Home Sweet Something.

I have just returned from a week in Portelginland. This was a highly productive visit and I accomplished the following:

i) visited optometrist, who is going to fit my freaking awesome vintage frames that I got in Kensington Market and have freaking rhinstones on them (yessssss!) with my prescription.

ii) visited dentist, who made me feel guilty about not flossing. Also, there was this bizarre poster on the office wall that basically said that because people with gum disease tend to be at higher risk of heart disease, gum disease causes heart disease. I would argue, however, that there is not necessarily a cause and effect relationship between these two ailments, and, rather, socio-economic factors and access to healthy foods, education about health and access to healthcare contribute to the proliferation of both conditions. But, whatever, I’m not a medical doctor so I should probably keep my mouth shut (unless I’m in the process of flossing).

iii) finally passed my stupid G license test, after five years of toil/avoidance of the inevitable. I highly reccomend that everyone do this test in rural Ontario, somewhere with no expressways, because rather than make you actually drive on a highway, you just have to sign a waiver that says you’ve driven on a highway. I also reccomend booking your appointment for first thing in the morning – mine was the first test of the day, and the examiner was clearly still sleeping, and thus I was docked no marks for that roadside stop where I CLEARLY accidentally drove up onto the curb (a bizarre occurence, as this is not something I’ve ever done in real life). Also, who aced a parallel park between two cars for the first time ever and just when it mattered most? Oh, that would be me.

iv) got my housing offer from UCLA. Someone has a pretty sweet studio apartment waiting for her in the fall. A studio apartment in Westwood. A studio apartment in a place where there are palm trees and celebrities and a Real University. A studio apartment that is very tiny. Someone thinks you should visit her in California, but only one at a time, please, because you’ll probably have to sleep in the bathtub.

v) cleaned out large sections of my bedroom at my parents’ house. This involved a journey into the infamous Star Wars Drawer, in which all of the Star Wars memorabilia that I accumulated during the height of my nerdom (circa 1997 – 1999) is stashed. Looking in this drawer, one is either provided with conflicting evidence: I was either a super awesome thirteen year old (Exhibit A: The miniature, Star Wars-themed paper mache totem pole that I made for, oh, no reason), or a super lame thirteen year old (Exhibit B: The extensive collection of Star Wars pop cans). I am pleased to report that the only thing I got rid of from the Star Wars Drawer was the colletion of pop cans/bottles (do I really need to keep a Sebulba root beer bottle? Probably not. But I did check to make sure they weren’t going for big bucks on ebay before I threw them in the blue box), because everything else is too awesome to part with.

iv) played some videogames.