That explains it

https://www.google.ca/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&ved=0CAcQjRw&url=https%3A%2F%2Fnerdist.com%2Fonce-upon-a-time-recap-lily%2F&ei=0GtBVcX9MYuuogTYnYCIBg&bvm=bv.92189499,d.cGU&psig=AFQjCNFWGDWpOJ3smr_4TyRNF85rKqgxQQ&ust=1430437154264684Any Once Upon A Time fans out there?  If you’re up to date with the series, you know that Maleficent lost her child, because Snow White and Prince Charming, fearful that Emma may be born evil, cursed Maleficent’s child with that evil instead and had her banished to the real world.  Because convoluted plot lines are an absolute must on the show.  And of course, that child ended up being Lily, Emma’s former childhood friend, who she pushed away since she seemed to cause nothing but trouble.  And now Maleficent, upon hearing her daughter is still alive, has asked Emma to go and find her, so that they can be happily reunited.  And apparently Lily has already since learned the truth of what happened to her, because the sorcerer told her so years ago on a train.  How did the sorcerer even get to the real world and find her?  No idea.  But Lily knows that her bad decisions and the fact that everything in her life seems to be so screwed up is not entirely her fault.  Everything is harder for her, because she was cursed.

I don’t know, when they said she would be cursed with the most powerful evil, I assumed that she would end up being, you know, evil.  Not just a person who makes bad decisions and has a shitty life.  Just because you’re a huge screw up and bad things happen when you’re around, doesn’t mean that you’re evil.  It makes you human.  If she were truly evil, wouldn’t she be more like Cruella, who was just a born psychopath?  When they said that she was cursed with a powerful evil and that her name was Lilith, I immediately thought of Lilith from Supernatural.  Because that bitch was evil.

After watching the last episode, I thought to myself, I feel like maybe I’m actually cursed with someone else’s evil, and that’s why I make bad life choices.  Wouldn’t it actually be great to know that your shitty life wasn’t entirely your fault and that there was someone else to blame?  That every time you made the worst decision ever, it didn’t necessarily reflect badly on you, because that’s the way you were made to be?  If there was such a thing as magic and evil and curses, I feel like that would totally explain my life.

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I’m not cool

So the other day as I was sitting on the bus, I remembered a random memory from my childhood.  I’m not sure how exactly it popped into my head, there must have been a long process of certain things making me think of other certain things, thoughts constantly jumping every which way until they led up to that memory.  You know the crazy ways the mind works.  This particular memory made me laugh to myself and think about how my sense of humour and outlook on life has always been with me from a very young age.  A sense of humour and outlook that not everyone seems to understand.

I’m the type of person who uses a lot of sarcasm.  But I’m that person who will make a sarcastic comment and have people not realize that it was intended as a sarcastic comment.  I’ll say it and they’ll give me a weird look and be like “What?  Really?”.  And I’ll be like “No, I was being sarcastic”.  And then they’ll think that me saying I was being sarcastic was sarcasm.  Yeah, I undergo a lot of communication difficulties because of this.  But it’s okay.  Because there are a few people who do get me and do understand.  And that’s what’s important.

I’m also the type of person who puts herself down a lot.  But not in a depressing way.  Well okay, I suppose it can be in a depressing way.  But a funny and witty depressing way if that makes any sense to you.  Pretty much every time I make a self-deprecating remark, it’s for the sake of humour.  Because I think that the funniest people and best comedians are the ones that can make fun of themselves.  Anyone can make fun of other people.  But I really admire those who are comfortable enough to make fun of themselves.

So this memory that came to mind the other day was when I was in Grade Seven.  I may be a bit fuzzy on the details, because my memory is not what it used to be.  Actually maybe it is, maybe I’ve always had a bad memory.  I really don’t remember.  Anyway, we were at this youth group and sitting in a circle.  I think it was some sort of small group icebreaker thing.  I always hated those small group icebreaker things.  I’ve never liked being forced to bond with people.  If I want to, I will, but it’ll be my decision to do so.

We had to go around the circle and say our name and something cool about ourselves.  I hate that.  It’s always something.  Like let’s go around and say your most embarrassing moment.  Or if you could be an animal, what animal would you be?  Or where you’d like to be in five years.  What is this, an interview?  I already knew the kids in my group anyway, they were in my class.  But I guess this was just one of those fun ways to pass the time.

It always sucks to go first in those things, because then you have to think quickly about what you’re going to say.  I wasn’t first, so I got to hear the other kids before I said mine.  It didn’t have to be anything special, you could literally say anything.  I remember one kid said he liked Star Wars.  That’s the only thing I remember.  And then another kid responded with “That’s not cool”.  Great, now we were being judged for what our own definition of cool was.  I don’t think any of the things we said were actually “cool”.  But then really, how do you define cool?  It’s all subjective anyway.

When it came to me, I’m sure there were a lot of things that I could have said.  I think I was going to say that I was the tallest one in the school or something like that.  But I didn’t.  What did I say instead?  I said “I’m Dominique, and I’m not cool”.  I didn’t mean it seriously.  I meant it as a joke.  Saying that I wasn’t cool was my own way of rebelling and making a statement about what I thought of the icebreaker.  I had specifically answered the question by refusing to answer the question.  I thought I was being clever.

But other people didn’t think so.  My response was received with some people going “Aww..” and then actually trying to suggest something that I could say about why I was cool.  They didn’t seem to understand that I didn’t want or need their suggestions, and I was perfectly fine with my original answer.  They thought that I was actually so sad that I couldn’t come up with a single thing about me that could be considered cool.

I could have taken this experience and changed my ways and tried to assimilate to behave in a way that other people found more acceptable.  I could have started to answer questions more appropriately and toned down my sarcasm in the future.  But I didn’t.  Because that’s just not who I am.  Even now, a lot of you probably thought from the title of this blog post that this was going to be me writing about the reasons that I’m not cool and that it would be all depressing.  Who would do something like that?  Actually, that does sound like something I might do.  But I would do it for the sake of humour and nothing else.  Because I’m cool like that.

The dangerous lives of altar girls

Altar serving used to just be for boys.  I remember my mom saying that one time she saw a girl altar serving and thought “Oh, they allow girls to do it now”, but then she realized that it was really just a boy with long hair.  But at some point they did change this policy and open it up to allow girls to be altar servers as well.  Which I suppose is a good thing, a step towards more equality between the sexes?  But personally I wish they had just kept it to boys only.  Or at least waited a little longer before allowing girls to do it.  This has nothing to do with sexism or anything.  But if they had left it as is, then I would never have had to be an altar server.

I don’t know why I was.  I was terrible at it.  Why did I sign up for it?  Did my parents make me do it?  I don’t think so.  They must have given me a choice in the matter.  But I ended up altar serving throughout most of elementary school.  Okay, it wasn’t that bad.  I mean really there was nothing wrong with it.  And it certainly wasn’t dangerous, as my misleading title would imply.  But somehow it just wasn’t right for me.  Or I wasn’t right for it.  Or a bit of both, I suppose?

When you’re an altar server, everyone can see you.  Because you’re up at the altar.  Sitting, standing, walking, holding a candle, pouring the water, holding the book.  All eyes are on you.  Okay well not really.  But people can see you more so than say, a random person sitting in the crowd.  And for an awkward and introverted kid like I was, this was unpleasant.  It’s not as if there was a lot that you needed to know, but I would still get paranoid about screwing something up.  Or tripping on my robe or dropping something and just being an embarrassment.  I worried about these things anyway, but to have to worry about them up at the altar was even more nerve wracking.

And I didn’t like the robes we had to wear.  Especially in the summer, it was always so hot.  But we were told that it wasn’t so bad, as the priest had to wear even more garments than we did.  It was also difficult to get the size that properly fit you.  You didn’t want to wear one that was too long, because you could trip over it.  But you also didn’t want one that was too short, because then it would look bad and your pants would show.  We had a rope to tie as a belt, and I somehow wasn’t very good at tying it properly.  That was annoying.  The robes were also unflattering.  I mean, I wore a lot of ugly outfits at that age anyway, but in the altar serving robe, everyone could see me.  And I think I had an ugly haircut too, and a generic altar serving robe would draw more attention to my hair and my face which was not a good thing at the time.

I remember one of the priests we had commented to my mom one time that I was always so serious whenever I was there.  Yeah, I suppose I’ve always had that look about me.  But imagine a little girl sitting up there at the altar, looking angry.  Maybe I was angry about my bad haircut.  But yeah.  I’m pretty sure I looked angry when I wasn’t altar serving as well, but people were less likely to notice.

There wasn’t a whole lot to remember.  But being awkward as I am, I did screw up a few times.  I don’t think I ever fell down though.  Which is surprising seeing as I’m sort of clumsy and really don’t have the greatest sense of balance.  There’s a time during Mass when two servers bring the water and the wine to the priest, and he pours them into the chalice.  The altar servers then bow to the priest before walking away.  I’ve never been good at bowing.  How do you fail at bowing?  Well, trust me to find a way.  One time I just didn’t bow enough, so it was more like a quick head nod, and so realizing I hadn’t properly bowed, I tried bowing a second time to make up for it.  The result was a sort of double head nod bow combo, which I’m sure looked as awkward as it felt, possibly more so.  I seem to recall a few people in the pews who knew me noticing and laughing.

I also never learned the proper way to set the altar.  Only the altar server who was holding the cross had to do this.  The two with the candles were off the hook for this task.  But I reluctantly found myself in the position of the cross bearer a few times and didn’t really know what I was doing.  The napkin had to be folded and unfolded a certain way, the chalice put in a specific position, and the book placed in a certain way.  I was never sure of any of it.  One time I just left it as is, and let the priest rearrange it.  If I’d just done it how I thought it should be, he would’ve had to correct it anyway, so what was the point?

One time I forgot to help clear the altar after communion.  I don’t know why, it just slipped my mind.  Instead, I just went back and sat down, oblivious to the fact that I had not finished fulfilling my altar serving duties for the moment.  One thing I think I was good at was holding the book while the priest read from it.  I don’t think I ever managed to screw that up.  Except one time for some reason there was a bigger book and it was heavy.  But I still managed.  Good for me.

It was awkward sometimes holding the candles.  Because there are two altar servers who hold them together.  But I was always significantly taller than the other person.  So it looked odd when we both stood there, with the candles at different heights and sort of out of sync.  But what could we do?  I think I got roped into holding the cross a few times just cause I was tall.  And then I had to spend the whole time dreading the moment when I would have to set the alter.  It wasn’t fair.

I think my favourite part was putting out the candles when Mass was over.  I don’t know why, I just liked it.  Maybe because it was the last thing I had to do?  And it was just fun to put the candles out.  I can’t remember what that thing it called that we used to extinguish them.  No, it wasn’t an extinguisher.  It was this gold curved stick thing with a cup like thing on the end that fit over the candle so you could put it out.  Now that’s going to bother me.  Does anyone know what I’m talking about?

Even though I was probably a terrible altar server, I stuck with it throughout my elementary school years at St. Paul’s.  I suppose it wasn’t that bad.  I think they had an appreciation barbeque for us every year as well.  And I think I may have got a certificate or a card?  Or maybe not.  I’m not sure.  But in any case, our services were appreciated.  And I think we’re all really lucky that I never managed to burn anything by accident, considering all those candles at the altar.

Why I hate alphabetical order


My last name is Vaz.  Which starts with a V.  Anyone else who has a last name which starts with a letter near the end of the alphabet will probably share my dislike of alphabetical order.  We’re always last.  And it isn’t fair.  I was last in enough things in school, like 3 blocks runs and being picked for group projects.  Did I really need the additional misfortune of being last for things simply because of my last name?  Apparently.

I’m taking a class right now at UBC, which is what reminded me of this today.  At the end of class, our assignments were handed back.  And our names were called out so we could go get our assignments and then leave.  And of course they were called out in alphabetical order.  What else is new?  And so I sat there.  Wanting to leave.  But unable to.  Because the people with C last names were still being called.  It was going to be a long while…

I’ve had to go through this in all my years of education, ever since I can remember.  When lining up for things, we would do it alphabetically.  Which meant you were always stuck in between the same two people in the line up.  And if you didn’t like those people, well, that was just too bad.  And sometimes that would be how groups or partners were assigned.  So if I didn’t like the kid who’s last name started with T, or the other kid who’s last name started with V, it didn’t matter.  We were stuck together.

When tests and assignments were handed back, I would always have to wait, much like I had to wait today.  And yes, people say that sometimes the teachers would mix it up and go in reverse alphabetical order instead.  But I feel like that rarely happened, if ever.  I cannot recall a time when it did.  Maybe my childhood memories are just biased and blocking out the few good experiences that may have occurred?

So I had to wait a little longer for certain things, so what?  Would I have really done anything important with those extra minutes that I spent patiently waiting?  Probably not.  But that’s not the point.  It’s the principle of the matter.  And sometimes it wasn’t just time that I missed out on.

In elementary school, we would have “hot lunch” every so often, maybe once a month?  This was basically when the school allowed us to order food, since there was no cafeteria or place to buy food and we would always bring it from home.  For hot lunch, we would have to bring in money and check off what we wanted days in advance.  They would order from places like Subway or Pizza Hut, or sometimes it was just hot dogs, catered from I don’t know where.  When the lunches arrived, guess what order they called them out in?

So I had to wait longer before I could eat.  But that’s not all.  You would also have the option of ordering a drink and a donut.  You could specify what drink you wanted, but the donuts were just a first come, first served thing.  And everyone wanted the long johns.  But there weren’t enough long johns to go around.  So when it was finally time for the girl with the V last name to get her food, there were only jelly donuts left.  And I didn’t like jelly donuts.  It wasn’t fair.

I suppose things could have been worse.  There were always kids with last names that started with W and Y.  But were pretty much in the same boat.  But at least since they were there, I was never dead last.  I guess at least that was something.  I think if I were a teacher and I was handing back assignments, I would just mix them all up and read them out in a completely random order.  That way no one is at a disadvantage.  Although then you wouldn’t know when to listen for your name.  At least alphabetically, you knew when it was going to be your turn.  Damn, I guess it is the most efficient way.  But still.  It wasn’t fair.

The things I missed out on.