Lundi, mardi, mercredi.

Dear jeudi,

You are the dumbest day EVER and I never remember you when I’m rhyming off the jours de la semaine. Get a life, jeudi, I hate you.

Love,
ANGLAIS Sarah

Kisulirijiuvilli?

I sat down yesterday morning and worked out a life plan. Well, a three year plan, which I think is a very good start.

I was worried that it would take me five years to get my degree. This would be because of the fact that I am doing two certificates (Crim and Public Admin) in addition to my major and minor.

But I worked it out that if I did three courses over the next two summers (and don’t fail anything), I will be fine. This is such a relief, you can’t possibly understand.

I have officially decided on Aboriginal Studies as my minor. There was some confusion over a Law minor or a Sociology/Anthropology minor. Not anymore, I am moving ahead!

I know what you are thinking, Aboriginal Studies? It sounds like you want to move back North again. And I realized after much soul-searching (corny, shut up) and THOUGHT that I do. Some shitty things happened while I was up there; I won’t tell you it was a field of daisies. But the positive outweighs the negative by astronomical amounts.

So yeah. Two years of school left. Dumb summer job this year, FINGER’S CROSSED I’ll get an internship next year. Then I make my way back North for a year or two.

I’m not forsaking plans of France or Iceland, not at all. But I’m only going to be twenty-one years old when I graduate. I [hopefully] have years to fulfill all of my many, many plans. I'm actually thinking of doing my Masters overseas, I'll have the money to fund that option after a couple years of Arctic work.

I promise that this isn’t all coming about just because I got my tax refund yesterday... Well, maybe just a little. I probably got more back on my taxes than the average student made working a minimum-wage job here last summer. I’m just saying.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE, HMM?

They all grow up and become people's people with people skills.

Marland took us on a honeymoon today. We went to the confederation building to take a tour of the House of Assembly. I learned lots of cool things. I also took pictures.

44 Progressive Conservatives. 3 Liberals. 1 NDP. It really puts things in perspective when you see that they have seats on both sides of the House.

You know where the Premier gives press releases? That’s where Allison and I give ours too, what a coincidence! We decided to recreate his famous poses since he couldn’t be there (he’s vacationing in the tropics, poor boy). All that was missing was a seal skin coat.

As my hunched over disposition would suggest: the Premier is short.

And, yes, I took pictures (… and video) of Marland. I HAD TO. Here are some video stills, you can’t have the photos. For the record, he was pretending to be a politician during question period.

Unicornation.

Eyebrows are the hardest part.

I like the black version better.

A lost seafarer, alive.

Three songs I've spent the weekend with: one, two and three. Do you have some to share with me?

I desperately need a tan. Or better yet SUMMER.

Four more classes with Marland. That's it for my entire life, what will I do without him?

I'm taking International Law with Allison this summer. With another hot prof. TRADITION MUST BE KEPT.

There is a test tomorrow on a book I didn't read. I kind of feel guilty about this one, I didn't even try to read it.

Did you get lots of goodies for Easter? I got chocolate eggs with poprocks in them so when you chew them they crackle. My Mom knows me so well.

I've taken up with the Gameboy again.

Adequate treatment.

If you’ve checked any provincial or national news’ sites this week, you would have seen the latest scandal to plague the healthcare system. Only this time it takes place here in St. John’s.

A royal commission was launched after the government became aware of serious errors in breast cancer tests. Between 1997 and 2005, 1,013 women were subjected to faulty hormone testing.

The fallout? Some were told they had breast cancer when they didn’t. Others with breast cancer were told they were fine. Some were given inadequate treatment plans, while other perfectly healthy women underwent chemotherapy and mastectomies.

Mount Sinai found St. John's got it wrong for about a third of these patients. So 275 living patients didn't get the treatment they should have. As a result of discovering the error, about half of this group were then prescribed anti-hormone treatment. On March 18, 2008, a day before the beginning of the inquiry, the province confirmed that 108 patients who died did not get adequate treatment. In other words, 383 patients of 1,013 didn't get the treatment they should have.

It should also be noted that 50 women in Newfoundland and Labrador were mistakenly told they had advanced stages of breast cancer when they didn't. Some had mastectomies. The inquiry won't be addressing this problem specifically. [. . .]

The backlash from this discovery is going to be enormous in size. Every person who has been affected by this is going to seek retribution, and rightly so. But it does have the potential to get out of hand.

If you want to learn more, read one of the 158 news articles Google News links to.

Poster of a [french] girl.

Hi friends. Miss me?

I’ve been working on Ms. Dion’s blog for my Political Campaigns class. Thus, I’ve been neglecting this one. But I have to say, I’ve rocked the other blog to pieces.

War protester anyone?

Our St. Patty’s Day was ruined with Sheila’s brush. No green beer for you. 65cm? That’s like a Holly’s worth of snow. I am not impressed.

Something to cheer you up, n’est-ce pas?

Or maybe another game challenge is what you guys need. Beat 1448, biz-nitches.

Is it coincidence or connection?

Dear “Brad” who works at the Copy Centre,

I fell in love with you. Sigh. The first guy who tried to help me with my button needs failed miserably. But you knew how to satisfy, Brad.

You showed me how buttons work. You even showed me your button. We bonded.

You told me to e-mail you the template, and I casually added my phone number at the bottom incase there was a “problem”. I’m daring like that, Brad.

You and I were of equal height, a fact I always appreciate. You also had a cute toque, and I’m not even a hat person.

When I came back the next day to pick up my buttons another man was working. How distressing! I said just one word: “buttons?”

“Buttons!” the man exclaimed “Brad, buttons!” he yelled.

Overjoyed.

I had asked for thirty buttons, but you made me thirty-five. “Don’t worry about the extras, I won’t charge you for those.” Oh, Brad. You then gave me a special discount that knocked eight dollars off the cost.

Here was where you were supposed to ask me out.

But you didn’t. I left both happy to have met you and sad that I remained single.

I will assume you have a girlfriend.

Love,
Sarah :)


P.S. Thank you for not asking why I needed buttons with Celine Dion’s face/the Bloc symbol on them.

We're not making fudge.

Dear Allison,

I remember the first time I saw you after I moved to St. John’s. It was almost two years ago, the weekend before classes started. I was at Wal-Mart to buy lots of my favourite pens and loose-leaf in preparation for my very first post-secondary class.

I saw you near the electronics section with your mom. I turned to my Mom and said “that was my friend Allison from music camp. Weird, I haven’t seen her in two years.” You didn’t notice me.

My very first Political Science class happened that Tuesday at three o’clock in the afternoon. I sat by myself.

You came in. You sat on the other side of the room.

I was early, like I had been for all my classes. I waited patiently and debated going over and talking to you.

But I didn’t have to; you came over and sat next to me. “I thought that was Sarah Smith from music camp over here” you said to me.

It was me!

We chatted. You told me you were trying to get into music school and had decided to forego it for a Political Science degree. I told you I had discarded my dream of a life of music as well and was doing general studies.

We bonded.

Then Marland came in and thus began my life with him. By the end of that semester I knew I would have to do a Political Science degree as well. He made me want to immerse my life in opinion research and political scandals.

Sometimes I wonder, Allison, how much of a role you played in my becoming a political scientist.

Would I have crushed on Marland’s black tweed coat and sexy blue eyes as much if you hadn’t had been there to giggle with me? Would wedge issues, Diefenbaker and minority governments make any sense without you? How many messages have you received over the past two years with a screaming “ALLISONNN” followed up by one political inquiry or another?

In light of our very first collaborative Political Science presentation tomorrow, I thought I would write this and say: thank you for not killing me, Allison. A lesser person would have surely blocked and deleted me long ago. I promise to thank you in my inevitable politics related books as well.

WE’RE GOING TO ROCK TOMORROW, FUDGE OR NO FUDGE.

Yours in political (and Marland) love,
Sarah :)

Thankfully, here, it's the Bloc.

What do you get when you put four Newfoundlanders together and tell them to write a ten thousand word essay on the Bloc Quebecois?

A mess is what you get. A sad and pathetic mess.

We might be Political Science majors, but none of us have ever lived in Quebec. We don’t speak fluent French. And we definitely do not support separatism (unless it was Newfoundland doing the separating).

We think Gilles Duceppe is scary. That having a population density of 4750.8 people per square kilometre is incomprehensible. And that a poutine with Celine Dion’s face on the side is our best option for passing the class.

By the end of this we’ll cry for mercy. And the class can go suck a you-know-what if they plan on tearing apart our presentation like they did that aboriginal’s group.

AT LEAST WE DIDN’T PICK A WHITE MALE RUNNING FOR THE LIBERAL PARTY YOU LAZY KEENERS.

I am worried. I am not finished. And I am not baking cookies.

Love list back in action.

WHAT IS LOVE? BABY DON’T HURT ME, DON’T HURT ME, NO MORE.

FreeCell
Visiting maximum security prisons
Thirteen
That guy from The Pianist and The Darjeeling Limited
Green apples
Michael Crummey
Soundproofing
Roommates who strip (pay that rent, bitch!)
Books for tweens about how to form clubs with your friends
Buying books for tweens about how to form clubs with your friends in hopes of starting a club with your friends
The fact that Marland has an ex-girlfriend (not gay, hooray!)
Sobriety
Project Runway
That Sigur Ros doesn't care about money and puts their AMAZING movie on YouTube in its entirety
When waves freeze
Vanilla bean lattes


YOGURT BOY DROPPED MY POLI SCI CLASS, OMG, HEARTS ALL ACROSS ALLISON’S LOOSE-LEAF.

Did I mention that I found Yogurt Boy’s YouTube account? CAUSE I DID. It hurts my head.

Moon river.

I love the old people on the bus.

Not even the crazy ones, but the ol’ grams and gramps’ who take the Metro to their doctor’s appointments or to the mall.

They make me want to be old.

I’ve seen some characters, and when I do I have to draw them. Don’t worry, I’m discreet about it.

I saw a lady earlier this week and instantly thought: that is me in sixty years. It tickled me pink!

With her fuchsia coat and her leopard print scarf. Her Ugg boots and her giant sunglasses. Her bare legs and her flowered cane. Oh, and her turban. How Audrey Hepburn is that?

So I thought I’d share with you her picture. I drew it on the bus, then when I came home I traced over it with marker. Then I scanned it and photoshopped some colour in for affect.

Maybe this could be a new thing on TLBTC, WHO’D SARAH SEE ON THE BUS TODAY?!

Maybe.

Lord Rataxes.

I am so ready for this semester to be over.

I never get like this. I’m one of those rare souls who enjoy the routine of classes and learning about dead politicians and electoral systems.

But I’m done!

This semester has been so rough. School wise. Life wise?

I’ve never had so many essays, so many papers, so many words.

Last Winter semester was bullshit too. I hope this isn’t a pattern. I’ll have to plan a getaway for next January... Mexico?

I want the sun. I want to paint. To read beautiful books. I want to construct a garden of pumpkins and peppers. Plant flowers (I haven’t decided which ones yet, ideas?). Sleep in.

It sounds like I want retirement.