Finding your Big-Girl Pants: Part 1½

We’re now two weeks into classes and three weeks since Orientation started. Incase my online absence is suspiciously pointing towards two weeks of socializing and making new friends, need I remind the world of my social skills? Silly, world. Since my last post, my very optimistic sounding post, I have come face-to-face with more big-girl things. And since I like lists, here we go:

1. Leaky tap. Fill out a work order form for the apartment superintendent and hope that it gets fixed while panicking at the idea that you have just given someone permission to enter your apartment at some point, even when you are not home. *Hides laundry loonies*
2. Orange Juice. Since the local farmer’s market has been stocked with a wonderful surplus of choice in vegetables, fruit, and baked goods, I have somehow managed to avoid stepping foot in a grocery store for three weeks. The market does not, however, have orange juice. The one substance I require to function the way plants need carbon dioxide. Or humans and oxygen. You know. So I put on my big-girl pants and rode the bus to the shopping centre where I happily strolled through Loblaws, really buttoning up those big-girl pants when I had to ask for a rain check on the out-of-stock-on-sale-orange-juice. That’s what happens when you go to the grocery store after noon, people. Lesson: Wake up and get your groceries early. 
3. Laundry. I may have ironed my shirt in my last blog post, but I never actually did the whole washing machine/dryer routine. When you leave laundry for 3 weeks, and try to fit the whole dark load into one load, things do not get washed properly. I mean, of course I knew enough to separate darks and lights, and of course I did not leave a red sock in my white a-la-Rachel-Green, but I thought water in washing machines just penetrates all the clothing and soaks everything. Well, if you have three weeks of clothing, and a small washer in the laundry room of your apartment, it doesn’t. So do not try to stuff the washing machine. Also, invest in those Tide tablet things so that you don’t have to measure laundry detergent. Life gets better with those laundry tablet things.
4. Learn how to small-talk. Okay, so I’m expecting there will be another post on this at some point this year. This past week, I attended a faculty wine and cheese event, and had to endure the dreaded small talk with colleagues aka classmates, and professors aka those who assign you a grade that defines your academic progression. What did I expect? Painful, awkward, staring at the ceiling.
   What did I encounter? Slightly less painful, slightly less awkward, and I couldn’t tell you what the ceiling looked like. I received some great advice on what to wear for “business casual” before attending: “If you would TA in it, you can wear it.” Since it was a wine and cheese, and I enjoy wine but cannot tolerate alcohol well, I was that person who casually sipped and warmed my chilled white wine in my hands, which is a nice way of saying I pretended to drink it, subtly made half of my glass magically disappear, filled the half with water, and sipped my diluted now-warm chardonnay with effortless (what a lie) grace.
   What’s the point of diluting the wine? Why didn’t I just drink a non-alcoholic drink?
   There is no difference; I call it personal preference. There is absolutely no problem or judgment I expected for preferring a non-alcoholic drink. I honestly do enjoy wine, so I had no problem asking for white wine. I like the feel of wine glasses because in that superficial way, I feel more comfortable and classy with a wine glass. It all has to do with holding the wine glass itself, and just having a drink (be it alcoholic or non-alcoholic) in general so your hands have something to do, and nothing to do with what’s in the glass. If you feel confident you will be more confident. Fact. (Not proven, but you know.)
   Let’s put it this way. I once attended an alumni talk from a very successful graduate who talked about networking and socializing. Her #1 piece of advice for events? Get a drink (again, any drink, water, wine, etc.) and hold it. It makes you 90% (I made that number up) less awkward than you would be without a drink. It gives you an excuse to politely leave a conversation and “refill” or join another conversation along the way to maximize you networking. And it keeps you hydrated, since you know, socializing requires talking, which requires hydration. And I also made that last point up based on my recent experiences.

So, all that rambling basically meant: I had to take care of maintaining my apartment, I had to go to a real grocery store and do my own laundry, which takes a lot more time when you let it accumulate. I had to socialize in a professional setting and put to use the lesson I learned about professional socializing, that is, get a drink and (it doesn’t matter if it’s alcoholic or non-alcoholic), and mingle. All of which is a lot easier said than done. Which are things I am still working on. But I tried, and that’s why this post is a ½ step in the “Big-Girl Pants.” Like half a step when you’re walking. Like the running man. No, nevermind, not the running man. Just mid step.

The Queenstown Chronicles Hits the Town: Round 1

Attention folks, The Queenstown Chronicles have officially moved into town… I mean, at least for a few days. At this point, however, I think a few days is all I can handle. Warning: Tonight’s blog post may be the kind dripping and oozing in fresh, melted mozzarella disguised as a casual pasta sauce. 

We always watch movies that, at some point, usually use the saying, “There are ___ types of people in the world…” to describe how the protagonist fits into none of the categories mentioned. Prediction? Said protagonist is an anomaly to some type of rule. As much as some of us want to feel like we fit in and belong to somewhere or something, we also love to be one. An anomaly, I mean (don’t deny it). Where, you might ask, does this rambling anomaly talk come into play?

Well I’m going to start with that categorizing habit, just like in movies.

Category 1: The Unemotional Poker Face, also known as the Ice Queen

I like to think of myself as being an unemotional person at most times. I practice keeping emotions in check and keeping up my poker face, which, contradictory to the “unemotional” part of my category title, actually involves emotions. This nonchalant, casual attitude is the updated version of the teenager’s “I don’t care about the world.” A young adult “Ice Queen” does, in fact, care about the world, but has been burned too many times to commit to showing too many emotions. Emotions are felt at an intensity level of 50%, and anything beyond that is immediately pushed away. It’s the classic too-many-emotions-leave-dangerous-room-for-a-hurt-heart situation. But like, hey, we’re almost taken seriously as adults now, aside from that post-grad #yolo phase, involving Starbucks on a whim and shopping sprees when you meant to pay off student debt (or so I’ve heard).

On the flip side, having the ability to keep emotions in check has also paid off. It adds a level of rational thinking to an otherwise emotionally-charged situation. It opens up the possibility to distance yourself, or perhaps reconsider impulsive decisions. Am I trying to defend the infamous “Ice Queen” status? Maybe. Or maybe I’m trying to rationalize it.

Do you fit into this category? I know I sometimes feel as though I do.

Category 2: The Family’s Babied Baby, also known as the Youngest Child

There are couple kinds of “Youngest Child” children, two of which include, one, the child who is forgotten, and two, the child who is spoiled. I’m referring to the latter, with no hint of a complaint and every bit of gratitude. Although spoiled may be an exaggeration, or a harsh word, I mean to use the word in an endearing way. Being spoiled as the baby of a family means you feel as though you never fully grow up, or feel some kind of guilt when you try to, or in some ways, you never want to. Being spoiled involves being sheltered and constantly protected from the terrors of the world, as much as possible.

As a product of the “Family’s Babied Baby” situation, being spoiled also means that your parents stocked up your first apartment pantry with enough non-perishable food to support all of the residents in your apartment building in the event of a zombie apocalypse. It means six different kinds of tomato sauce, two different kinds of Greek yogurt, small bottles of all the authentic Chinese cooking essentials, and most importantly, Costco-sized bags of ground meat, chicken breasts, and deboned chicken thighs, (all in labelled, dated, individually-portioned Ziploc bags, and double bagged to protect against freezer burn, of course).

Do you fit into this category? I will not insult your intelligence and bother writing if I believe I do.

So, let’s go back to the common movie phrase and how the protagonist does not fit into any of the categories. However, rather than believing I do not fit into any category and thinking of myself as an anomaly, I consider myself to fit into both Category 1 and Category 2. As much as I want to think of myself as an anomaly to the “little-girl-feels-alone-in-a-new-city” pattern, I realized today that I am not. I had this grand idea, based on my fortunate and recent experiences of travelling alone, that I would be able to handle being left alone in a new city. The idea involved:

1. Excitement, once my family headed home, since my fridge and cupboards were fully stocked,
2. Curiosity, to explore a new city by myself, as I thoroughly enjoyed doing while travelling alone,
3. Some kind of confident, explorer-feeling, like travelling.

Fitting into both categories makes me realize that I am not any different than the movie protagonist who fits in no category. Movie protagonists are designed to be relatable on multiple levels to many different kinds of people. Vague statement, I know. But if you think about it, relating to the uncategorized movie protagonist really does induce a sense of belonging. At least, in a new city with no friends, no family, and no school community (since it’s August and I’m an early-bird, but not in the morning-person understanding of the phrase), I belong to some kind of vast, global community of young adults (rather than the fresh, young, average 18-year old first year student) experiencing the realization we are not quite as independent and fearless as we thought.