Wicked Stepsister Woes

I find shoe shopping stressful. It's stressful because I have giant feet that become magically disconnected from my brain when I'm trying on shoes. For example, last fall I spent $180 on hiking boots that make my toes fall asleep when I'm SITTING IN CLASS. How did I walk up and down the store's fake rock trail a million times without figuring out that my toes were ramming into the front of the boots? Nice one Jamie.

Yesterday I went shopping for climbing shoes, which you're supposed to buy 1-2 sizes smaller than street shoes. Everytime I try to buy some, I get frustrated and leave the store with nothing. How the heck do I figure out which ugly, too-small, pinchy shoe fits best on my ridiculous foot?

If only Merv's carried climbing shoes, I know the Primeaus could help me figure it out...

Jamie, Meet Your Type A Personality

We had a really busy weekend with lots of awesome food and visits with my sisters and friends we haven't seen in a long time. For your rereading pleasure, I've reposted something that I wrote a while ago and didn't keep up.

Why I Should Never Redo my Undergrad...
Ever since I was 15, I've wanted to be a psychologist. I was pretty casual about this goal until the world shifted one sunny spring day in my second year of university. Feeling inspired after a really interesting lecture, I promised myself that I would do everything I could to get into grad school and become a psychologist. Thus began my descent into madness...

I found professors who would let me work in their labs. I got a job at the hospital as a research assistant. I started studying maniacally, having meltdowns the night before most tests and wailing to Kyle about how I "didn't know anything", which really meant I didn't know everything. Fourth-year was particularly bad as I wrote an honours thesis and started applying to grad school. Some of my friends managed to go through this process with a bit of grace and dignity (Fran). But not me! I became an insomniac with a constant stomach ache, losing sleep before every exam and presentation. I remember sitting in class at the end of fourth year, confessing to my good friend Ian that I had cried into my mini wheats that morning.

Thankfully, I did manage to get into graduate school and the pressure was off. Knowing that I only had to do well enough to finish, I became less ridiculous with each passing day. I can testify that over the past year and a half, there has been very little, if any, weeping into cold cereal.

I was walking to the university today to meet a couple of friends when I was struck by the fact that I felt really happy, joyful in fact. Things have been going particularly well since I began my practicum in September. I love the work and I'm pretty sure that I'll be good at it one day. Of course, it would have been better to get to this place with a little less stress and neuroticism but it's good to be here.















A behind-the-scenes look at Fourth-Year Jamie. It's probably 3pm and I'm still wearing my pajamas, sitting in my own filth at the computer. If you stare for a while, you can almost see my left eye twitching. I'm just about to pounce on my lovely husband and tear his face off for breathing too loudly while I'm styding.


Me and Fran the Evil Genius looking happy, successful, and well-adjusted at convocation.

Them Pigs are Skinny!

Okay, I promise not to write about skinny pigs again after this (hmmm...is that a promise I can keep?) but I wanted to link to my sister's Heather's fantastic blog about a skinny pig at her clinic.

Warning: This one is a little extra-creepy because he's an albino but if you can look past the pink eyes, I'm sure you'll appreciate his majestic beauty.

(I also really like Heather's next entry about why she really loves her neighbourhood. I wish we had more fun with dumpsters around here. Or even just more dumpsters so that Kyle and I could sneakily ditch some of our basement junk that never seems to go away - jello mold with dead bugs in it, hunks of dry wall, broken freezer.)

Banter While Driving OR Why I Should Never Be Kyle's Therapist

"Okay, let's review what just happened. I expressed my appreciation for something you did, calling it 'very special' and then you belched the words "very special'. What the heck is wrong with you?"

"You're always encouraging me to express my inner-child."

"I am not. That's really cheesy."

"Maybe you just bring out my inner-child and this is how I express it."

"Yeah right Kyle. Your inner-child needs a spanking."

Jamie Heart Skinny Pigs

I woke up today feeling tired. Even so, I dragged my butt through the cold to my practicum not only because I love the work but also because I need more client hours to graduate. Most days I'm very happy to be here but today I'm grouchy. I'm grouchy because ALL of my clients have cancelled and I could still be sleeping or working on my thesis. I'm also unhappy with myself because in my boredom, I went ape on Valentine's Day chocolates and cookies that we have laying around the office. Now I feel sick.

So to stave off my foul mood, I've decided to write about something that makes me very happy. Skinny Pigs!...another one of my "favourite animals". Oh how clearly I remember that glorious day in 2001 when I first laid eyes on a hairless guinea pig. In addition to making cool guinea pig noises, this creature was fabulously hairless except for tufts on the top of his nose.

I fell in love and named him Pickles.

I visited Pickles faithfully, dragging my friends and siblings to see him at Petland. I talked about him so much that my mom offered to buy Pickles for me as a gift. Sadly, I declined because I had nowhere to keep him. The only downside to Pickles was his unsettlingly large and highly visible testicles. This morning I found a fun picture of a skinny pig sweater online. If I ever bought a skinny pig I would learn to knit, not only so that I could express my love for Pickles 2, but also to keep him warm and cover his nuts. Then we'd all be a little more comfortable.

Happy Valentines Day Pickles, wherever you are.

Harry Potter = Star Wars

One of my professors is publishing a book about teaching psychological theory through the use of film. Because I wrote an analysis of "Harold and Maude" (a great movie!) for one of her classes, my prof asked if she could include my paper in her book and, of course, I agreed.

I've spent the past couple of days preparing the paper for publication. A lot of it revolves around a book called "The Hero With a Thousand Faces", which is about common themes in heroic myths that people express repeatedly across time and cultures. Harry Potter and Star Wars are great examples of this type of hero mythology. And the formula = Box Office Magic! Check it out...

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Kyle and I saw this sign at a small town gas station and it made me laugh. Any thoughts?

Open Letter

Dear Sleep Country Canada,
Yes, we are enjoying the new bed we purchased from you last month. And although I appreciate the sentiment behind your mattress-themed thank-you card, I would rather have been refunded the dollar it cost you to send it.
Sincerely,
Jamie

Non-Parable of the Lost Keys

We've had a busy weekend with lots of people in and out of our house. Somehow, one set of our keys which usually sits by the door got lost in the mix. Because I was the last person to have the keys, I was in the hot spot and believe me, I didn't take the pressure well. I looked all over for them. In the car, garage, closet, snow, garden... Last night, I had really weird dreams and I kept waking up because I could hear our garage door squeaking or the front door opening as evil thugs came to assault us and steal our collection of Company's Coming Cookbooks.

Every time I lose something, I get obsessed by the idea that the lost object is out there, existing somewhere beyond my reach. It drives me crazy! And the thought of our keys laying around in some unknown location bothered me so much that I even considered spending my afternoon cleaning out the hall closet and our horribly dirty garage to uncover their hiding place. Thankfully, when I turned on my cell after getting out of class this morning, Kyle had left a message saying that one of our friends had accidentally grabbed them on his way out of our house. I was so pumped that I jumped around when I got off the bus, actually thew my hands in the air and ran part of the way home.

For Jena

Mushaboom by Feist makes me very happy. I hope this brightens your day!

Five Random Things About Me

So I've been "tagged" by Robyn and now I have to write five random things about myself or risk incurring her wrath.

1. I sucked my thumb until I was fourteen years old.
FOURTEEN! And I only quit sucking said thumb because I broke it playing volleyball and wore a cast over it for six weeks. No, I didn't suck on the cast. But during that time of separation, something happened and things just weren't the same between us when we were reunited. That leads me to my next random fact...

2. I have broken 8 bones, I think.
a) broken foot bones while running backwards in gym in grade 5
b) an assortment of broken toes
c) broken thumb playing volleyball in grade 9
d) broken leg while skiing when I was 16. This one was by far the worst
e) cracked foot when I tripped while dancing down the stairs at age 20
Clumsy or brittle? You decide. I choose clumsy because it's more hilarious and less scary than brittle.

3. Someone seriously threatened to kill/kidnap me
When I was about 4, one of my dad's patients threatened my family because my dad wouldn't give him the narcotics he wanted. I remember being warned about it, crying, and saying "I'm too young to die!", which now seems like a bit of a melodramatic and obvious statement for a four-year-old to make. That was when my dad quit hanging pictures of us in his office.

4. I can't tell my left hand from my right.
I've played the piano since I was 3 but still can't seem to figure out left/right. It's not that I have no idea which hand is my right hand, it's just that I need a second to think about it before I can feel sure. This makes giving/receiving directions while driving kind of problematic. So Kyle started telling me to "take a steering wheel". Also, when he scratches my back, I tell him to go east/west rather than left/right. He says this makes no sense, but I think it's pretty obvious that my head is north and my bum is south. He should be able to figure it out from there...

5. I can pick up a dime off the floor with my crazy-awesome monkey feet.

So there you have it, five random things about me. Now I think it's time for Amisha and Squeelia to make lists of their own.