Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, two young girls found themselves in a land far far away, called Bosnia. This mysterious land was foreign and unfamiliar, but that is not what disturbed them. Neither were they very upset by the rubble around them, the constant threat of land mines or the bullet holes in the side of their apartment building, for these girls knew that there had been a war recently in the land called Bosnia, and that these were all expected side effects. No, what disturbed the two small girls in the far away land was that they had no friends.

Not speaking the language of the local people of this mysterious foreign land the two girls had no choice but to be each other’s friends. This proved difficult because the two girls were sisters, and we all know that sisters are not meant to be friends, right? Wrong! When each other is all you have each other start to seem pretty damn great. But that never lasts very long.
These two girls, more specifically my elder sister and myself, took to collecting little plastic toys from the centre of Kinder Bueno chocolate eggs. I never actually ate the chocolate so my sister always got double, in hind sight that might be why we were such good friends at the time. In any event, these toys in the centre of the chocolates were our only source of entertainment. We collected every toy imaginable and created our own toy world where they were all somehow connected. The lead characters of our made up toy land were two elephants, because naturally if my cool older sister chose an elephant I wanted an elephant too. The thing is, we had absolutely no say in what we found in the centre of the chocolate, as one would imagine, so we had quite a spread. Everything from our two staring elephants to rolled up pieces of paper with secret messages and some monkeys and aliens I believe. We didn’t mind; all the toys in our toy world were happy.

Every now and then the washing machine in our small apartment would rebel. The door would burst open and all of the almost clean clothes would be spat out along with all of the almost dirty water that they were soaking in. The washing machine was in a little room of it’s own so when this happened that sacred room became a magical flooded kingdom. It was our favourite time. We would grab our little plastic elephants (I think mine was named Ellie because I was so astoundingly original back then) and run into the room before my mother could attempt to mop up the mess. We were so eager to abuse this rare treat that we would even offer to clean up for her if she would just give us some time in there with our toys. I should say at this point that I was already about 8 years old and my sister was pushing 11 I believe. Not the height of maturity but old enough to be expected to have a life beyond little plastic toys…
One day, in such a magical adventure, the water was a little higher than usual so instead of splashing around in exuberant folly our elephants actually began to drown a little bit. This was about when my ‘cool older’ sister decided that her elephant was magical. That’s right. HER elephant got to ride on a magic carpet and cast spells and use magic and never drown and her elephant made my elephant it’s bitch. My elephant was the dumb little shit that had to help her dismount from her magic carpet or clean up if she messed up a spell or something equally unglamorous and unexciting. I then decided that I wanted my elephant to be magical too, so we could be equal once more and be magical together. My sister’s elephant, that autocratic little shit, deemed that unacceptable. I did not fully understand that my sister’s elephant was really just a puppet in her cruel selfish attempt to assert her authority over me, probably fearing that I was growing cooler and more imaginative than her and that she had to squash it before it started (mighty foreshadowing I might add, she never did squash the fact that I AM in fact cooler than her). Not realising this at the time however I appealed to my older sister to please have her elephant allow my elephant to have magic powers. No such luck. Eventually the game lost it’s joy and when the washing machine exploded we just let my mum clean it up. I think I’ve had a subliminal resentment for little plastic elephants ever since.

After the phase of the magical autocratic elephant and its subjects my sister and I ventured out into the world and actually made some real, life sized, flesh and blood friends. But that is a story for another day.

I'm going to Cyprus, and you're not!

That's right, I said it. I'm flying to Cyprus and you are NOT. Sucks to be you.

Actually it sucks to be me because I have been stuck in my boring house all Summer. But now, three weeks before it comes to a painful end, I'm FINALLY getting out. Tomorrow I fly to London, overnight with my godmother whom I love dearly, and then catch a plane to Cyprus where my mum lives now.
After two weeks there I head to New York for another week, hopefully of shopping all day and partying all night (if only I had the money…) and then, and only then, I come back here for… wait for it… school.

So, other than to bore you with my late but great Summer plans and to rub it in your face that I AM GOING TO CYPRUS AND YOU'RE NOT! this post is mainly to inform you that I will be away for three weeks and therefore will not be posting anything in that time. I'd like to think it's because I won't be awake at 1:31 in the morning, bored and with nothing better to do with my life. But really it is because I am leaving my laptop here.

Try not to miss me too much.

Got a problem? Throw therapy on it.

Ever seen ‘My Big Fat Greek Wedding’? Know that crazy old grandmother that fixes any problem from a pimple to a broken heart by spraying some Windex on it? That’s my dad. Whenever anyone in my family, namely my sister or myself, has any sort of problem he doesn’t break out the Windex, he breaks out the chequebook. Windex is to that crazy Greek grandmother as therapy is to my father. Here’s a day in the life of living with my father (mind you, this is a good day):

Father “Is something wrong?”
Me “No, I’m just tired.”
Father “…Do you want me to call a therapist?”

Father “Why do you get angry at everyone so easily?”
Sister “Not everyone, just you.”
Father “Maybe you should see a therapist”

Father “I notice you haven’t been spending much time with that boy anymore.”
Me “Oh yeah, about that. We broke up.”
Father “Did he break up with you?”
Me “I guess you could say that.”
Father “… I’ll call a therapist.”

And, my personal favourite:

Father “I have something to tell you. It’s about your turtles.”
Me “Why, what happened?”
Father “Well one of them was very sick, and…”
Me “It died.” [I think the lack of remorse in my voice ticked him off on this one.]
Father “Well, yes. I put it in the freezer.”
Me “Wait… WHAT?”
Father “I thought you might want to say goodbye.”
Me “You put my turtle… in the freezer?!”
Father “…Perhaps you’d like someone to talk to. Would you like me to call the therapist?”

Learning to drive

Recently I have been studying for my driving test. As I have mentioned I am not very good at studying. My mind tends to wander and I end up on the most counterproductive thought trains. Today, while reviewing the ‘International Traffic Signs’ booklet I got a little distracted and ended up making up my own captions for some of the signs:




In all honesty, I feel very prepared for my test. I also reviewed the questions booklet of local driving laws. My favourite question by far was, in short, “Who other than a police officer has the lawful right to stop you on the road?” Answer? “A man with a horse or any other animal.” Really, I got quite excited. I mean any other animal? That’s a lot of possibilities! I figure now if I fail my driving test I can just take my cat out on the road and demand that someone pull over and give me a ride. I could even use a gold fish.

ADDITION:
Upon further inspection the grammatical incorrections in the legal examination booklet of 'Light Motor Vehicle Driver's Examination Study Guide' make it so difficult to focus on what they are trying to ask. For example "What does the law require as regards tinted glass and windshield of vehicles?"is not proper English, that kind of question would not be accepted in the real world. Now I blame my inability to study on the incredible need for these people to hire a literary editor and not my borderline ADHD. Good to know it's not all my fault.
Wish me luck!

What do YOU want to be when you grow up?

When I was younger and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up the answer was always easy, but never the same. Sometimes I would say “a model!” in my over eager squeaky pre-teen voice. Other times I would say “a scientist” in an effort to justify the freaky experiments I used to conduct in my bedroom (I am normal, I promise! No one ever got hurt.). The most frequent, however, was my heartfelt dream “I’m going to be a writer.” Or journalist, I said one or the other; point is I wanted to base a career on utilizing the English language and earn a living off nothing but my words. I no longer want to be a model (I’m not tall enough…) and I most certainly have no interest in being a scientist, but I have not quite pulled my head out of the writing cloud.

Now when people ask me what I want to do with my life they expect a more definitive answer. My dad’s friends want to hear that I am going to follow in his footsteps and become a lawyer, my sisters friends all ask why I am not perusing the performing arts as well, and my mum’s friends… well she doesn’t really have any friends. (Just kidding mum!) In any event I no longer have my idealistic view of life and now my only answer is “I have no idea.” It’s about that time, however, where I should decide these things. Or I should at least make an attempt to. I suppose when applying to colleges and choosing a major they would be less than pleased if I said ‘When I grow up I want to be just like Allie Brosh! (Hyperbole and a Half) or Charlie McDonnell (Charlie is so cool like)’

I took AP Psychology this year and in a sleep-deprived stupor I even allowed myself to think ‘maybe I want to be a therapist…’ I then envisioned some of my future sessions:
Client: “There is this girl…”
Me: “Ew.”
Client: “I think she’s the one.”
Me: “10 bucks says she isn’t!”
Client: “But she makes my life worth living.”
Me: “The window’s right over there. If she’s all you’ve got worth a damn I suggest you do yourself a favour. We’re on the 21st floor, the drop should give you some time to think.”
I imagine, however, that after that first session my nice 21st floor office would be taken away and my license would be revoked.

All roads seem to lead back to writing. I even wrote a book last year. A friend recently told me I should get my work published, but as I said it’s just a dream. Dreams don’t really come true, now do they?

I hate birds

Dear birds,
I hate you. Every morning I wake to the sound of your ecstatic chirps and squeaks and screeches. I feel like I am being assaulted by your exuberance. This is not okay. I do not enjoy being assaulted by your exuberance. It is not fun for me. Especially on days like today when I wake up with a splitting migraine for the fourth consecutive day.

Your range of pitch varies between mind numbing and brainwashing me into stabbing small, fluffy animals. I like fluffy animals. Do you know the theory that various audio waves or frequencies can stimulate an individual to do things they would not otherwise be inclined to do, like Zoolander killing the president of Korea or whoever he was going to kill. Your early morning pitch does that to me. You make me want to stab fluffy animals, birds, and that is not okay.
Likewise, if I am forced to retreat from the world and come home early because afore mentioned migraine that I started the day with has worsened to the point where it hurts to blink, this is not an open invitation to fly into my bedroom and declare how much you missed me while I am trying to rest my weary head.
Chances are, I did not miss you birds. I do not love you.

Sincerely,
Tara

PS- I am not Cinderella, I do not need you to sing to me as I get dressed in the morning.

People who watch movies like they're in them

There are some people in this world that feel the need to comment on life, like a sports commentator that took a wrong turn, missed the field and ended up sitting in the seat right behind me in the cinema. I recently saw A-Team for the third time in two weeks, but this was certainly my most interactive viewing yet. Do you know those people in the theatre who sometimes forget the movie is just a movie? They end up commenting on everything on screen as if they were there too, living through the action. Trouble is, I know that if they actually were there they would get themselves (and probably all the big movie stars) killed. As fun as that would be to watch it would cut the movie very short and I don't know if I am willing to pay money to watch a 20 minute movie.

I got into the cinema early this time and picked a seat right in the middle. As the 'coming soon' trailers started three men walked in and sat in the seats right behind me, my sister, and my good friend. I didn't get a good look at two of them but the one sitting just behind me to my left (the only one I could see when I looked over my shoulder) was short, overweight, and wearing a black skull cap with Jack from The Nightmare Before Christmas printed on the front. For anyone who has not seen The Nightmare Before Christmas (some of Tim Burton's finest work if I do say so myself) it is not something that grown men walk around donned in related paraphernalia.
As soon as the lights dimmed my Nightmare Before Christmas friend behind me (let's call him Jack) declared to the darkening room "Oh de light goin’ down, try not to touch me"… Right Jack, because that was on the top of my to do list. He then felt the need to read out every word that flashed across the screen. Now Jack, I may not be a 30 year old deadbeat parading around in the accessories of a 12-year-old boy, but I assure you I can read.
In this particular movie there was a catch phrase of sorts that the lead characters have coined: "Alpha Mike Foxtrot". Jack boy was very proud of himself because after the first two times they said it he figured out what it meant and liked to recite it as they said it in the movie. Jack, I am sorry to be the one to tell you this but those men are fictional characters. They are not real. They are not your friends.
Speaking of friends, half an hour into the film Jack's friend (sitting directly behind me) thought it best to answer his phone. He proceeded to have a conversation with who I can only assume was his mother about coming home for dinner and cleaning his room. I kid you not, this man was pushing 30… Way to grow up my friend.
Needless to say, the person in the film that these 3 men most identified with was the mentally unstable pilot with a death wish. Surprise surprise.

These men really made this an interactive experience. They had something to say at every point in the movie. I will now share with you their repeated opinions:
On Murdock the crazy pilot "Murdock is a real G!" I know that G is supposed to represent gangster but I cannot wrap my head around how being a 'functional lunatic' makes you a gangster so I will try some alternatives. Great? No, 'a real great' is just grammatically incorrect. Good man? Well he was responsible for many explosive deaths in that movie so he is not good in the general definition of the word. The best I could come up with is "Murdock is a real giraffe.” He was a relatively tall man? I don’t know, I do my best.
On the backstabbing evil CIA agent "This man is a real noob!" You think that the man who betrayed everyone close to him and plotted and executed many murders is a noob? Thanks, I can sleep well at night. Need I remind you, Jack, that you are wearing an animated skeleton's face on your head?
Their views on BA, the replacement character for Mr T however were undoubtedly their best. See, for some reason, all three of them got it into their collectively small heads that they would be a better Mr T than the hired actor. All they seemed to have to say whenever the token black guy was on screen was "I pity the fool!" My friends I am sure he pities you.

That being said, I feel the need to mention my sister, maybe because the crazy man was also her favourite or maybe because she is what I like to call 'an interactive TV watcher'. Now, I have a very special place in my heart for my dear sister but some of her quirks are just so fun to mock. When I am watching a TV series with her sometimes I find it hard to keep my eyes on the screen. I guarantee if you sat facing my sister with your back to a TV screen while she was watching one of her favourite series you would know everything that was happening. She is loud, she is fidgety and she is very emotional. Hey, at least she didn't cry when Bambi's mom died.