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.