FIrst Big Girl's Night Out

So I should really be at my math class or at least typing my summary that's due for tomorrow, but I figure my blog's for milestones, and as milestones come, my first pub experience is a not too shabby story.

My friend is very emerged in the music world, and she's set up a charity concert, where french artists  each did a couple songs. She'd met Ariane Laniel, one of the singers for the group "Aucun Regret" on MixMania. (for reference, does anyone remember the song "Tu t'en vas" ?)
Anyway, Meev got invited to her start up concert, and she brought us along. It was in a pub, and I guess event and all, we didn't get carded. I had my first Sex on the beach, and then we shared a pitcher of sangria, so I was buzzed, but I could still walk in my ridiculously high high heels. (I was almost 6'2 with them on)

My friend's boyfriend offered to give us a ride back to Meev's place, where I would take the metro, so as we were waiting outside we decided to take pictures to commemorate (because we're the picture type). Obviously, as it was downtown Montreal, people were passing by, and because Meev insisted it was a "full body picture", the guy that was nice enough to take a picture with her phone and not run away with it had to stand quite far, meaning that we had an almost constant stream of people passing through. He ended up taking like eight pictures though, with one random guy standing beside me and posing with us, before wishing us a good night and strolling off, ajusting his mitts as he went.

We also somehow managed to convince one guy that had stopped to talk to us that I was an 18 year-old Victoria Secret model and that the girl that passed by and commented on my heels was a colleague of mine.

Meev was nice enough to escort me to the metro (I think she was scared I wouldn't find it. Or get raped or something, as that night she had given the meanest stink eye to some old guy that had apparently looked at me like meat - which I didn't see, but I did get to watch Meev as she stared him down with daggers, which prompted a defensive gesture from him.) where I waited for my transfer on doubtful benches beside a guy playing guitar too loud. I still sang along softly with him, though, the night floating in my head like a memory and alcohol gently tingling through my veins. He eventually let me play his guitar and as I played Skinny Love on untuned strings, I remember him laughing at something that eluded me. On the metro some guy was promoting his new rap album, trying to get started on something. I turned out to be a violonist that loved classical music, getting off at the next stop. I missed my bus by four minutes and had to wait 18 minutes for the next one. As I stomped in my sneakers and skirt, people around me strolled, coming back from God knows where on a Wednesday night, some clearly from a bar, but some were harder to guess. A mother and her friend and her daughter, the daughter slumbering in the cold night, her sleeping breath rising in the lamp posts, or two elder men, reminiscing on something I wasn't even born to not witness. Sitting on the bus, I felt more buzzed than I should have, the small amount of alcohol clearly now distilled in my blood, but tiredness taking over.

I got home, kicking off my sneakers, pulling down my skirt and clearing my head just long enough to let my grand-parents know I was home. Then I went to bed, and as my alarm was in the living room, didn't set it. I woke up at 7 o'clock, with plenty of time to get ready for my 10 o'clock math class, but decided against it and went back to bed.

I must now write a summary for my 8 am class tomorrow, but I shall first play guitar.

Until next time,
Vero.

I'm 98% sure writing this post means I'm crazy.

So I'm really bad at keeping pets. Fish, at least. So I befriended this little spider that lives in the left corner, right beside my door.
To be honest, she's not little. She's kind of big. She's also not a she. When I talk about her, I use the female genre, probably because in French, it's that way, but part of me cringes and keeps saying it's a he.
And she has a name. It's not a human name, though. It's the kind of name that you can only have if you have eight legs and as many eyes. And a striped body. Whenever I'm done locking my door, I look up, just to see if she's there, and for at least a second, I smile and my whole brain is entirely focused on this little living thing. "Hey, H_____". Her name's a sound, and as far as I can tell, it's starts with an H. But don't ask me to pronounce it. It's not a pronounceable name.
She's so little though, that even though I'm entirely fascinated by her for a split second every morning, only a part of me react to her. Little tinges of thrills in parts of my brain and in my stomach whenever I see her.
She's the reboot to my day, my little part of my routine. My little "good morning, sunshine". Which is why I panic when she's not there. The first time it happened, I was actually surprisingly depressed for the whole day. When I got home, she was sitting there, as smugly as a spider can sit when she has no idea of the effect she has on the world... or at least on part of the world. The thrill of joy my tired brain felt was overwhelming, and actually quite concerning. She's disappeared and reappeared quite a bit, always when cold or windy or rainy weather hits. She usually turns up after a couple of days, though. I like to think of her crouched in my wall, keeping watch on my door. For some reason, I think she's a better watch dog than what I previously had, a large, but stupid royal poodle.

This morning, it was gorgeous out. Humid, sunny, warm. I checked to see if she was there. She wasn't. When I went out again this afternoon, she was there, sitting in the middle of her web, one loose strand hanging low, holding on to a leaf that was unexplainably still green. The leaf was steadily going up, and I realized she was packing up. I didn't understand why. It was amazing outside. Perfect spider weather.

Not two hours later, strong winds hit Quebec. Isn't she wonderful. 

Internet Trolls: A rant

The Internet is a wonderful thing. Honestly. I love it. I spend most of my time on it, actually, probably more than my basic needs - sleeping, eating and reproducing (That was a biology joke. I'm sorry. I'll stop now.) But honestly. Need a tutor? Wolfram. Need an actual tutor? Kijiji. Need a friend? Penpalworld. Need an actual friend? Urm... Facebook. (Maybe I got those two mixed up, seeing as I keep way too many people as friends so I can laugh at their pictures for me to not be a bitch.) Procrastinating? Yeah, we can help you with that. Ranting? Blogspot, twitter, tumblr, facebook statuses... must I go on?

Now that that point's been made, I can go on to speaking about imgur.com, a wonderful site filled with wonderful and supportive people.

Do you feel like your talent as an artist is underrated? Imgur will love your work.
Are you feeling down, needing to let off some steam because you just discovered you had some terminal disease or you just lost a loved one? Imgur will be there for you.
Do you have a horrible confession, which, if people base their judgement of you purely on that one fact in your private life, will think you are actually a terrible person that does not deserve to have access to oxygen? Imgur will praise you for correctly using the Confession Bear meme.

Do you want to show off your new haircut, nose ring, facial tattoo, cat sleeping on your shoulder, awesome scenery from a place you just visited, or anything that has to do with yourself being in a picture? Aw Hell, naw. Selfies are not allowed on here, my friend. Neither are life hacks.

And it's not just imgur. It's every site. Every site has a community, granted. And in every society, there are rules, granted. But honestly? What if I just want to enjoy my new knowledge regarding the fact that if you make a well in the middle of your food, it will heat up more evenly in the microwave (true story, try it out)? And as someone that is desperately trying to learn to live independently (there's a whole other story attached to that), I enjoy the apartment living hacks. So no. If other people enjoy posting selfies of them doing awesome things, downvote them if you must, but keep your snarky little comments to yourself. Same goes with life hacks. I don't care how much you hate wasting your time on these things, because you don't care how much I love to do so.

There is much too much hate in this world, and 80% of it is found on youtube. 7% is found on the rest of the Internet. The rest is the real world, we're still working on that.

Peace out,
Vero

PS: Has anyone really used “peace out” since, like, 2008? 

Happy moment of the day: My phone is kind of old, so the autocorrect does not know the words "twerking" or "instagram". According to my phone, I can "drop out of school and Trek my way to fame, or maybe use Underarm to pretend I'm a famous photographer." Which is an alternative my dignity likes a lot more. 

This post lacks an introduction

The problem is that movies are delusional. and it's not even the Disney phenomenon, either. There are thousands - no, hundreds of thousands - of real life boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl scenarios. That is not the issue. Here's the issue, and it hit me as I was thinking of Pitch Perfect.

The problem with movies is not that there are not enough strong woman, or that they teach women that they need a full armour to be brave and strong, or even about the Bechdel test.

It's not about instant gratification, or trying to find some guy as good-looking AND as thoughtful AND as smart AND as balanced as all the heros in the movies, it's about the fact that in every movie, the hero or heroin encounters a problem, suggests something, which is rejected by the vast majority, leaves in a fit of fury and/or sadness and/or loneliness or is chased in a fit of fury and/or rage and/or jealousy, and then is begged to come back, and gracefully does so at the condition that everything goes their way, at which point the original suggestion turns out to be a fantastic idea and everyone acclaims him/her.

And what have we learned? We learned that in order to be appreciated we must be needed beyond pride. 

I've realized that is what I've been waiting for. I've been waiting for someone to "love" me enough to need me instead of only enjoying time with me. Until now and probably for at least the near future, I've been under the impression that in order to be happy with someone, I need them to love me more than they love themselves, which, let's be honest here, is really, really conceited. 

So here's to getting over myself, dropping the movie ideas and finding someone I appreciate spending time with. And if he enjoys spending time with me, I'm good. And if it doesn't work out and he shrugs and decides it was for the best, than it was. And I'm going to be cool with that.

PS: anyone ever realize how Jesse just forgives Becca for being a total conceited, cold bitch as soon as she starts singing that song about someone going dancing with her if she asked him to? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's unrealistic. And I thought Skylar Astin was really cute and sweet until he played a character that lacked, um, balls. (I actually had to IMDb those names, because in my head she's the "hot chick with a creepy smile and too many teeth" and he's the "weirdly cute guy that... oh wait isn't attractive anymore, since he can't hold a grudge".)

Hypocritical demands: a rant

Last year, when I was in Florida, I went through the trouble of spending hours finding the perfect iPod dock for one of my best friends, browsing e-bay and kijiji for hours, sending hundreds (quite literally) of facebook messages to my friends stuck in school, trying to figure out how we were going to get the iPod dock to her place on time. Eventually, we got it delivered.

I was glad to do it. I was glad to spend that much money and time and effort, because it was her eighteenth birthday, and she's one of my closest friends, and I love her very much.
So when she announced she was not getting any gifts for us when we turned eighteen (seventeen in my case), it was a little bit of a shock. But she explained she thought that we were getting older, and gifts were trivial to our friendship, and with university looming ahead of us, it was expensive. And after I pondered the question and made up a bunch of excuses as to why she couldn't make anything to prove that she thought of her best friends and her family on their special day (writing a personal message on a card takes time and thought, guys. Common.), I got over it. Even though she works two jobs. Even though she lives at home, has free school and can afford a boyfriend, but not $20 for her friends, once a year. But she had a point, and I nodded thoughtfully, decided it was her decision, and glad she was my friend, continued with my life, having soothed the subtle wave of indignation that had rippled through my ego.

And then, a couple weeks later, as we (well, I wasn't present, but my group of friends was, and clearly we're linked through some sort of supernatural liaison. Clearly.) were browsing Chapters, she dropped: "If you guys don't get this for me, I will be so mad." (This may be slightly unfair to her, as I am paraphrasing a paraphrase, but I'm sure the intention didn't get lost in the translation. Which is why I won't develop on the "mad", and say that a gift is not a due, but a token of appreciation, and that if I decide it reminds me of you and I can afford it, I will be thankful for the suggestion, but otherwise shut up and be thankful for whatever token of thoughtfulness I decided to get you. But I won't develop on that.). Which, in all honesty, when I heard about it, made my jaw drop. I'm pretty sure I literally forgot my mouth was capable of keeping itself shut and I stood in the middle of my grand-mother's kitchen, holding a banana in one hand, the phone pressed to my ear in the other and my mouth hanging open for a full thirty seconds, unable to actually form a coherent thought.

Which may seem like an over dramatic reaction, but it seemed like the reasonable thing to do. To top it off, when I finally remembered I was capable of not looking like an idiot, I asked for the rest of the story: After my friend Sarah reminded her of her little idea regarding birthday gifts, said friend responded with "but nineteenth birthdays are so much more important than eighteenth birthdays."

Really, chiquita? Well, I'm not expecting much for my next birthday, which is when I will be able to drink, legally have sex and also vote, three things who's outcomes may very well change the history of this country, depending on how seriously I take them, I will not be expecting much from you. But the second I hit my nineteenth birthday, there better be confettis and cupcakes, child. (and people call me high maintenance. *snort*).

xoxo,
     ~Vero

PS: Shout out to Dee who I was telling this story about, and not being able to take out all my frustration out that way, prompted the idea of this post. Also, if I seem distracted, it's because my phone didn't stop ringing. Thanks for the med-provoqued comments Dee, they were super entertaining. Keep it up. and get well soon. mouah.

Screwed

I  do reread my posts once in a while to check on my writing style progress (I'm seeing ups and downs, as opposed to constant improvement, which is slightly worrying, but at least I'm writing), and if future me is reading this right now, here's a message: Yeah, don't procrastinate. And facebook? yeah, not after nine o'clock, young lady. Chrome Nanny to the rescue.

No but seriously. I have been going to bed wayy to late lately and getting up too early. I worked at six thirty this morning, and contrary to Tutti Frutti, I can't just throw my hair in a hat and skip on the makeup. I actually have to take a shower and look mildly good, so I set my alarm for five fifteen. And went to bed at midnight. Of course, anxiety got the best of me and I kept waking up every thirty minute or so to check I had indeed set my alarm. and when it finally DID go off, I didn't feel like getting up anymore. So I chugged my Timmies extra large french vanilla (so much calories, so many yums, wow. (Any Internet person will hopefully get the subtle reference) ), felt faint because it made my body temperature sky rocket, and carried on with my life. After work I was supposed to go home, grab a snack and make my way to school, but karaoke got the best of me and I only got to school at 2:30. I then proceeded to open my math book and try some examples (I have tutoring at 4), but I realized I have 100% forgotten how to do basic math. Well, basic linear algebra, so finding a matrixes inverse and what not.  I have therefore canceled my tutoring session because it would be useless as I'm absorbing zero info, and will carry on, hopefully getting the bulk of my bio done (I'm done listening to my first class, which was a big step. Now to recopy the rest of my notes and understand them. I have three classes left, so nine hours of bio to catch up on, plus I missed the last hour due to my french test) tonight as to be able to finish it tomorrow and get the bulk of chemistry done. Because here's the thing: I have an exam in less than nine days and I've done zero examples. and memorized about the same amount of formulas. and understand about 4% of the matter. soooo. Then, I will move on to math, because I have another exam in T-minus 23 days (didn't I JUST write one of those?), but first, I'll write a "legal" cheat sheet for my methodologie class (that  class is a joke, honestly) because I have an exam in 11 days.

I was planning on going to Sudbury to surprise my friends but for a trip that will let me be in Sudbury for less than 48 hours and probably suck the life and most of my studying time out of my schedule, I'd rather not spend $150. So I'll postpone that to later on. But I was really looking forward to seeing my dog :(

Anyway, I better get to bio if I plan on sleeping tonight. Ciaoo.

Joys of Unilife - Seen on the metro

Dearest readers,

I must confess I am in the library typing this thirty minutes before my math class, because I... well, I got tired of facebook, to be honest. I have  a french test that will determine whether or not I will have to take a french class next semester, so I'm really supposed to be studying my french syntax, but really, no.

Also, my math tutor has not answered me yet, even though I asked him to give me a date sometime this week, which is mildly stressful. Maybe he got tired of me. I don't even know.

Meanwhile, I still haven't found the time or the energy to catch up on my bio classes, which are actually slightly more challenging than I was expecting, but mostly because half my class are doctors from other countries, and they have to retake their courses, but they already learned all this. I met a guy from Ottawa, who wants to be a veterinary (what an odd word, don't you think?), and is therefore absolutely genius and I just can't handle him passing everything with flying colors. But he's really nice (slightly awkward, but you know.) and his name is completely pas rapport with the fact that he's ontarian and was born in the late 1990s, and I find that amusing, so I keep talking to him.

I've managed to already attract at least two creeps (successfully blocked from facebook, but not from my campus, where suddenly they seem to appear everywhere and awkward eye contact ensues), but thankfully the number of decent people I've met is higher.

Anyway, I must fly to my next math class, which is a losing battle. Seriously, I can keep up for the first thirty minutes, and then everything just kind of disintegrates and my mind feels like it's been put in a blender. Speaking of, I'm thinking of buying myself a vitamix and I really really really can't wait :D

As promised in the title, here is your seen on the metro: Two guys were offering each other a standing place, gesturing to it over and over until they both walked off and stood somewhere else. Oh, Canada.

Edit: I did think of taking the place while they were arguing over who was going to take it, but then I remembered I'm Canadian, apologized and went and stood somewhere else, effectively taking a completely theoretical and imaginary person's place, which made me feel very uncomfortable and guilty for the rest of the ride.