MissMandagrrrl`sWorld

So today at work I was given the worst punishment an employee of Empire Theaters can receive- I was given a split shift. If you don’t know, that’s when they schedule you for like… 9-12 hours, but pass it off as alright because you do two seperate positions and get like an hour and a half break in between (so they don’t have to pay you overtime). This is a kick in the nads usually, but today (my first time) it turned out alright.
I started with a Greeting position (I hand out popcorn samples) and ended up falling down the theater stairs with a full bin of popcorn in my hand. Bruised dignity aside, I was fine, and to cheer me up Ben took me on a stock run. This would have went smoothly if I didn’t get ahold of a stock cart and take off, inevitably smashing it into several walls and eventually wedging it into a doorway (when I bailed off and ran). In the process I gashed my hand open somehow, effectively neutralizing Ben’s attempt to cheer me up. So, instead, Cody loaded me onto the cart and took me for a terrifying spin around the lobby which actually made me crack a smile. And then i got to cover Ben’s break and supervise… And that’s just too fun.
Later I got Quiznos, which always makes me happy.
The second half of the shift I spent working concession with Devon and Brander, who I love. We were restocking after the rush when I found a cupboard that can only be described as “Manda sized” and climbed in. This amused everyone else and Abdi convinced Ian to help him look in the cupboards (for trays) and I had the opportunity to jump out and scare him half to death. He didn’t find it nearly as funny but that’s his problem. I also confused Brander by disappearing occasionally, which he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around. He described it as “I didn’t know what happened! You went poof!” (keep in mind this is an intelligent human being).
Anyway, it was a surprisingly awesome night, and obviously better than expected.

Packing my life up in boxes and unpacking them in a new city has changed a lot about my life, as expected. But the biggest “change” is one that barely exists.

When I went home for the holidays, I of course made time to see some friends. I missed them all so much, but the people I came home to were not the people I left. Yes, they looked more or less the same and had the same voices and personalities, but they were just off. After talking about this with a friend from Edmonton experiencing the same occurrence in her home town, we came to the conclusion that they had simply matured. We left six months ago, and time for our friends hadn’t paused since.

This led to conversation about how/ if we had changed as well. My Edmonton friend confessed she partied far more in her old town, and had cleaned herself up when she moved. I, however, couldn’t find a change in myself.

At first thought, I offered up that I had mellowed out; I am not nearly as unconventional and spastic as I was. I recall making snap decisions based on flimsy emotional reactions and usually receiving less than favorable consequences. This seemed like my big post-move change.

However, after more thought I have decided I’m wrong. I didnt change that side of me at all, I just hid it better.

After I unpacked and settled in, I was thrown into a new scenario involving new people I wanted to befriend and connect with- I got a job. In this new situation, I was under stress to make a good impression and subconsciously seemed to throw my crazy self under the bus and put up a wall of totally imagined confidence. I talk more than I ever have, I smile and make jokes and tease people. I’m friendly and chat in the break room and I forged out a handful of friendships.

Inside the wall of smiles and “Hi! How are you?!”s is the same person I always was- shy and scared and a little bit (that’s an understatement) broken. Honestly, I’m just waiting for there to be a crack in that wall so the real me can come crumbling out in a fit of tears and desperate need of affection. I catch myself flinching every time a guy makes a semi-aggressive gesture near me, and go almost catatonic when one of them tries to play around by pushing me or poking. It’s like I’m held together with scotch tape… It’s pretty durable for what it is, but in the grand scheme of things it’s nothing.

So i suppose I didn’t change at all, aside from learning to be a better actress.

So the past week or two has been mental. And I dont mean “Oh, I was kinda busy.. you know, the usual!” I mean 5 shifts a week at work, 4 midterms, 2 assignments, 1 lab, and training at a new job mental. I mean “Jesus Christ why havent they started cloning me yet” mental.

ANYWAY.

That week has ended. And it ended well. Working with a favorite coworker of mine at work, and meeting the new roommates Friday, hitting a live showing of Rocky Horror put on by the Citidel theater (which was bloody spectacular, it was retardedly good… more on that in a minute), and moving rooms and Halloween Monday.

Anyway, yeah. Rocky Horror. We started the night off with some steak and drinks at Tap in the River Cree casino, got ready in my uncles comped hotel room, and watched my dad shave the mustache hes had since waaay before my birth. We then hopped in our limo (comped again) donning sparkles, lipstick, eyeliner, and gear fit for the trendiest hookers* and headed on down to the theater. The show was spectacular, the actors were for the most part perfect fits. The music was fabulous, even the odd trip (Hey, guys were never meant to wear heels) was forgiven. We left coated in confetti and grinning like mad.

Halloween was the very next day, and as I had someone moving into my old room the next day I knew it was my last chance to move my stuff upstairs. I raced home from school as fast as the ETS would get me there and started immediately. I decided that the first thing on my list was to move my mattress to the top floor and unite it with the new bed. Alone. Of course, I’m little, its big, and the stairs are steep and curved. Naturally, this didnt work well. I ended up jammed in the stairway above the mattress and had to wiggle my way out before calling for help (I mean flailing and screaming like a mad fool at my neighbor, who Ive never met). Someone came and saved the day and all was well. Eventually Boyfriend showed up and helped too.

After leaving to go to his house for the night, we suddenly remembered he left the Saw movies we planned to eye-ingest at work, and then missed our bus.

On a bright note, my favorite online comedian/ writer/ blogger/ artist is back after battling it out with her own issues, and BAM! New comic. Check it out<3

http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/

You may recognize the art, seeing as someone decided to make it into a meme (ALL THE THINGS!). Not to sound like a greasy hipster, but me and my friend Pinky have read H.5 for months and months and used to actually use that as a joke, along with “REBEL! Internet forever!!!” from the same story. I’m glad shes getting some acknowledgement, she deserves it.

I promise to upload some pictures to go along with tonight’s post as soon as I put them on my computer.

*And I don’t just mean the ladies.

If you get the title reference, high five! If not, it’s okay. Don’t look it up, it’s pretty creepy.

Anyway, this is about me making headspace. I have two midterms tomorrow and dont need this sudden onslaught of emotional clutter distracting me more than it has already.

What this comes down to, is tonight I was simply sifting through youtube to find some music I wanted to put on my iPhone. Common task, easy. Started off with me just doing that, until a Pierce the Veil link caught my eye. I’ll say I adore PTV with all my heart. Their music gives me butterflies. So I clicked.

What I neglected to mention is that the last time I was shuffling through the masses of PTV music online, I was with my last boyfriend, the big Ex. The one that fucked me up and left me a useless, hurting mess curled up on the linoleum floor of our shared bedroom. If you read my post  http://missmandagrrrl.tumblr.com/post/9781164610/a-blog-post-i-put-elsewhere  about Fall Out Boy you probably know music is like a goddam time machine. Immediately, I was hooked. I was in pain and loving it. I was on the brink of tears for hours upon hours as I worked through the PTV songs, then into All Time Low and Emarosa libraries. I found songs I legitimately adore, such as Stella (All Time Low), and Wonderless (PTV), but the majority was me being a masochist and going back in my head to the days I spent fighting, crying, bleeding, and stressing because of The Ex. I listened to songs that I remember listening to the day I trekked out in knee deep snow to our work to tell him I loved him and wanted to try again, and that I was sorry for giving up. I heard the songs I remember posting as statuses on Facebook and singing to myself when I was crying too hard to sleep. I played songs I remember him singing to me while he hugged me and apologized for the things he said in a last ditch effort to calm me down. I listened to songs he linked me, quoted me, and explained to me. I listened to the song whose lyrics he posted to my Facebook wall the night I broke up with him (Miserable at Best - Mayday Parade), and songs he blasted in our tiny house day in and day out. 

I suddenly missed it all. Not him, per-se, but the memories and things that went along with him. I miss our happy little group of friends, our wild house parties, and having someone to come home to that greets you with a huge smile, a hug, and sometimes even supper and a story about their day. I miss watching the clock, waiting for my other half to burst through the door so I can reciprocate. I miss the surprise presents (even just things like a tiny teddy bear or something from one of those twoonie vending machines that spit out toys, or a movie he bought for us to watch). I miss knowing that every night I’ll be warm and safe next to somebody who’s watching out for me. I miss making dinners and timing them so that theyll be warm and ready the minute he steps in the door and pulls off his coat.

I miss making couple-y plans within our group of mutual friends. I miss hottub nights at Devon’s, where me and Shauna mixed drinks. I miss driving with the guys and the two of us grabbing crappy Taco Time lunches on the cheap Tuesdays with what spare change we dug up in our room. I miss planning things we knew wouldnt happen, like trips to Ottawa and backpacking through Europe and filming it. I miss our desperate and quickly forgotten attempts at saving money for such things. I miss grocery shopping as a couple. I miss staying up late watching movies and anime and talking over big mugs of over-sweetened tea. I miss waking up to find notes telling me to have a good day, or coming home and finding out he did something really thoughtful, like making our bed or shoveling snow. I miss the way he called me “pretty” and the way he smiled so big and rubbed my shoulders when he got excited, and the voice he made when he called me Panda. I miss the whole thing.

I dont miss the abuse, the cruelty, the fights, or the insults. I dont miss the lies or the sneaking around. I dont miss the threats of “I’m moving to Ontario again, I’m done!”, “I talked to Coyne, I had him clean out the guest room for me!”, or “Sean said I could stay there for a couple days.”. I don’t miss the way his face looked when it contorted in pure, hateful anger. I dont miss the way he lied about me, and in doing so, turned certain friends against me. I dont miss feeling like a backup plan, or like I’m only getting attention because I’m in the right place at the right time. I don’t miss the way he could look at something I spent forever on and flat out insult it. I dont miss how pretentious he was, or the way he insulted me in front of friends. I dont miss feeling stupid, ugly, and worthless.

Honestly, I have a beautiful life here right now. I have a boyfriend who loves me, a job I enjoy, good grades, and promises of a good future. I even have a few friends.

I honestly dont understand my attraction to the hell I escaped. Maybe it was the passion; I would rather feel hate than emptiness. Maybe I just never got over it properly. Either way, tonight proved there is a monkey on my back I ought to get rid of- theres only so much space in my life, and it’s just cluttering it up.

Well… now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to listen to some more PTV and continue talking to another one of The Ex’s exes. Not about him, necessarily, but about life.

We will just call this painful process of reliving agony “healing”, ok? Deal.

Or maybe I’m a masochist.

So the other night I was doing my job manning box office at the theater I work at, when the cash manager ran up, yelling “ARE YOU EXCITED?!”.

Now when a 30 year old man comes running full speed at you grinning like a child, normally you run in the other direction. But I was curious.

“Why…?”

“Because in ten minutes, Selena Gomez will be here! At the theater! Arent you excited?!”

“…not really, no.”

Now I’m just going to come out and say it- I hate the Disney channel. I liked it when I was a kid in the 90’s and it played Reccess and The Weekenders, but the crap it’s been churning out for the past few years is heart-wrenching. Zack and Cody? Just… no.

So because the Disney-bred girlfriend of Canada’s darkest shame wanted to see Drive, she decided to rent an entire theater. So, while lying our butts off about why theater 5 was closed to the many adolescent ladies wanting to see the movie that was supposed to be playing (What’s Your Number?) our manager pops into the box office, to steal our phones. Normally phones are no big deal. Most of us have them, if only to know what time it is, and we are generally responsible about it. But today, the idea that one of us may possibly facebook, text, tweet or tumblr that the popstar was there was enough to get all technology able to do this removed.

And to be honest, that was the last thing on most of our minds. The only reason I’m bringing it up now is because of how irritating the whole situation was.

So, after that, all the movies were in and most of the saddened young ladies had chosen to see 50/50 instead (which is an amazing movie), things calmed down. Selena Gomez had snuck in easily with her moderately sized group of people and our manager had settled them in. Everything was fine, until the next rush.

Previous to that, I had seen her walk out of the theater post-movie, and talk to our manager, Will. Then I got a radio call.

“Umm… Contagion isnt playing tonight.”

“Why?”

“…the… projector is broken.”

To put this in perspective, our theater is digital. Meaning we dont have projectors. It wasnt hard to figure out what really happened.

Anyway, because Selena Gomez decided she now wanted to watch Contagion (or another movie in that theater) I now had about 50 angry people wanting to know why when they left the house, the internet said they could watch that movie, and now I’m the bitch who says they can’t. And these werent young ladies. These were scary middle aged men, and brawny couples with more alcohol tolerance than sense. The general grouchiness spread through the lineup and soon I was getting chewed out for everything from coupons to prices to what time the movies started. By the end of the night I was pissy and my brain hurt and I just wanted to punch who ever took Mr. Walt Disney’s spot as head of the company and said “You know what? Lets make teenagers famous. How ballin’ would that be?”

So I watched a movie about robots punching each other in the head and went home.

On the bright side, Selena Gomez was wearing a really cute jacket.

So, my lack of posting has been caused by, as most would expect, a retarded amount of homework. I’m talking labs, assignments, studying for midterms, etc etc. BUT IM KIND OF CAUGHT UP. Kind of.

Either way, my week has been one of those weeks that dont fall into the good/ bad categories easily. It seems more about me learning how the goods and bads mix and meld to become one alright time period, ups and downs included.

Sure, while I was at work, the supervisor quit and so I was left to supervise and take on a shit ton of responsibility, but now I earned some respect from certain supervisors who are trying to get me promoted, newbie or not. Hell, I still have the Trainee badge.

And yeah, while I was working the above mentioned shift, we had to stay late because the floor drains in the back overflowed with some dirty, noxious smelling water based liquid, but me and the guy I was working with had a surprisingly fun night together waiting for the plumber to fix it.

And maybe some bimbo at work yelled at me for being an insult to feminism because I cant lift heavy things, but I learned who around me has my back.

Maybe I cant go home early for Thanksgiving, but tha’ts caused by me getting trained to work the best position at my job.

There was some obviously negative happenings, yes, such as the frozen yogurt machine imploding and making me mop for two hours like a mad fool, and writing two midterms, and my favorite roommate deciding to move, but Boyfriend also took me out for a fancy six month date, I saw a movie with a friend I missed, I had dinner at my cousins, and I fixed my printer up.

So again, this week the good and bad seem to have made peace. I like this.

Oh, and I totally bombed a job interview.

When I was younger, I used to watch movies on tv like I’m sure everyone else did. I watched movies about how the cheerleader gets the basketball player, or how the nerd gets a jock, or just how two people who were obviously meant to be finally fall for each other. And in all these movies, whether they were cheesy from the 80’s, impassioned from the 60’s, or over-the-top from the 90’s, there was one common variable- the guy being a ridiculous romantic (in his own way, of course). Watching Heath Ledger sing to Julia Stiles on the bleachers while he ran from security guards was pretty much a game changer in my preteen eyes, and after that, I was screwed.

Im generally an optimist. However, what they dont tell you about being an optimist is that it makes it all that much more soul-crushing when things go to hell. So, when I pack an overnight bag and drag my huge laptop case with my school stuff to work with me because he said I could come over after and cancels last minute, thats rough. It stings, because I’m tired of everything else being more important. But what really gets me is how in the back of my mind, all I can think is ” He’s going to go to bed, have an epiphany that he’s making you sad, realize youre important, and show up at work to get you. Maybe even with flowers.”

I know it wont happen. I realize I’m not dating John Cusack, Ashton Kutcher, or any other romantic comedy icon. I realize he decided hours ago that he was too tired, and that he wont change his mind. I’m not delusional. But, when I walk out the doors at work at 11:30pm into the cold, dark downtown, surrounded by drunks and homeless people who are anything but polite, and no one is there… it still feels like a letdown. After a few days in a row of it happening, it goes from letdown to heartbreaking, and after that it goes to me suddenly deciding not to try because I don’t want that feeling anymore.

Frankly, I wish I didnt watch all those movies in my childhood. I set myself up for disaster. Its obvious that if you go in to something with the bar that high, youre going to be disappointed. I’m willing to bet there is like less than 1,000 guys out there who see a romance movie and go “Hey, thats a great idea!” and actually act on it. Remind me to find one of those next time.

So, in order to get the classes I want/ needed, I had to make some sacrifices when building my schedule. For example, today I had a class at 8am. When I scheduled this, it took so much effort to click the “Enroll in Course” button, because, to put it simply, I am not a morning person. I am often up until the wee hours of the morning, reading facebook, chatting, going out, reading, and basically doing what I do. A good day starts with me waking up around noon and going to sleep around 4 (because its important to get 8 hours of sleep!). As the term started, the feeling of dread built up until the first day of setting an alarm rolled around.

The first morning was a rough one, to sum it up.

But, as the semester starts going, the deadline to drop classes in the rear view mirror and my first exam coming up, I’ve started to get accustomed. I’ve learned to stream-line my morning rituals down to under an hour and have learned how and when to cut corners. Sure, I show up to classes frequently with no makeup, but thats nothing. No one should be expected to look good at 8am. And the girls that show up with the hair done perfect and wearing foundation and eyeliner are the ones that have something to hide.

And on a bright note, when I come home after my first class, my roommates are gone. I can take long showers without worrying about the contents of their bladder, I can play my stereo at an inappropriate level, and I can relax without the sound of the crazy one watching a marathon of Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

It’s 10am, and today I’ve gone for a walk, had a coffee, sat through a lecture, learned the meaning of “fun” in Nigeria, set up a toaster oven, made a sandwich, and written a blog post. What have you done?

For my psych class, instead of the regular type of assignments most professors make you do, mine went down a little bit of a different path. Instead, we have to sign up and take part in real psychological experiments. Let that sink in.

I’m kindof excited, not gonna lie, but also a wee bit terrified. When you sign up, they dont tell you what the experiment is. Or sometimes even what they are testing for. You just sign up online, show up at the proper classroom, and let them do their thing to your poor defenseless brain. You can get there, hear their pitch, and then bail if you want, but you lose marks. To get full marks you have to just go and dive right in.

Before you just sign up for things willy-nilly, though, you have to see if you qualify. I, for example, do not qualify for an experiment intended for black Mandarin-speaking Jewish males. And while thats a pity, I know the heartache will subside.

To help the researchers find you in the mass of psych students you have to fill out a fancy online questionnaire. Its called Mass Testing, which sounds like something out of a George Orwell book, and I went in extremely curious as to what they would have to ask that would take us an hour to fill out.

While most of it was the expected “what is your age?”, “are you a Canadian citizen?”, “do you tend to feel anxious?”, some of it was just simply bizarre. A few of my favorites include “how similar do you feel people are to small insects?”, “do you feel disgusted? If so, does that disgust embarrass you?”, “what are the chances you will be forced into sex in the next 6 months?”, “what are the chances you will use a weapon on somebody in the next 6 months?” and making us write down 10 events a baby would experience, along with how old that baby would be.

I dont know why the researchers want to know if I’m mobile enough to be able to “walk around a medium sized room for 30-45 minutes”, or if “trying on shoes makes [me] feel self conscious about my body” but I’m sure as hell curious now.

I am one of those people who doesnt do good with mass amounts of inescapable stress. For me, stress results in crippling nausea, stomach pains, lack of sleep, head aches, and turning into a bitch. If I can get away from it (like go grab a drink with friends, catch a good movie, sleep in) it isnt too bad. If I cant, all hell breaks loose. Im on the verge of the latter, and this is why. Who said weekends were always fun?

Friday I accidentally sleep in and end up going to class sans shower. I feel gross and smelly and greasy and miserable. After class I run home, clean up, and meet Boyfriend downtown and grab a vanilla chai latte (<3). We hang out as his place laughing and having a good G-rated time, but his neighbor mistakes our laughing and jokes to be sex (somehow) and goes and complains to his mom about our very loud boning that didnt even happen. Cue awkward conversation.

Saturday I wake up after he leaves for work and figure “hey, its my day off… Im going to head home, have a luxuriously long shower, and watch Netflix” but while my unshowered butt is standing in line waiting for my Tim Hortons bagel and coffee, my manager calls and freaks out about being understaffed and needing me RIGHT NOW apparently. So I made the mad dash home as fast as I could on public transit, showered in record time, and dashed out the door. I was early for my bus but yet I still missed it and had to walk an additional 7 blocks to a different stop.

After work I head home to put on less buttery clothing and some makeup, fix my hair and head out to meet Boyfriend for his friends birthday. I tossed back a cooler while getting ready, grossly miscalculating my tolerancy (which is 0). Though he said we would grab supper at the pub when I got there, I showed up to him finishing off his last chicken wing and his buddy already planning where to go next. So I skipped my long awaited chicken ceaser salad and headed off to the next bar with them, tummy already miserable. We ended up at a little bar and the friends each tossed back a beer, and then on to the next and so on and so forth. Around then Boyfriend decided to let me know he wasnt actually coming home with me, but instead staying with his friends. This would be totally fine if he would have told me before, but now it was like every step we took down Whyte Ave and every minute I was out was taking me one step closer from home. I was so cold I lost feeling below my waist and so ill I thought I was going to heave up the contents of my empty stomach, so at 10 I called it quits and walked the 12 terrifying blocks home alone. Better at 10 than at 2.

I crawled into bed, shivering and grumpy, and fell asleep, happily knowing I could at least sleep in the next morning. But alas, this morning I awoke at 9 am to my insane roommate screaming at her boyfriend via speakerphone outside my door. That was fun. It was especially fun when their call got dropped like 6 times, causing him to call back, making the phone beside my bed go off. Yet, after an hour and a half of this, I got hungry and went to make breakfast and the sound of the toaster made her shoot me the death glare.

Also, I work again at 4:30. Until 11:30. Weeee.