Beware the Allergen!

TUESDAY, APRIL 6th:

24 30h
Looking at Easter pictures with my dad. Laughed so hard I started coughing and couldn't stop.

24 40h
Realized I wasn't coughing from laughter, I was coughing because my throat was itchy and beginning to swell. Can't find "my effin' epipen!"

24 45h
Family zooms out of house.

24 50h
Arrive at Scarborough Grace Hospital. Immediately put on oxygen and IV fluids.
Doctor orders: 0.3 epinephrine IM
Respiratory Tech orders: Ventolin breathing treatment, nebs

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 7:
00 00h
The Ventolin tastes weird. The only things I ate was some bread that I get from the same place, every week, and Pepsi. So what caused this reaction? And where the EFF was my epipen?! I need to go to the washroom really, really badly. Discover that I'm less stable on my feet than I thought.

My mom helps me down the hallway and then I see a dead body, all wrapped up. We have a hissing argument about whether or not it's dead before I go in the washroom. When I emerge, and we're walking back, she sees it and tells me it freaks her out. She's the one with all the ghost stories!

00 30h
RT and MD listen to my lungs. Still wheezy, although I feel almost completely normal. Another breathing treatment, another half hour.

01 00h
Doctor sends my mom and dad out to buy an epipen from the closest 24h pharmacy. He tells me to rest, because the epi and the 2 Ventolin treatments caused my heart rate to go up. I fall into a fitful sleep, which is partially made better by the nurse in the yellow scrub top.

03 30h
Free! My O2 and heart rate are at normal levels. I'm exhausted from the reaction itself, but the epi gave me a lot of nervous energy. When I get home, I hold onto the kitchen counter and jump up and down to release some of it. Doesn't work. It's a really strange feeling- full of energy and completely exhausted at the same time.

All throughout Wednesday my throat hurt, probably from coughing so hard to get some air in. I didn't eat until the evening because I was so frightened- I still don't know what caused the reaction, so how can I eat anything?! It's out there- lurking- Beware The Allergen.

Give Me Leaders: The Tyranny of False Values - Gonzalo Gonzalez

I picked up one of my dad's old texts - Philippines Prose and Poetry for Appreciate, Volume IV - and found this on pages 346-350. Here it is in its entirety, with the original punctuation and spelling from the book.

The Tyranny of False Values - Gonzalo Gonzalez

I am the youth of the land. I am told that I am inconstant and frivolous, that am soft and easygoing. I am accused of being supercilious and cynical, of not having the right attitude. And since I do not know where this country is headed for, that they wonder with a gloomy sense of foreboding what I shall do with this land when it is left to me as my heritage, when it is willed to me as my own.

I am the youth of the land. I am cynical, I do not have the right attitude. But looking around me, I see a wooden platform gaily bedecked with the red, white and blue of my country. The band plays the national anthem, my heart swells with pride as do the hearts of Filipinos, shoving and crowding as far as the eye can see. The speaker rises-the tumult and the clamor dies. He brings: Fellow countrymen: We should support militant Filipinism, we should hold all things Filipino in high esteem, we should patronize home industry. I, the youth of the land, am impressed; I, the youth of the land, glow with patriotic fervor; I, the youth of the land, am convinced-almost. For I, with the irrepressible curiosity of youth, look up and see that the speaker, like myself, is a Filipino-more than that, he is my leader, and he is wearing a hat from Italy, a shirt from New York, trousers of the finest wool of New England, shoes from Great Britain, jewelry from France, and perhaps, underwear from Japan. I, the youth of the land, am disappointed. But my leaders say that I am cynical, and our leaders know whereof they speak.

I listen to exhortations towards the leader of a strenuous and Spartan life, that our race may gain in strength, that our people may drink deep of the blood and iron of stamina-that we Filipinos shall be equal to the tasks that face us, in a merciless world. But I cannot help listening to tales of wonderment and magnificence that float over the waters of Manila Bay and over our inland seas-as our leaders prepare us for the struggle of an independent existence by teaching us a life of comfort and ease-a life garbed in the velvet and gold of luxury, yet rotted to the core by the cancer of racial degeneracy. I, the youth of the land, am disillusioned. But in my disillusionment I see the shattered dreams of my leaders who bid me follow a path they do not tread, who command me bear a torch they do not light, who will me a trust they do not keep. But my leaders say that I am supercilious and insincere, and our leaders know whereof they speak.

I am the youth of the land. I am easygoing and parasitic. I am irresponsible. Perhaps I should cease to be parasitic by being politic. Perhaps I should be a man of responsibility-a man responsible for a certain number of votes in one little corner of the party's official map. For I may be a lawyer, doctor, writer, merchant, farmer, soldier,-make me what you wil- but if I do not possess the ability of backslapping, of saying "Yes sir, amigo, compadre, honorable," then I am a useless appendage to society. Why should I work my fingers to the bone, why should I throw on me the ponderous burden of responsibility, when I see that the third cousin in the maternal line of the collateral relative once removed of this leader is given a choice position by virtue of his eminent qualifications for the post, qualifications based not upon the degree of merit according to the Civil Service, but upon the degree of relationship according to the Civil Code. To the youth of the land it may seen anomalous that his leaders, who have been able to climb to their present heights of eminence because of the democratic tenet of equality of opportunity, refuse this same concession-nay, this same right to those who come after them. To the youth of the land it may seem disastrous for his government to content itself with entrusting its services to those who cannot fulfill the demands of those services, and thus sow the seed of discord and lack of faith among a people. To the youth of the land it may seem humorous-for it pays to be humorous when one cannot be anything else. But my leaders say that the youth of the land is parasitic and irresponsible, and our leaders know whereof they speak.

I am the youth of the land. I am inconstant and frivolous. Perhaps I should look to my leaders, they being the embodiment of constancy and serious-mindedness. For, is it not constancy to publicly celebrate innumerable birthdays-that the official calendar shall have 365 days-each day named after one government saint-San Miguel, San Vicente, San Jose, San Ramon, San Joaquin-and birthday upon birthday, celebration upon celebration, contribution upon contribution-to guarantee their political well-wishers many happy returns. It is not constancy to eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may not be renominated? Is it not constancy to perpetually entangle oneself in the melee of party strife, instead of eventually taking the disinterested and constructive attitude of the statesman? For, while the right to vote may be a democratic prerogative, while any man may have the right to run for office, there also exists the democratic right of seeing that the men in office represent their constituents, not the party, that the men in office shall serve the people, not themselves, that the men in office shall be constructive, not destructive. But my leaders say that I am inconstant and frivolous, and our leaders know whereof they speak.

I am the youth of the land. I do not stand before you to whitewash my errors. I admit that the accusations hurled against me are in great part true. But in all justice, in all fairness, in all deference to truth, do not hold me entirely accountable for my failings, do not overburden me with the sins of the world, do not crucify me on a cross I did not fashion.

I For, if you, my accusers, are led astray by the veneer of democracy, if you are deceived by the sham of formality, do not expect that I be serious-minded and constant, do not stand outraged if I flaunt the tinseled trappings of my forebears.

If you, my accusers, those wide open the doors of opportunity to competent and the incompetent, if you welcome the responsible and irresponsible, do not ask that I be competent, do not demand that I be responsible.

If you, my accusers, have not progressed from politics to statesmanship and have done little constructive work at the age of fifty, do not demand that I mature from childhood to manhood, that I move the earth at twenty.

For you, my leaders, are of today and yesterday. Yours was the youthfulness that first saw the light of freedom dawn, mine is the youthful spirit that sees the light of liberty imperilled. Yours was the hand that struck at the heart of an empire; mine, the hand born to build the eternal. Do not train me to a leadership that cannot be mine, do not show me an indolence I can never afford, do not accustom me to an arrogance I shall never enjoy, do not lead me into a way of life I shall never know. For I cannot build without my strength, I cannot suffer without any hopes, I cannot live without my dreams.

I may be youth-I may be inexperienced-but I am not blind. I can see the future with a certainty that I alone can feel, for I feel it in my blood. As I see my leaders who have built a towering mansion of state on sand. and the sand shifts and the towering mansion falls. Not a pillar stands, for all is ruin. and wandering among the shambles and in that mass of ruins I stumble upon the monuments of upturned graves of my leaders. And my soul is black with resentment, and I curse them with a hatred that only youth can possesss, as I state at the bleak sky and wear: May your memory be damned by my destiny! And the picture becomes vaguer, and more fearful in its vagueness, as it comes closer and grows more terrifying in its certainty. And I am alone and helpless in my youth, and I reach forth for a hand to guide me. And what I ask is so little.

Give me leaders who shall lift themselves above the morass of party strife, who shall devote themselves no longer to the privileged minority but to the cause of the underprivileged majority.

Give me leaders who shall lead lives fraught with hardship and sacrifice, who shall demand of themselves before they demand of me.

Give me leaders who shall leave successors tempered in the crucible of merit.

Give me leaders and theirs is my mind to mould. Give me leaders and theirs is my blood to shed. Give me leaders and theirs is my will to command. Give me leaders and theirs is my destiny to shape. Give me leaders-and I shall follow them to the ends of the earth.

The Right To Bare Breasts

Supermodels often lack any kind of womanly bust. More often than not, they're modeling their faces and their bodies, but not their chests.

I love my breasts! I think they're my best physical asset, and I love to show them off. I once tried to argue that I felt it was the same as Heidi Klum modeling her bodacious ass and perfect visage.

In truth, there is something powerful in having what I think is an awesome bust. Female sexuality can be incredibly empowering. I use it two ways- one, the most obvious, is to exploit others er-needs, to get what I want. A simple touch on one's knee can make them many times more open to whatever you have to propose. At times, I wonder if I'm objectifying myself just to get say, someone to chew with their mouth closed. Most of the time I don't have a problem with it.

The second way I use my sexuality to empower myself is when setting goals and tackling difficult tasks. I am a strong woman, I am a smart woman, I can achieve anything!

Perhaps what differs between myself and SOME of my covered-up brethren is that I own my sexuality. I am comfortable, and love, my breasts. I know that by showing cleavage I am not inviting men into my bed, I'm just proud of my body! I think I need to own that attitude too.

Get Off My Shunt! Cardiovascular System in Chalk Art

Sometimes there are bonuses for going to school during the summer. Like studying on your driveway! (Gratuitous Speedy shot of course!)

Turtle Jello Food

Speedy absolutely refuses to eat vegetables. She won't eat a carrot, a leaf, anything. (Just like her mother...) Since she's an older turtle than most, she needs more vegetables than protein. When I was a noob at the Red Eared Sliders forum, I came across someone's thread on "jello shots."

Here is my latest batch of Speedy's jello shots:
1 tin President's Choice wet cat food - Seafood
1/4 lb Shrimp
1 box and 2 clearance bags of Spring Mix salad
Berries - in this case, dried cranberries
Pellets
Calcium powder
Gelatin powder

I was going to get another can of tuna or salmon or whatever, but then I was in the pet food aisle and I saw cod/sole/shrimp pâté for 56cents! My mom once snuck Speedy a shrimp and she loved it, so I got a very very small quantity to add to the tiny tin of cat food.

Using the food processor I ground the salad into small, medium, and medium-large pieces. I de-shelled and sauteed the shrimp, then ground that into tiny chunks. I stirred pellets, cut up dried cranberries, the pâté, some calcium powder and the shrimp together. Then I dumped that in with all sizes of salad and mixed it all together. I put a generous helping onto the tip of a spoon for Speedy to taste- she approves! No need to add like...strawberry jam or anything then. Add gelatin powder dissolved into water and spoon it into flexible ice trays, and store in the freezer.

Easy, but so much more healthy than just pellets. Plus it tastes better, I'd think. The only caveat I have is that you have to feed speedy in a separate box, because even with the gelatin it really makes the water dirty.

Kat's Crepe Batter Experiments 2

What a difference a day makes...24, little hours.

You may not need 24 hours, but letting your batter sit overnight makes the most decadently thin, light crepes. Even the worst batter is improved drastically.

I would have had a picture for you, but all the crepes I made are in my tummy.

Here is the second recipe:
1 ½ cups of flour
3 eggs
400ml of milk
2 tablespoons of butter

There is so little salt and sugar in the original recipe that I omitted them completely and didn't notice anything missing. I increased the quantity of milk because although having 3 eggs gave it the right viscosity the cooked crepes were kind of chewy. Yuck! Much more milk results in a thinner batter, (easier to spread around!) and thinner crepes, which I could argue are better.

If you're going to double the batch to make immediately, DO NOT put in six eggs. Five eggs will suffice, just add in more milk to get the desired consistency.

Finally! Before and After X-Ray's - Hallux Valgus Surgery

Okay fellow weirdos! I've finally put together the films from the bilateral hallux valgus repair with proximal metatarsal osteotomy. Let's break that down:
Bilateral - two sides
Hallux - the big toe
Valgus - a genus of beetles. but also, a displacement of a limb AWAY from the midline of the body. The opposite of valgus is varus.
Proximal - close to the end, or close to an attachment in a structure (in this case, a bone)
Metatarsal - feet bones!
Osteotomy - cutting of a bone (osteo = relating to bones, -tomy = chopchopchop?)

So, when you put that together, bilateral means both feet, hallux valgus refers to a displacement of the first toe, proximal metarsal osteotomy refers to cutting the end of a foot bone.


BEFORE: April 15th 2009 - Ew, look at those joints! If you follow the bones up to the ankle they look all squashed up.


1 DAY POST SURGERY - November 24th 2009 - These incredibly painful to take. Now, the x-ray rooms at Scarborough Grace are AWESOME. The whole machine moves on tracks that go up, down, and across the ceiling so I really didn't have to do anything. However, just having my chopped up feet attached to my body was so painful that the little movement required to get the different angles was...less than pleasant. At the time I thought this was a normal amount of pain, but when I think back...OW


17 DAYS POST SURGERY - December 10th 2009 - I cried over these casts/dressings. There was this stupid hard part that kept rubbing against the incisions, and they were so itchy and it was terribly frustrating not to be able to use either of your feet. Plus, as the swelling came down they became looser which just exacerbated the influx of obsessions and compulsions that come with general discomfort, frustration, and pain.

5 WEEKS POST SURGERY - December 30th 2009 - Ah, the fateful day it was decided that my left foot needed a revision. This is also the same day that they discovered the pin had poked out through MY FLESH. (It didn't hurt at all though, isn't that nice?) I was in an exponentially better mood because the dreaded dressings were coming off, (oh, freedom to scratch carefully!) I could peel off that dead skin and rub in some good ol' fashioned vaseline along with the antibiotic for my poor, dried up feet, and I was still on a Boxing Day high.

Coming up next in the adventure:
The revision of my left foot repair on April 19th, 2010. Thankfully scheduled on the last week of first semester so that I could write my exams early, then just sleep through the pain for two weeks without missing out on class. (Of course, I then get to find my way through a percocet haze to pay attention in physics, chemistry II, math II, and anatomy & physiology. Fun.)

Kat's Crepe Batter Experiment - Recipe 1

^not my crepe! But it looks good, doesn't it.

Crêpes are so versatile. They can be savoury, you can fill them up with a salad (gross!) for a healthy snack, or you can go the complete opposite way and load them up with brown sugar like me, or nutella, bananas, caramel, and nuts (yuck!) like some other people I know.

I’ve been working with a basic crêpe recipe and so far have turned up this yummy, not-too-eggy, almost thin batter.

You need:
1 ½ cups of flour
2 tablespoons of sugar
½ teaspoon of salt
3 eggs
200ml of milk
2 tablespoons of butter

2 medium-large mixing bowls
1 small bowl
1 small cup
1 fork
1 sifter/strainer/thingy
1 non-stick frying pan
1 flipping thing
1 rice server

1. Sift the flour, sugar and salt together into a mixing bowl.

2. Cut the butter up, put it in the small cup and set it in the microwave on low power for about 1 ½ minutes.

3. Beat the eggs in the small bowl.

4. Dump the eggs, milk, and melted butter into flour, sugar, and salt and mix furiously with the fork.

5. Once the wet and dry ingredients are mixed together as well as you can with the fork, place the sifter over the second mixing bowl and push the batter through. This will ensure a well mixed, smooth consistency.

6. Wash the dishes you’ve used! I always wash the dishes I’ve used at this point, I hate having extra clutter around.

7. Set the stove at a medium heat- too high and the crepes will burn before you can turn them or add your fillings, too low and it’ll be slow.

8. A rice server is the perfect size for each crêpe. Ladle in one scoop of batter and tilt the pan until it’s evenly covered.

9. When the edges of the crêpe start to peel off, flip it. You can add your fillings immediately.

10. When the bottom looks done to you, you can set it on a plate to cool and continue cooking, OR you can CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP right away.

This batter keeps well, in fact I find it has a better consistency if you leave it in the fridge for a night. Just stir it well when you use it again. If it’s been more than a week, sniff it to make sure the dairy products haven’t gone bad. Happy crêpe-ing!

Post Surgery Foot Care

The day you get your dressings off is a great day- and also kind of weird. You're anxious to get the damn things off your feet but when you do, it's a whole new foot. And you've got a hard layer of excess skin just ready to peel off.

Under that tough, dried up skin is more dead skin, and under that dead skin is fresh new skin. Soft and not at all crunchy. So you think, "hey, I want to maintain this post-surgery awesome skin!"

Not to worry, I've got the answer.

Before you get started lay out your tools:

• 1 pair of socks you don't mind getting waxy
  
• 1 spacer for each foot
• 1 tub of Burt's Bees miracle or hand salve
• 1 tablespoon of baby powder

Clean off each foot and rub the Burt's Bees thoroughly into your skin. Coat the spacers with baby powder, insert them between your big toes, (you want to maintain the surgery, not just the skin) and put on a pair of socks. The socks will keep the salve from rubbing off and when you take 'em off you'll have soft, protected foot skin.

I especially like this because of the smells...beeswax is so homey and sweet, while baby powder is just one of those scents that makes you kind of happy. Unless you've ever had a baby with diarrhea, in which case I'm not sure baby powder would remind you of happy memories.

Next week, Big Bunny shows you how to keep your ears from getting sunburned.

After Hallux Valgus Surgery I (warning: slightly gross pictures)

No x-rays yet, those are in my chart at Scarborough Grace. Kind of, they're on the Grace intranet thingy. Anyway, you can see how straight my feet are now! My big toes have to be pulled out so that the bones don't fall back into their old positions, but that space between them will even out once I'm 100% recovered.

My left foot is still much worse than my right, so the big toe refuses to be pulled enough. (warning: somewhat graphic descriptions) Unlike the right foot, that long incision along the side has little flaps in it, which healed kind of ugly. They put steri-strips on them because the edges weren't stitched together properly. It's still swollen, so they wrapped it extra tight which means it hurts extra much, in addition to pulling on the toe.

Stay tuned!

The Path to Medicine Is Winding and Steep

...and I do not know if I can wend my way down a path so deep.

Readers, you know me. You know that ever since Mrs. Genova got metal filing to move around with magnets I've been obsessed with science. When in grade five Mr. DeKort handed out sheets with pictures of skeletons on them I couldn't get enough of health. That year I memorized every single bone on those sheets. The next year, I did a science project on cells. That's right, a whole project just on cells and how cells work. I thought it was mesmerizing. I could have stood up there and talked about cells for hours, "this is the mitochondria it processes and creates energy and it-" on and on... I really didn't understand why people weren't excited about it! Gosh, I was such a nerd...

From the moment I memorized that skeleton I knew I wanted to be a doctor. I'd "get into" Mary Ward CSS, (that was when I thought you had to apply for and be accepted to high schools) which would foster a strong foundation in independent learning while managing a part-time job and occasionally volunteering. I would then seek a spot at U of T in the Health Sciences: Human Biology and Disease program. I would try to continue working but would find that the coursework is too heavy, (yes, I planned on that) and would drop the part-time job. I would live in residence to experience university life. In second year I might actually end up moving back home to save money- I wasn't sure at that point. I would begin taking MCAT prep courses on the side and during third year I would write the MCAT. I would get quite nervous while doing it and void the exam. I would take it again and do well, enter medical school, struggle with all the memorization but in time become an excellent diagnostician and make some small headway in the specialization of my choice. Oh, I would also have 2 or 3 kids and get married in a medium ceremony in a park at dusk but without mosquitoes. (I had figured that by the time I met the love of my life the world would have invented a way to have outdoor night parties without bugs.)


Somewhere I got off track.

No, I'm joking, I know where I got off track. Two years before I "got into" Mary Ward CSS Centre for Self-Directed Learning I discovered that things don't always go as plan. Two years AFTER I was at Mary Ward my world finally, gratefully, stopped. I had been trying to slow it down for ages.

So it happened that when I was 15, I became a high-school drop out. Oh, don't get me wrong, I was enrolled for 3.5 more years, but I hardly attended school. I waited for death. I waited on the off-chance that I would be happy. It worked! One day I woke up and said, "g'day mate!" and emerged into my new Australia, care of Dr. Horrible. (That joke was horrible, I'm sorry.) (I'm also sorry for the pun.)

Throughout that time I was learning that my life doesn't revolve around school. There was more to me than being a student. I have had the most excellent summer. I went to the beach, shopping, rode the streetcars, cheap stuff. Free stuff, mostly. Then I applied for the pre-health science program at George Brown College.

The funny thing about pre-health science is that it does not get you into any science program at any university. You study courses like biology, chemistry, mathematics, anatomy, and physiology, but if you transfer to a university level institution you will not satisfy the requirements for a science program.

I must go to university. There is only so much a girl's family can take, I need to go to university. So I'm going to transfer from the field I love to one I might not hate- social work. Several schools offer the BSW program that can get me into advanced standing for an MSW should I not be able to get into medical school. Four years down the road I will discover that I...still need science courses.

Unfortunately I didn't get into the science programs for uni so I will have to take those separately, (and pay separately) in what is called a postbaccalaureate premed program. THEN I can take MCAT prep courses and apply for medical school.

~

I love medicine. I think it's facinating. I think it's awesome, the way a zygote turns into a full-grown human being, I think it's cool that on Monday I came in with a bit of extra bone in my feet and on Tuesday I left with less bone but stronger feet. I think washing out wounds and suturing them is like a dance, flesh and needle. I look at my xrays and I think, "look at that. Look how my bones have displaced themselves, the strange angle they're at. Look at how they're normally placed, how that all works together. If I just look at the bones in this xray and ignore the outline of flesh, it's like wearing a pair of heels all the time, there's hardly any bone holding me up! Piles of tiny tiny bones working together to keep me upright. Tendons and muscles and tissues and flesh just to make that one pinky toe work."


Out of all of my friends I am the one who knows most what I want to be doing when I'm old and grey. I don't have the certificates or the papers but I know what I love and I'd be good at it, I just need somebody who can teach me. I'm ready.

Before Hallux Valgus Surgery

I have more recent films taken from October, but my doctor needed those in the OR. She let me keep these older images from April 15th, 2008. I think they're fantastic. You can see the bone structure underneath my bunions- see how the first (big) toe is deviated so far from the rest? That's pretty awesome.

I had surgery on Monday Sept 23rd 2009. Right now my feet are wrapped up in twin casts, so seeing the outline of my soft, foot flesh is kind of making me miss them. Silly feet! I hope I get to see the after shots!

Book Quiz !

What To Do: Using only books you have read this year (2009), answer these questions. Try not to repeat a book title. It’s a lot harder than you think!

Describe yourself: The Chrysalids (John Wyndham)

How do you feel: The Dream Where The Losers Go (Beth Goobie)

Describe where you currently live: How To Be Canadian (Will Ferguson)

If you could go anywhere, where would you go? Red Audrey and the Roping (Jill Malone)

Your favorite form of transportation: Gazelle (Rikki Durnoket)

Your best friend is: Alt Ed (Catherine Atkins)

You and your friends are: See Above.

What’s the weather like: Burned (Ellen Hopkins)

You fear: The Bar Code Tattoo (Suzanne Weyn)

What is the best advice you have to give: The Hedonism Handbook (Michael Flocker)

Thought for the day: The Devil Wears Prada (Lauren Weisburger)

How I would like to die: Elsewhere (Gabrielle Zevin)

My soul’s present condition: Lost and Found (Carolyn Parkhurst)

Clean House

If you refer back to How To Survive a Messy House, Part 1 and Part 2, you'll see my house as it normally is. This is after I took advantage of my parents being on vacation to clean up. This is my room before the big clean up.

Lolo's Birthday - July 2009

Yonge-Dundas Square is Growing on Me

In the beginning I thought Yonge-Dundas Square, (hereunto called yd2 because it's cooler) was butt ugly. Here was a giant grey square of concrete plonked down in the middle of the city, surrounded by blaring billboards and obnoxiously loud advertisements.



The city continued to promote the square and I steered away from all the events. I was not interested in our wannabe Times Square. I also steered away from using the yd2 entrance to the Dundas subway station- it was surrounded by metal vents the perfect size for dropping your token, tickets or god-forbid Metropass down.

The difference between yd2 and Times Square is the meeting space. That square of concrete created a venue for concerts, films, festivals, and a multitude of other events. FREE events. In a city where it costs at least $2.50 to get on the bus FREE is always appreciated.

Plants appeared, (no trees yet) and it became- well, cool. I'd cross the street diagonally, hop across the concrete while keeping a firm hold on my Metropass, skip through the water fountains and land at the Info Booth. They could really use the Internet in there to google some answers.

This weekend I passed through the Live Green festival and thought it was pretty cool. Parts of Yonge St had been closed, but I imagine a much smaller fest could go on in The Square without shutting down the streets.

Tonight I emerged to yd2 and found all those silver chairs lined up in front of the video screen. There sat a group of people, complete strangers, watching a movie in the middle of a city. The Walk-In-Movies. That's incredible. Around them streetcar bells tolled, the scramble crossing chirped and beeped, the advertisements talked, an incredible amount of money changed hands and yet everyone was just sitting there, engrossed in this movie.

Pride brings queers and allies together during the last week of June. Community centers bring people from the neighbourhood together. Parks bring potheads, teenage lovers, and happy kids together. Harbourfront has this lovely patch of fake grass I like because I'm not fond of bumpy ground. Harbourfront hosts festivals like Luminato. But yd2 brings people from all over the city- and sometimes from all over the world to do something simple together. Watch a movie, listen to a group. You don't need an itinerary to meet new people at yd2, just drop in and see what you find.

I think it'll grow on you too.

The Best Coming Out Ever

I was sitting at the table with my cousin and niece. She was busy telling me all about who would her Prince when she finished eating and we could play Princesses. She had two choices - Justin Timberlake or Michael Jackson.

She offered me Michael Jackson to be my Prince, but I told her I wasn't really interested in either one of them. "So who's gonna be your Prince Tita Tina?"
"Uhm...Doogie Howser."
"Justin Timberlake?"
"Neil Patrick Harris."
"Michael Jackson?"
Then my cousin cut in and said, "Tita Tina is gonna have a wife."

My niece looked at me and went, "Okay. Then I get Justin Timberlake AND Michael Jackson?"

----

Thank God for my cousins and their kids. For my cousins it was like, "What?" to "Whatever." Fantastic! I mean, one of them even helped me out with which bars...

But the kids are like, "And?" That's like, total Ideal Coming Out. It's not a revelation or a change or a period of mushed up pronouns.

And I thought I couldn't love them anymore.

Kat's Tips and Household Tricks

I didn't actually write these, they're compiled from a number of sources. Anyway, they're so freaken awesome I invite you to check out the link. I've tried 75% of them and they all work, it's amazing.

Kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat's Tips and Household Tricks!
Click the link to view and d/l the google doc!

On another note, I burned my eyelid while curling my hair. Beauty really is pain. Seriously.

Marry Me Doogie!!!

I've just finished watching all 4 seasons of Doogie Howser, M.D. (1989-1993)

If Doogie Howser wasn't fictional or 17 years older than me I would marry the guy.

• He's a dork. In season 1 he was 16 and had a pudgy face, giant hair, horrible ties and gigantic dress shirts. In season 4 he was 19 and still had horrible ties.
  I'm a dork. I spout random knowledge, am pretty awkward, and say the darnest things.
  
• He's constantly learning new things about himself. Doogie can be a jerk, but eventually he learns something new about how he and the world interact.
  Me too! I learned that I can be bossy, pretty angry, overly self-conscious, etc... but through life, (and therapy) I too figure out ways to be more harmonious with the world I live in.
  
• He writes a short journal every night, documenting changes in his perspective.
  I don't write in my diary every night, but I do write often, especially about how my thoughts evolve and change. I tend to write pages and pages then not at all.
  
• He's a doctor.
  I want to be a doctor.
• He's 6'1".
  I'm 5'1". We'd be hilarious just standing next to each other.
  
• Although he started out shy about sex, he became more confident about it. He could teach me to be more comfortable with anything beyond closed-mouth kissing.
• He moved out, then moved back home, then moved out to a place what he'd almost own when he was ready.
  I need my own place. Having this weekend to myself has only strengthened my conviction to move out as soon as it's financially feasible.
  
• He's OK with the gay! In fact, he helped Vinnie get over his misconceptions about having a gay roommate in his dorm.
  I'm one of the gays! In fact, I'm a teensy bit active about helping people get over the misconceptions about the sexuality/gender spectrum.
• He and his best friend really mean a lot to each other, and they're not afraid of that. I respect that kind of strong relationship.
• His idea of a rockin' New Year's Eve party is an intimate, formal affair with shrimp and cocktails. But when his plans went wrong he partied like an animal and loved it.
  I've been dreaming of having an intimate, formal garden party with shrimp and cocktails. But I'm also interesting in partying like a penguin. (Yea Penguathelon!!!)
  
• He owns a tuxedo.
  I love people in tuxedos.
• His loft is decorated the way I think I'd like to decorate. Light, airy, open space...less than ideal neighbours though...
• For a long time he worried about his leukemia coming back, and that kept him from enjoying life. Instead he rushed through, afraid that he wouldn't have time for it. That's one of the things he realized in the series finale. He uses his experience to gain insight towards being a better doctor and a better person.
  I worry about my depression and anxiety. I think I'm doing pretty well at having fun, while still being careful about it. I try to talk about in a way that eases people out of believing myths that contribute to stigma. I'm learning to live like your average teen instead of being scared it'll come back. It probably will, so I might as well take advantage of the good times now.
• He changes his mind about people. Like when Raymond held him and Vinnie up at the convenience store he learned more about Ray and ended up being friends with him. I like that.
• He's romantic!

I hope that's the person I'll marry. Someone with a kind, open heart, good friendships and healthy relationships, funny, some similar interests, someone who has things to teach me, someone who is willing to change his or her mind, and someone who gets the good and the bad stuff. I think we'd be happy, whoever he or she is.

Something weird is happening with the buses...

Last night I was making my way home, your average commute from the city. I emerged from the subway tunnels into a world enveloped with a deep blue sky. I smiled, drinking in the calm of the bus station. I didn't wait long before a bus came along, snagging a prime spot by the window.

Slowly people filled it until it chugged away. We hadn't travelled far when the bus stopped- and didn't start again. For a while I was oblivious, engrossed in choosing the perfect playlist on my mp3. Then the other passengers started to get restless. A few jumped off, choosing to walk instead. It was fifteen minutes before the bus started up again. We trundled slowly by, and out the window I saw two other stalled vehicles. One bus heading south, completely darkened and abandoned. Another with occupants, like mine, frozen in the left turning lane.

Night had fallen deeper when the bus turned a corner and stopped once again. The riders started calling home, telling their friends and family's that they would be late. In a few minutes the driver told us all to exit via the back doors and catch the bus on the sidestreet.

An empty bus, seemingly waiting for us sat in a small street perpendicular to our route. We piled onto it, at first hesitantly, then in a mad dash to grab the good seats. The two drivers conferred, then switched buses. Finally we were on the move again. This second change of events drew a pall over the group, a sense that something was wrong. Several blocks down the line we had to switch buses again. Was this it? Was this all some mad plan, years in the works to exact revenge on the passengers that tormented the TTC so much? Was one of these buses doomed to die?

Were we on the doomed bus?

I boarded the new bus taking care to give a quiet, "good evening" and smile to the driver before taking a seat. Here was a new set of people, most of which had never been on a stopped bus. Happily I departed after two blocks, afraid to risk staying on any longer.

Something strange was going on, and I am glad to have survived it. I can only hope I still survive after passing on my plight to you. Godspeed, my readers.