Who?

When Christmas comes around, I turn into such a Who! I love Christmas and I can't stand being around Grinches, so my mother and I torment my dad for the first few weeks of December. He's a grump up until the week before the big day, thinking about how much money he'll have to spend, while my mom flies around the house, decorating and baking. He's a Grinch and she's a lot like Buddy the elf. I love to watch them around this time of year, it's hilarious! He's "bah humbug" and tired from working all day and just wants to veg on the couch and watch the hockey game, until she waltzes in and blasts "Grandma Got Runover By A Reindeer". She smiles obliviously while he gives her the stink eye and I laugh at the comedic contrast of the two of them!



This is my mother's philosophy.



Then she starts singing along, and not quietly. She's loud and off key, and often adds some grunts, stomps and a few crashes of the dishes to her performance. This sends Dad into his room for some peace and quiet. Once he leaves, if Mom's REALLY into it, she starts dancing with the dog. So then he gets excited and clangs his metal dish nonstop. By this point, if I'm in a good mood, I've donned some rediculous outfit and have started dancing to "I'm Sexy And I Know It" in the kitchen and my mom is laughing at me so hard that she's crying and wheezing. The noise of me stomping around brings Dad back to the kitchen to tell me to stop, but he can't help laughing when he sees my terrific moves. My house is great during the holidays!

Smooch!

The grave of the famous Irish writer, Oscar Wilde, has been renovated! Why? Because his fans were apparently a little too admiring.

For years, fans flocked to the Pere Lachaise cemetery in Paris, France sporting lipstick to place their mark on the grave of the man who wrote A Picture Of Dorian Gray, as well as many other works. The grave was cleaned off and now glass walls enclose it to keep fans at arm's distance. Wilde's grandson headed the movement to register the grave as a historic monument, so anyone caught defacing the grave will be charged. Wilde was arrested for homosexuality and spent two years in prison. When he was released, he travelled to France and died three years later in 1900. He died poor, but when his works became more popular and sold more copies, a burial plot was purchased at Pere Lachaise. Graffiti was left on the grave until it was renovated in the 1990's and for the last decade, only lipstick has been left.

I've been studying a bit of Oscar Wilde in my Lit class and really enjoy his work so far. I can definitely see why his fans would leave kisses on his grave, but I can also see why his descendants would like to keep the grave clean. I think that there should be a memorial near the grave so that fans can express their admiration for Wilde while still being respectful. Wilde was an amazing writer, but I certainly wouldn't put my lips on something that hundreds of other people have!

Here's a video to enjoy :)

http://www.reuters.com/article/video/idUSTRE7B00LJ20111201?videoId=226060273

Poetry? Hmmm....

I have mixed feelings when it comes to poetry; I enjoy a good rhyming ditty, and even some ballads, but I do find it tedious after a while. Annotating poem after poem last year in English darkened my view slightly, but after having a break for a few months I am ready to jump back in again! One poet that I will NEVER get tired of is Dr. Seuss. I'm pretty sure that he was sky high when he wrote that stuff, but it is memorable nonetheless. Also, Jabebrwocky is pretty fantastic in the fact that Lewis Carroll made a literary masterpiece consisting of mainly gibberish, but readers can still understand it (for the most part). Reading it in class brought back memories of my mom reading the pop-up book to me and my brother when we were little and telling me how she loved that same poem when she was younger. I don't like writing poetry as much as short stories, but I can pull off a decent one if I have to for class.

I liked the references to Greek mythology in the Lullaby poem, and I think that the poet was likening winter to the underworld, but I can't be sure. I also really liked how bats were described as "a serpent muscling air apart, a dire banner come unfurled, a river flowing wholly from the old, mute mountain’s desperate heart,". I found those lines very effective because they painted an artistic, dramatic image in my mind in a way that I've never pictured bats before.

Paws Off!

Something that really rubs me the wrong way (sometimes literally) is when people touch my hair. Strangers actually come up and stroke my hair from behind. Call me crazy, but I have a problem with it. I get it, not a lot of people have hair like me, but that doesn't equal an invitation to come up and pet me! It's hair rape and I don't appreciate it.

I love my hair. It's got character and I think it suits my personality. It's even earned me the nickname "Fluffy" among my teammates. I really don't mind if people I know ask to touch my hair, even if it does get a bit tedious. I guess I know how celebrities feel signing autographs everywhere they go.

But whenever I go to the arena to watch my brother play hockey, I'm assaulted by a squadron of hockey moms, swooping down on me like a bunch of ravenous turkey vultures.
Mom A: "Doesn't she have beautiful hair?!"
Mom B: "Why yes, she does! It's just so beautiful!"
Mom C: "Oh, I wish I had beautiful hair like that!"
Mom D: "She's so lucky to have hair so beautiful!"  (at this point, a scarf to cover my head is looking pretty beautiful to me)
Mom A: "I bet it's soft..."
Mom B: "Can we touch it?"
Mom C: "Oh yes, can we please?!"
Mom D doesn't even wait for me to respond before swinging her mittened paws at my head. I have known those ladies for over ten years, and most of them still refer to me as "Kurt's sister, the girl with the hair!" At least at the arena I have a good excuse to wear a hat, but sometimes they actually make me take it off to see my hair.

However, they aren't as bad as when I go out in public and some loaded, high, or socially awkward person decides that I'm obviously not a real person, just an amazingly lifelike animatronic that is there purely for their enjoyment, and they pet me. I really don't understand why some people don't get that it's socially unacceptable to stroke a stranger!

Do these come in people sizes?

Go ahead and admire-from afar. Gawk! Heck, point of you like, just please, PLEASE ask before you touch, and only if you actually know me. :)
(Seriously, it scares the bejeezus out of me when people don't.)

For The Love Of Wraslin'

Something that I am extremely passionate about is wrestling. When I was younger, my mother did her very best to make me into a prissy sissy little lady. Now, I wrestle with the guys at practice and hold my own against them. Let's just say that her efforts were futile....

Pinning my opponent a minute into the match!

Once I got to high school I discovered the wonderful world of contact sports! It started with rugby, and the following year my friend decided to go out for the wrestling team. I was aware that our school had a team but I had no interest in joining it. My friend convinced me to go with her on the first week so that she would know somebody there, and me being the wonderfully loyal person that I am, went with her. I had no intention of being on the team, but after the first few practices I was hooked.


Up until this point I had been hopelessly clumsy and was unable to play even badminton without injuring myself and others. So when I began to kick butt on the mat and receive complements on my technique, strength and aggression, it was a huge confidence boost! In my first year alone, I won several gold medals and now hold the titles of WCSSAA Champion (Twice) and CWOSSA Silver medalist. I joined a club team outside of school and got the opportunity to wrestle at a higher level and work with extremely talented coaches and call a few national and international champions my teammates. They inspire me every practice to train and practice harder and ask more of myself.

To be really successful on the mat it takes strength, technique, passion, aggression, determination, sacrifice and something my club coaches stress: MENTAL TOUGHNESS! Wrestling has pretty much taken over my schedule (7 practices between Monday and Thursday!) and when I come home covered in bruises with sprains and pulled muscles, small pieces of my hair ripped out, and burst blood vessels disfiguring my ears, I ask myself, "Why am I doing this?" My answer to that is: the feeling of my hand being raised in the air declaring me as the winner of the match is the most rewarding feeling in the world. It justifies everything that I put myself through.

The gold medal match at WCSSAA last year.

Wrestling has taught me the value of dedication; that your rewards are directly proportional to your effort. It's a great outlet and I'm a much happier person during the season since I have the opportunity to take my frustration onto the mat and leave it there. The rush of adrenaline as I slam my opponent into the mat is addicting, and it is pretty funny watching my mother cringe as she watches what I do to my opponents in matches. Once, she even apologized to my opponent's mother for me dislocating her daughter's shoulder instead of congratulating me on winning the gold medal match! It truly is a blood, sweat, and tears sport and I love it! <3

My biggest fan!

Hungry For More......

One book that I absolutely LOVE is The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. It has nonstop suspense that will keep you on the edge of your seat the entire time, captivatingly realistic characters, descriptive action scenes (without crossing the line into being gory), and a few heart-warming moments that, put together, make it the perfect novel. Plus, I kinda have a thing for Peeta.

The story gives readers a peek into human nature: how depraved, volatile, and ruthless we all have the potential to be when given the chance. But, it also shows just how selfless we can be and how much we are willing to sacrifice for those we love. And totally not in a cheesy, desperate ‘Twilight love’ way. The main character is a strong and self-reliant female who isn’t afraid to go her own way, and I have complete respect for that.

I think that Suzanne Collins’ portrayal of the future is, historically, accurate. Gladiator games were very similar, with contestants thrown into an arena and forced to fight until the death for the pleasure of viewers, and also as a form of social control. The Aztecs would give human sacrifices to please their gods, and today we have reality shows with elimination contests. History has a tendency to repeat itself, so I think that this is a potentially realistic idea.

This book allows readers to feel the thrill of hunting and being hunted in a life or death scenario without ever leaving the couch. Face it, most of us who think it’d be cool to be in the Games would probably wet themselves in the first ten minutes. Or die. ’Cause that’s what happens a lot in this book.

This book left me hungry for more, so thank goodness it's part of a trilogy!

When I Wear Clothes, I Wear The Pants

Given the chance, I would most like to revisit age three. Way back then I was (in the words of my mother) a self-guided authoritarian, obstinate, spirited, assertive, and independent. Translated: Eccentric daily challenge sent directly from hell.

When asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I responded with firm conviction, “An archaeologist or a palaeontologist.......or a crossing guard, ’cause they only have to work before and after school!” Obviously, salaries were a huge factor in my decision. A self taught expert on all things related to Egypt and dinosaurs, I treated anyone who asked to a lecture.

I was also a hopeful romantic, and spent a great deal of time scoping out prospective husbands. I once told a waitress that “(name removed to protect his identity) doesn’t want to marry me, so now I have to marry the Squirt,” alluding to my new baby brother.

Definitely not a go-with-the-flow kid, I was always the one to branch off and start my own stream, but NEVER before damming the river first. I was also the self-proclaimed leader of my own army, my weapons: an over active imagination and a disturbingly loud voice, the troops: my vulnerable parents.

Like Hitler, only cuter.....

My mother first sensed a pecking-order challenge when, at the tender age of three, I called her by her first name for several months. The arrival of my baby brother just weeks before my 3^rd birthday was the spark that set off the firework show of my curious behaviour. Through hell or high water, I was staying in the spotlight that had been trained on me my whole life. I started this by wearing what my parents now refer to as the “nightie from hell”. I refused to take it off for 6 weeks, deciding that everywhere I went, it would most certainly be in that Esmeralda nightgown.

At this time I was going through my tribal stage; trying valiantly to assert my warrior status within my parents’ home. The situation became so extreme that my mother had to make an “underwear must be worn at the table” rule. Naked with a princess crown, my motto was: I am preschooler hear me roar! To this day, I’m still trying to claim my God-given right to rule the house.
Yeah, I’d say I was a pretty average kid.
I definitely miss being three. There were no responsibilities like homework or a job, I was going to marry the boy next door, and I didn’t even have to wear clothes unless I was sitting at the dinner table! I was in charge and life was good.

Challenges....

So, some recent happenings in my life have made me decide that just one thing could make my life much easier. I have realised that being a girl just plain sucks! I’m not saying that I WANT to be a boy; just that my life would be MUCH easier if I was one! Just think about it for a moment, they can pee pretty much wherever and whenever they want to, just unzip and they’re good to go! No poison ivy on your privates from squatting behind a bush.

When they gain weight they look solid, girls just get chubby.

On a hot summer day they can whip their tops off and not have dirty old men whistle at them.

They don’t care about their hair and make-up so they can just sleep in, roll out of bed and grab the shirt they already wore twice which is okay because although girls are expected to smell like vanilla and sunshine every moment of the day, when a dude has a cloud of B.O. around him, well that’s a musky man scent!

Also, girls don’t sweat. EVER. But men, they can drip buckets! Buckets of nothing but hard work and success. Period. Speaking of which....

They don’t have to visit with their annoying aunt every month. And I’m not talking about the one who smells like potpourri and pinches your cheeks.

They can’t get pregnant and experience the joys of morning sickness and the wonders of labour pain.

They can wear a white T-shirt on a rainy day.

They never have to worry about someone stealing their purse, cause guess why?

Nobody expects a guy to be poised and dainty.

Guys can pass gas out either end and possibly raise their social status among friends/teammates.

And diets? Pshh....

Now, I'm a female and proud of it, but maybe this will earn a little more appreciation for us girls! ;)