Three completely unrelated stories - on the gym, the hospital, and delusional me.

I have three different stories related to recent happenings in my life, but none were really long enough for a post of their own, so here they are!




1. My experience with the gym
A few weeks ago, I went to the gym for the first time... ever!
"Look at me!  I'm being responsible for my personal health!" I thought, even though approximately 40 other people were accomplishing this seemingly impossible task.  About ten minutes into my run on the elliptical:

Apparently, you're supposed to sign up for cardio equipment.  I awkwardly stammered "No..?" and she told me I needed to sign up.  So I left the gym.

Despite this traumatic encounter, I went back to the gym again the very next day... and again, for the next two weeks, pretty much everyday.

Look!  I'm being healthy!

Two things ended up happening:

1. During the weeks I attended the gym, I ate McDonald's nearly every day.  "Hey, I went to the gym today!  I can get McDonald's at 11 o'clock at night"

2. I ultimately tired myself out and stopped going altogether.  Hello freshman 15.  On the plus side, I still haven't boosted my car, so I have no convenient way of getting to McDonald's!

Even eating McDonald's all the time wasn't that bad, because at least I was doing something to even everything out.  Now I live a sedentary lifestyle, my exercise limited to crossing the courtyard to the caf, or walking up and down the stairs in res (and generally, I opt for the elevator).

2. The Hospital (oooooh, font change!)
A few days ago, as the result of a minor accident, I (as well as others involved in the accident) decided that paying a visit to the hospital wouldn't be a bad idea, just to make sure we weren't seriously injured. Ok, I didn't decide this.  I was going to irrationally hope that any problems would just go away on their own.  It was with an RA's recommendation that I ended up going.
Anyway, before you start to worry about whether or not I'm writing this from a hospital bed or a wheelchair - I'm fine.  I was just concerned with some back pain, which turned out to be nothing more than a little muscle bruising.  To be on the safe side, an x-ray technician x-rayed my entire spine.  Whether or not I was hallucinating at 4 in the morning, the x-ray tech looked something like this:

Only with her hair up in a perky ponytail and she had a Swedish accent.  But I was convinced that my xray tech was in reality a wealthy socialite.  

Before this happened, I spent a lot of time waiting around in a hospital room... despite the late hour (or early, depending on how you look at it) there were a few other patients in the nearby rooms.  I could hear two woman speaking very loudly from across the hall:
Woman 1: You know that lesbian friend I have?
Woman 2: Yeah? The one who's on acid and pregnant?
Woman 1: No no no, the other one, the one who used to be on acid, and is pregnant.
Woman 2: Oh, okay!  What about her?
Woman 1: Well now she's in Italy, and she's all "happy happy lesbian!"


I could frequently hear sounds from their room that were either laughs or cries, but it was impossible to distinguish.  

3. Delusions of Dallas Power.
I think this is the first time I've ever actually mentioned my name on this site... feel free to facebook stalk me if you don't already know who I am!
I might be a bit delusional at times.  (note: in my very first post http://powertequila.blogspot.com/2010/10/my-first-ever-blog-post-yay.html I clearly stated that I wasn't delusional.  I lied.)  


For example, when I went home a few weekends ago I told people I'd be making my triumphant return sometime in the evening.  In reality, my return involved passively watching a hockey game with some old friends then spending quality time with the 'rents.  Nothing triumphant actually happened: there was no parade, nor did I slay any public nuisances... like giants.


Another example is basically everything about my driving - only I fully accept the fact that I'm a terrible driver.  For whatever reason, in my mind it is perfectly fine to not allow the right of way to a pedestrian on the grounds that "I own the road!" and it is never my fault, even though in reality it is, generally, always my fault.  


And tonight, I fear that posting this blog on a Friday night will lead people to believe that I have no life, and nothing better to do than write about three random stories that happened in my life.  In reality, I don't think anyone really puts that much thought into it.  Or maybe I have no life... wait, no,  I have plans, I swear! :(

consequences

Today, my car battery died.

I should have seen this coming - I received texts from six different people telling me that my designated driver left my car lights on last night.  Instead of being responsible and trying to contact him, I assumed the problem would resolve itself.   I have no idea why I thought that... it's probably the least rational thing I could have done. Anyway, when I went to go to the video store today to buy the Lizzie McGuire movie (I have no shame in publicly admitting how badly I wanna see this), my car wouldn't turn on.  There wasn't even a pathetic choking noise, nothing happened at all.

I did what any responsible, competent young adult would do - I called Dad and asked him what to do.  He walked me through the process of jumpstarting a battery, and reminded me that I have a card with a number I can call to get people to show up and charge the battery for no cost.  When I terminated the call, instead of doing anything productive about the car situation, I came to the crippling realization of how incompetent I am at doing adult things... like calling people to fix my car, job-hunting, or buying groceries (crystal light, a slinky and granola bars do not constitute groceries).  In fact, immediately following the phone call, this happened - I call it my four stages of procrastination:

See... that's way more fun than "responsibility."  I'm dreading the day that I have to get a real job (one that isn't of the burger-and-fry variety) and pay for things that I need.  I feel like I'm losing my childhood every time I buy something like a toothbrush, or some towels.  What happened to the days of only spending money on fast food, alcohol, and clothing? (You can never have enough of these three things.)
The main point I'm trying to make is that I wish I could still live without consequences.  When I was a little kid I really got nothing more than a slap on the wrist from my parents - not literally... in fact, who slaps children on the wrist?  What an odd expression. You know what another weird expression is?  "Killing two birds with one stone."  Was there a time in which birds were a nuisance and there was a shortage of stones... so when you managed to kill two of them with just one stone is was being conservative?  I don't know.  Sorry, I'm rambling.
More on consequences:

I tend to do things without really thinking about the consequences.  Whether it be as simple as procrastination, or as complex as tequila.  Today for example, I decided to put hot sauce on my turkey at supper.
guy with hot sauce - "Hey Dallas, want to try some hot sauce?"
my brain - You can't handle spicy foods.  You once almost threw up from eating medium hot wings.  Hot sauce and turkey wouldn't be complimentary anyway.  Don't do it.
me- "OKAY!"

The consequence was that I needed to buy milk to calm the burning sensation in my mouth, as well as extreme pain and probably second degree burns and internal bleeding.  

Eating hot sauce was a prime example of my ignorance to the concept of consequences as well as blatant stupidity - I don't handle spicy foods well, why would I enjoy eating something with "hot" in the name?

Maybe it's time I grow up and start thinking ahead to the future.  ...that won't happen, the future's scary.  I just found out a few months ago that you actually have to pay a monthly bill for water.  WATER!  Water should be free, and I always thought it was.  I am definitely not ready to live on my own...

on moose, sleep deprivation, and alcoholism

Disclaimer: The following was written on very little sleep.  

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine was telling a story about how an escalade she was driving in (whether she was driving or a passenger, I don't know) hit a moose.  I've never actually seen a moose in person before, but apparently irrationally driving down the road with a big mac in one hand and my cell phone in the other whilst proclaiming "I OWN THE ROAD!" to anyone I almost kill is NOT going to help save me in the event that I should hit a moose.  My parents (ie, mom, seeing as how she's a woman driver) have hit DEER before, so naturally I assumed that a moose would be just like that, only with horns.  (Do deer have horns?) Anyway, my point is that my friend lived to tell the tale, so congrats to her!

I understand that the above was probably disorganized, grammatically incorrect, and probably just generally confusing to read... but I have an excuse!  No, I'm not drunk.  I'm sleep deprived!

A few weeks ago we got the brilliant idea of driving to Moncton (an hour and a halfish away from Fredericton) to watch the midnight showing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.  Considering the fact that I got little sleep last night, watching a 2-and-a-half hour movie STARTING at midnight might not have been my best decision.
But anyway, I watched the movie, struggling to stay awake.  When we left the theater (approximately 2:30am), my friends were all concerned with whether or not I was okay to drive.  I bitterly assured them that I was, and got behind the wheel.  BAD IDEA.  I might as well have been drunk.
I think I looked something like this:

The above establishes two things:
1. I was in no condition to be driving.
2. My theory about sleep deprivation improving artistic ability was not proven.

At any rate, I got us back in one piece.  I should note that I absolutely LOVED the movie, I kinda realized how bitter I sound about the entire night.  Meh, I'm just tired.

On a completely unrelated note, I think I might be an alcoholic.

This realization came to me the other day when I realized how healthy I felt - coincidentally I hadn't had a drink in nearly a week.  I started thinking... "shit, is this what humans are supposed to feel like?  Usually I feel like I got hit by a bus, I thought that was normal."  Turns out feeling like you got hit by a bus on a regular basis might be an indication of alcoholism.

Whenever accused of being an alcoholic, I'd usually retort with one of the following arguments:
1. I don't drink alone.
This is a good point!  Most alcoholics sit at home, wearing a wifebeater, watching the game, and getting sloshed without any company.  When I drink, I seldom ever sit down, I never wear a wifebeater or watch any kind of game, and to reiterate - I don't drink alone.

2. I don't drink to deal with emotions.
Some people turn to alcohol as a means of coping with stress, anger, sadness, etc... Not me! I do it for the sole reason of having a good time... and what's wrong with a little fun once in awhile?  I know that recreational drinking isn't the safest form of having fun, but hey, it could be worse... I could take pleasure in dealing drugs, drive-by shootings, putting on a blindfold then driving around Fredericton... etc.  But I don't.

3. Drinking is good for you!
Probably my weakest argument.  I've heard that a glass of red wine a day is good for you... other studies that I've happened upon also argue that small amounts of other liquor are good for you too.  I don't think this applies to binge drinking though... now I'm wondering why I even try to use this as an argument... umm...

I also thought of another reason why my drinking may have become a bit excessive... I tend to buy things that contain high levels of something called "antioxidants" because someone told me once that they're good for your liver. I have absolutely no idea if that's true, but I've been buying crystal light with antioxidants, green tea, and dark chocolate for a long time now to try and salvage what's left of my liver.  Now that I think of it, I really have no fucking clue what antioxidants are, nor do I know if they have any positive effect on the liver.
Speaking of livers, did you know that drinking is bad for other organs as well?  Such as the brain, pancreas, and heart?  It really seems like a self-destructive hobby... maybe I'll start something else, like collecting stamps, or reading to the blind.


I hope you feel enlightened or something.  I feel like I need to go to bed.  It's closing in on 5am.

the chronicles of our journey back to Fredericton

Today I returned to my lovely university after a fabulous weekend home.  After loading up the trunk with only my possessions, I proceeded to pick up two passengers - both of which were displeased with how much trunk space I took up with my belongings.
First was Norma Jean.  I pulled into the high school and, in an attempt to look as badass as possible, pulled up right next to her car and gave her a menacing look:

She saw me and laughed.  We then proceeded to pick up Cody at his residence in the faroff land of Lunenburg, NS.
I texted Cody when were outside his house...
Me: We're outside!
Cody: Give me five minutes.
Norma Jean: Tell him that he has two minutes, and since we've already been waiting for two minutes, we're leaving!
Unfortunately, Cody made it out in time and got into the car, complaining about the lack of space in the backseat due to all of the suitcases.

The next step should probably have been hooking up the GPS with directions to the mic mac mall, but naturally I'm too hotheaded to use it so I just decided to wing it instead...
Fortunately, Norma Jean knew where we were going, probably saving us from getting lost in Dartmouth.  When stopped at a light in the middle of Dartmouth, this happened:

A legitimately crazy man walked IN FRONT OF THE CAR and made eye contact with Norma Jean.  Thankfully I'm paranoid in sketchy cities and locked the door the second we started to slow down, just in case any terrorists/mormoms/savage bears should be wandering by and jumped into the car.  People have always made fun of me for it but thank god I did it because otherwise the maniac drawn above could've entered the car.  In fact, my lack of artistic abilities really fails to accurately portray just how scary this guy was... but he was scary enough to cause Norma Jean to scream "LOCK THE MOTHERF*CKING DOORS" (which I already had) then discuss how if she were driving, she wouldn't hesitate to run the motherf*cker over.  I'm not as bloodthirsty as Norma Jean, so I let the crazy man get out of the street before proceeding to the mic mac mall.

When we got to the bridge, traffic was murder - the cause of which was a reasonably damaged car with an elderly woman behind the wheel - proving that
a) the elderly can't drive
and b) women can't drive.
We assumed the old woman was on her way to H&M when someone rear-ended her... but instead of sympathy, cries of "F*CK YOU!" and other obscenities were hurled at the poor, probably injured and senile old woman, as she made us about 20 minutes behind schedule.  When we FINALLY arrived at the mall, we had maybe an hour and half before it closed.

I irrationally went into H&M and bought a lot of things without actually considering whether or not they'd fit or look good on me - they were either bright or cheap or neither of those things because I was just so fucking excited to be in H&M that I had to buy everything.  Cody's girlfriend warned him that H&M was essentially a clothing store for women and gay men, but he was convinced that he would find something.  Approximately 10 seconds after we walked in he said, "wow, this store is really, really gay."  He later admitted that he found a pair of jeans that weren't skinnies - but then it turned out that they were skinnies, and instead of a zipper there were three buttons.  He didn't buy anything.
After a quick dinner of taco bell and smoothies, we were headed to Truro to pick up Renee.

As we approached Truro, an overwhelming stench filled the car, smelling like
"bad gravy" - Norma Jean
"tires" - Me
"garbage!" - Cody (clever...)
The unpleasant odor made us certain that Truro was not far off in the distance.  Something about Truro, NS makes me really, really happy that I don't live there. I can't really put my finger on it, I'm just really happy that I've never lived closer than two hours away from there.
Anyway, we picked up Renee in the parking lot of Wendy's, piled her suitcases on top of her due to a lack of room in the car, and were Fredericton bound!

About 3 minutes after leaving Truro, I noticed that the light came that indicates that one of the four doors or trunk doors was open.  I made everyone open and close their door as I was speeding down the highway just to ensure our safety (my God I'm full of wonderful ideas...)
The three passengers all achieved this without incident... I, however, barely opened the door with one hand, while trying to go around the corner with the other hand while all the while keeping an eye on my blackberry to make sure it didn't fly out of the door.  The end result was my door remaining partially opened and the conclusion that it was now both my door and the trunk door that were still somewhat open.  I finally decided that the safest thing to do would be to pull over and close the trunk door.  I did it, probably saving our lives in the process (you're welcome, guys).

Nothing of interest happened from Truro to Sackville.  Cody and Renee slept while Norma Jean and I talked about the most random possible topics we could think of in the front seat.


When we pulled into the thriving city of Sackville, NB to drop Norma Jean off, Renee questioned whether or not we were at Acadia University - a school several hours away and in a different province.  I told her that no, we weren't several hours away and in a different province but were instead at Mount Allison university.  She said "I don't fucking know the difference!" Classy.

Anyway, I went to the gas station and spent a few minutes trying to find a pump that wasn't one of those "pay at the pump ONLY" stations then filled up on gas.  I made the mistake of buying one of those five hour energies and consequently drove unnecessarily fast to make it back to Fredericton.

We listened to songs that have been out for at least five years (thanks, ipod!) and talked about a variety of things - occasionally Renee would wake up from her slumber and contribute to the conversation.  In what felt like hours but was probably only 90 minutes due to reckless driving, we made it to Fredericton in one piece.

And now I'm in my room, alive and happy to be back in the big city : )

highlights from an evening with my parents.

Today I came home for the weekend from university.  The first place I went was Boston Pizza, where I met up with my parents in order to exploit them for a free meal to spend quality time with them.  For those of you who have met my father.. he's... old-fashioned, I guess would be the most accurate depiction.  Or not even old-fashioned so much as just weird. Anyway, the following are some highlights of the conversation had over dinner - enjoy!
*upon sitting down, Dad notices the fact that I am wearing a pair of American Eagle jeans, the kind with the holes in the knees.*
Dad: Jesus Christ!  You need a new pair of jeans!
Me: What do you mean?
Mom: Mark, that's a style.  They're sold like that.
Dad: You paid money for jeans that are sold like that?  Where did you buy them?  Frenchies?
Me: No, American Eagle.  They were only $40!
Dad: JESUS CHRIST!  No wonder you don't have any money left.  My jeans only cost me $19 and they don't have holes in them.
Me: Where did you buy them?
Dad: Walmart!
Me, Mom: *laughs*

I should interject here to mention that I read this part aloud to mom - dad consequently said "What the hell's that doing online?  It better not be a 'status!' "


As dinner progresses...
Me: It's awkward when Grammie messages me on facebook, because she can see that I'm holding a bottle in my profile pictures.
Dad: What's she doing on your wall?
*Approximately several minutes are spent explaining facebook to Dad*
Dad: Well what are you doing holding bottles in these pictures?  I thought you were at a dry campus.
Mom: *rolls eyes*
Me: That was only the first week.
Dad: Oh... speaking of university, are you ever cold in your room?
Me: What?
Dad: I'm just saying that if you are, you could always borrow some blankets from the property.
Me: ...property?
Dad: Yes.

Apparently I'm too incompetent to wear a sweater, or was unaware that we have numerous blankets that I could borrow "from the property."


Dad: So today at school.. (elaborates for awhile, no one really listens.  Finishes, laughs heartily.)
Me: Have you ever noticed how when you tell stories about school, NO ONE LAUGHS?
Dad: Your mother loves them.  I'll be right back (goes to the bathroom).
Mom: Whenever he tells stories about school I wanna slit my wrists...
Dad returns from the bathroom.
Dad: I just had the weirdest burp... like, it tasted like a burger.  But not a macdonald's or wendy's burger.
Me, Mom: ...
Dad: Well, I'm used to burping after I eat those burgers.  This one was different.
Me, Mom: ...
Dad: It tasted like Burger King, which is weird because I haven't had Burger King in a long time.  Isn't that weird?
Mom: ................... no?
Me: Why are you telling us this?
Dad: Just making smalltalk..

I don't know why he felt like this was proper dinner conversation.  I don't know why he felt like this was a proper conversation in the first place, for any social situation.  The funny thing was, he interrupted a legitimate conversation between me and mom to "make smalltalk" when he returned from the bathroom.


I've noticed that Dad's new expression is "went aboard of" ... I don't know what that means, or why that's his new expression, but it just sounds wrong in so many ways.
Dad: So there was this girl yelling in the hallways the other day, and I went aboard of her -
Mom: ...What?
Dad: I went aboard of her!
Mom: That just sounds inappropriate.  Especially when you're talking about a girl.  Especially when it's a student.
Dad:  Grow up.  Anyway, then the principal went aboard of her -
Mom: Sounds like you guys were having a good time...
Dad: What?
Mom: It was a joke...
Dad: At my expense!


Anyway... that's my socially retarded father.

the day I tried to wear a scarf.

Today was a day just like any other.  As per a typical Wednesday, I sleep in reasonably late, then head to my one and only class of the day (though today, I skipped that class to participate in some study for a psych class).  And, as I generally do in the mornings, I had to pick out something to wear.

It was all going great until I decided I needed to accessorize.  I don’t know why I felt like I needed to do that, but for some reason I felt like a fashionista this morning, and that a scarf would make everything better.  When I pictured myself wearing a scarf, I pictured this:

...only not a girl.  Still though, I thought it would make me look chique.  I don’t know what that word means, but its definition must include “wears a scarf.”  I mean, she just looks so damn cool, what with her scarf and everything.  I think it was kind of a lost cause, I don't look that sassy and my hair is a mess of faded red colouring, not at all like what I'd like to think it looks like.  But god DAMMIT I could wear a scarf and at least try.  

Unfortunately, I didn’t end up looking like that.  Instead, no matter what I did to try and correctly wear the scarf, I kept looking like this:

I figured I couldn’t pull this off without a cowboy hat, and if I went that far I’m sure I’d hear a fair share of Brokeback Mountain comparisons... you know, now that I think of it, I’ve never actually seen that movie – but the important thing is that Jake Gyllenhaal is in it.  Let’s just take a second to admire Jake Gyllenhaal:

EVEN JAKE GYLLENHAAL KNOWS HOW TO WEAR A SCARF!

Shit, where was I?

Well, I kept trying to make the scarf work... and, well... it just didn’t.  It's like tying a tie or snapping my fingers - simply a skill I was never able to acquire.  By the end of my battle with the scarf I looked something like this:

And now I find myself bewildered, bedazzled, and be-afro’d... and late for that psych research thing.  Just like every other time I’ve tried to successfully wear a scarf, I find myself sadly walking out the door accessory-less.  

this is what happens when I don't follow my schedule.

Earlier today, at lunch, I decided I needed a plan of action to tackle my to-do list before the Metric concert that our school won.  It went like this:
1) Go to study hall.
2) Complete history assignment.
3) Complete philosophy readings.
4) Go to gym and treadmill it up for half an hour.
5) Return to residence.
6) drinks, drinks, drinks!
7) Metric concert!

Doesn't seem too arduous... however... this is what ended up happening:
1) before study hall, I ended up falling asleep briefly on one of the tables in the caf.
2) I woke up in a daze, realized I had fallen behind schedule and RAN to study hall.
3) In study hall, I sat one of the computers quietly completely my history homework/facebooking.
4) An asian man came and STOOD NEXT TO ME WHILE GOING ON THE COMPUTER.  WHO THE FUCK STANDS WHILE THEY'RE USING THE COMPUTER.  I was angry.
5) I completed history - steps one and two were complete.  On to step three - I read maybe three pages of philosophy then headed for the gym - step three was incomplete.
6) Step four - complete.  Yay me!
7) I returned to residence and drank!!!! yay.
8) An RA poured out a beer because I had it outside... my bad... but then I drank a lot of vodka so that made life better.
9) I remember being in line for the metric concert... but ended up at macdonald's instead with numerous cuts and scrapes.  Good night?  I think so.

I wrote the above right after the above happened, still reasonably drunk.   In retrospect, I wish I had gone to metric... although the macdonalds and later, wendy's, were well worth it.

Post number two?! Wow! I didn't think I'd be this dedicated...

I wish I could draw.  Not just by hand but on Microsoft paint as well... that would make my blogs that much more interesting.  I've never been able to draw, in fact, I'll demonstrate this below:
This is what a cat should look like:

Now, THIS is what happens when I attempt to duplicate the drawing on Microsoft Paint (and I'm sad to say that this took several minutes):

LOOK AT HOW SAD THAT CAT LOOKS.  My attempt at drawing its whiskers just made it look like some sadistic maniac placed duct tape over its mouth in the shape of an X... and since I didn't even draw a mouth, that's probably exactly what it is.  Its tail looks like it was run over... in fact, you can even see where it no longer attaches to the cat's body.  Now that I really look at the picture I realize that that's NOT HOW A CAT'S ARMS AND LEGS ARE SUPPOSED TO LOOK!  On a better note, I think I did okay with the grass.. I mean, how else would I draw grass?   

Unless I'm going to draw a simple stick figure with a speech bubble next to it, I probably won't use a whole bunch of pictures in this blog.  I think it's for the best - no one will know what I'm trying to draw and it will just add confusion to my already disorganized thoughts.

Anyway, I really had no intention of writing a blog about how I can't draw... somehow it just ended up that way.  I think I was going to try to draw a pyramid but drew that cat...thing instead.  Why was I going to draw a pyramid?  I thought it would go along nicely with the real topic of my post: my least favourite class in university (World History).

I remember signing up for courses like it was yesterday... I think my thought process went something like...

"History? I love history!  Cultured?  That's me.  I could spend HOURS in a museum!"

Obviously none of the above is actually true, but somehow I tricked myself into believing it was, and well, the rest is history (...I have no more self-respect).  See, with that false mentality I truly believed that I was a better person who would benefit from a class about history - in reality, I hated history in high school, I'm culturally unaware and could imagine nothing worse then even setting foot in a museum.  Unfortunately, delusional hotheaded me didn't realize that I was lying to myself so I ended up in the class.

I think my biggest issue with it is that it's at 10am.  Back in the day I thought that would be great - I could sleep in.  LIES.  Waking up for a 10am class has proven to be the most difficult thing I've ever had to do, despite having classes at 9:30 in high school.  The readings are also ridiculously long (not really, but when you read a chapter about the history of water, well, of course it's gonna seem like a long reading).  The prof is great, but the class... ehhhhh.  I think I'm still bitter about the 10am thing.