20”
Because hell yes! I’m 20!
But on the other hand… I’m two decades old.
I feel like I should be whipping out cocktail dresses and be brushing off cobwebs at the same time.
This is said because of the two decades thing…
It’s not two centuries, no, but it’s a bulk unit of time.
Seconds, Minutes, Hours=Nothing.
Days, Weeks, Months= the make up of a year. So?
Decade= Impressive. That’s a bulk unit of time, the likes of which you haven’t been able to process by the time you’re 1 decade old. You have no idea.
Literally, for em, since i think I was still spelling ‘idea’ as ‘ida’ because I thought the ‘de’ in ‘idea’ was satisfied with just the letter.
No idea, I tell you.
2 decades= 2 FREAKING DECADES! That seems like a lot! That’s MORE than ONE!
Whoever can count their age by more than one decade is obviously super OLD!
And now I’m part of that group.
I’ve been kicked from the Teenager-Gang and have joined the Decade Group.
I don’t know what it’s going to mean for me, and I don’t know what it’s meant to other people…
I hope there are more cookies in this group though.
Happy February 3rd everyone!
So, in general, if I find a word, or group of words, that can convey the same message as something a little more crass, I’ll use it.
It usually works for me, it’s usually understandable, and it means I have these words, or this word, to fall back on to be a bit more diplomatic.
Or, you know, can say this in front of children and the elderly without the brain-pinching panic of No-Wait-I-Take-It-Back!
Lately I’ve found myself even thinking these words, but I’ve found that some don’t translate… quite the same way.
And sorry, but this explanation is going to require these word replacements as well as the replacement-ee’s.
The word that seems to be getting lost in the exchange is my usage of ‘Grumpy’
Usually I’m using this to tell people that yeah, in general, you seem a bit defensive, or sharp, or mean lately.
This does seem a bit juvenile, yes. It seems like the kind of thing that you would even ask a 5-year-old (or mockingly ask an adult) if they were being grumpy.
Perhaps even being a Grumpy Pants.
But add-ons to this have a variety of translations in my mind.
->”You’ve been a bit grumpy lately…”
“Go take a nap or something… relax.”
->”Stop being so grumpy.”
“You’re being mean. Stop it.”
->”You’re really grumpy lately.”
“You’re snapping at people like a wounded bear.”
->”Why are you so grumpy all the time?”
“Stop coming after anything I say like a wounded bear with a chainsaw and a misdirected grudge!!”
->”You’re being really, really Grumpy right now”
“You’re being a bitch. STOP IT.”
->”Someone’s grumpy then…”
“You are being so mean right now you’re making me angry, don’t bug me right now”
->”Well I guess we all know who’s the grumpy one right now…”
“You are being horrible, leave me alone so I can seethe, or I’ll bite you in the FACE! Like a SHARK!”
And usually it goes on from there, until it gets back into some swearing, varying in intensity while sounding vaguely the same, like:
“Well that was bitchy…”
“Why would you say that you horrible person! That was hurtful!”
“You’re being a bitch right now. A huge one.”
“I AM A WOUNDED BEAR WITH TWO CHAINSAWS AND A SHARK WHO WILL BITE YOUR HEAD OFF! Stop poking me with a stick dipped in acid and burning with the flames of your bad day/week.”
(a rough translation)
So yeah, grumpy sounds preschool, but it’s unusual enough in conversation that it usually makes people stop and reevaluate the conversation thus far, and sometimes other conversations they’d had that day.
It also results in come-backs like “What are you, a child?”, said with such scorn it could peel upholstery from furniture and varnish from wood.
Other such grumpy responses are also the norm, but, after that, reflection usually happens, and I find that people can’t NOT feel like maybe they should think things over after they spew their vitriol at someone who uses words like ‘Grumpy’.
So really, I think it works, even if people sometimes don’t understand that I’m not being childish OR patronizing when I say they’re being grumpy.
Me: Okay, you’re a bus driver.
Sanity: I don’t have the required license, and I wouldn’t trust her behind the wheel.*looks skeptical*
Insanity: *grins* Ahahaha! Carry on. *Serious look*
Me: whatever. You’re the driver of a bus, and 10 people come on.
Insanity: *serious* Does the bus have four wheels…?
Me: Um, yes…?
Insanity: …Of cheese?
Sanity writes that down. I think for a moment.
Me: Yes, someone brought on 4 wheels of cheese onto the bus. CONTINUING! At the next stop, 3 people get off, and 7 people get onto the bus.
Sanity: Were there any people on the bus initially? Before the first 10 people came on?
Insanity: Did the person with the cheese get off?
Me: No, no one was on the bus in the beginning, and yes, the person with the cheese left.
Insanity: Ah. Continue.
Me: At the next stop, another 3 people get off, and… 13 people get on. At the next stop, 1 person gets off, and 7 people get on, at the next stop, another 2 people get off and 11 people get on, and at the next stop 3 people get off and a crowd of 16 gets on.
Insanity: Wow, popular bus isn’t it? and that’s AFTER the cheese lady gets off… how strange… *Shakes head* What’s the world coming to?
Me: um, okay… I’m going to finish this joke soon… um–
Sanity: Before you continue, please realize that most busses can hold 52 to 56 people at once. The current passenger count is– *checks notebook*–52.
Me: Um, okay?
Sanity: I’m simply making sure you’re keeping count. It’s important you know.
Me: Um… Okay there.
It’s just a joke, calm down… then three people get off, and another two people get on. Now I have one question for you.
Sanity waits patiently, while Insanity tries to peek at Sanity’s notebook for the answer.
Me: What colour is the Bus Drivers eyes?
Sanity blinks. Insanity is still trying to look at her notebook. Sanity thinks for a while. Finally:
Insanity: What??? How could you know that???!?! *outraged* EEEEHNN! Wrong! *Insanity starts to count her fingers silently, lips moving*
Me: um, actually Sanity got the joke, you see I said–
Insanity: HAH! No, it’s a trick question! Trying to fool me like that, what do you take me for? Do you think I’m crazy or something?
Me: How do you figure that?
Sanity turns to a new page in her notebook and raises a pen, ready for the answer.
Insanity: Well how are we supposed to know what kind of pen the bus driver writes with? Hmm?
Sanity: What do writing utensils have to do with the question?
Insanity shoves a hand down the front of her shirt, rummages for a moment, and pulls out a handful of pens held together by an elastic band.
Insanity: Look, I use red pens for my ‘a’s and a green pen for my ‘u’s and this pretty orange one for my ‘x’s, but how am I supposed to know what colour to use for the ‘i’s? Hmm? That changes CONSTANTLY!
Sanity takes a deep breath after she finishes writing.
Sanity: When she said eyes, she meant eyes like what you use to look at things, mot ‘I’s like written letters. The joke is to make you forget that she said that YOU were the bus driver, and that you know your own eye colour.
Insanity blinks at Sanity before giving Me a strange look.
Insanity: Well how the hell would you expect anyone to figure THAT out?
As you can see, sometimes I can’t keep up with either my Sane or Insane sides…
I haven’t written about these two for a while, thought I’d remind you all of them.
Also, I’ve figured out that there aren’t only two rooms in my head, there are three. One side for Sanity, the other for Insanity, and one in the middle as neutral (Me) territory. That way Insanity and Sanity don’t have to invade each others turfs, and therefore affect each other… No, they leave all that to me.
Good luck to all Nano-ers, and as an experienced Nano-er, listen to your Insane sides and let them loose on the page, but let your Sane sides help keep you from putting off working on it or from making a detour from your plan of having this character or that character introduced or killed off. (Insanity likes killing off characters, especially the ones you have due to necessity rather than like)
Also let Sanity into your life to tell you what time you should go to bed. Sanity is regularly poking me and telling me that if I want to get at least 7 hours of sleep, I should go to bed NOW. You won’t always listen (especially in November), but sleep is good and a great way to let your mind wander around Sanity and Insanity’s rooms without getting scared back to your own room. I’m not participating this year as I’m being… *sigh* RESPONSIBLE and dealing with school work over writing. Fanfiction.net followers know of what I am doing to replace that. Check out It’s Green on my profile, same username on ffn.net to see my replacement.
Everyone Wish a GOOD LUCK to Lexy0387 this year in her quest for NaNoWriMo dominance, and suggest things to buy Gwynn to distract him that WON’T be bitten in half and swallowed within the first 5 minutes 😀