Tag Archives: General Hospital

Fresh Frosh Meat

How come when I went to University, there was no such thing as Frosh Week?  Or did it exist and I was just too cool for school?  If I had a Frosh Week, I might not have had a nervous breakdown mid-semester because I would have adjusted better, having met new people early.  If I didn’t have a nervous breakdown, I probably wouldn’t have developed agoraphobia.  Not that thing where you are afraid of spiders…please, anyone who has rides my car knows that Charlotte is my co-pilot…Agoraphobia:  You are afraid to leave the house.  I barely left my tiny, perfect, one room apartment for 3 months.  But!  If I didn’t develop agoraphobia, I would have totally missed Luke and Laura’s wedding on General Hospital.  Things happen for a reason, that’s for sure.  Destiny!  Fate!   Blah!  Blah!  There are no false moves, only that tramp Destiny and her lesser known alter-ego, that slacker Shmestiny, making waves with that dashing leading man, Fate, and each of those ho’s have an agenda.  Oh, it’s all Destiny spooning Fate when Luke and Laura fall in love and get married, it’s meant to be!   But when  Shmestiny and Fate dry-hump on a futon, suddenly you have to drop a course because of your poor attendance record.  And having to go to summer school is a fate worse than all the Labour Day weekends lined up in a row of 80 years.  You know how I hate Labour Day.   Yes, Freud, obviously this metaphoric mess is all about what happened in Kindergarten.

Baaah!  Daughter Evangeline has some issues (but not mine) and yesterday she attended her first day of Frosh Week at her campus at the University of Toronto.  She is much much smarter than her mother and deserves the great academic success that she had in high school.  I dropped her off on Labour Day Monday at her campus, no traffic, smooth ride with a bag of nerves, “I’m going to barf, ” she said.  “Come home when you want, you don’t need to stay the whole day,” I said.  “Drop me off around the corner,” she said as we pulled in.  Turned out every mother, father, chihuahua, were also dropping off a froshlet right in front of the building.  “You’ll meet some people, don’t worry,”  I said as I parked, out of the way.  We sat in the car in silence for a few minutes.  Down the way, the engineering student were dressed in yellow hard hats and bellowing at the top of their lungs.

“I don’t want to do those cheers!”  she said.

“As if!  You don’t have to cheer.  That’s when you can stand out of the way and find someone else who will mock the rest of the lot and then you can bond!”  I said.

She got out of the  car reluctantly but didn’t come back til midnight.  She met some new friends in the first hour, and one of them is “billeting” at our house, that’s “sleeping over” in university speak.  All is good with Destiny!  And as for Fate, her frosh kit included a condom so it’s all left up to what path she chooses.  She knows her way.  Godspeed, my baby.






L*A*Z*Y: It Works For Me

Teenage Summer Fun

It’s the middle of summer which means it’s the beginning of the end.  Even though I haven’t been in school for decades (shh), the feeling of dread when August comes around is as intense as it ever was.  If Sheryl Crowe can say “40 is the new 30” (then by sequential patterns, you can add that 50 is the new 20….yay!), and then I can say August is the new June.  There’s an entire month left plus another week because Labour Day is late this year.  Oh, how I hate Labour Day.  The word “labour” is the antithesis of summer when being lazy is on the “to do” list.  So here is my summer bucket list (less like a bucket and more like a plastic sand pale from the dollar store):

sit on porch…check

read Book of Negroes…check

finish that bottle of tequila…2/3 check

ride the Behemoth….not yet

swim in a murky Lake Ontario….not yet

clean closets….hahaha, not yet

And that’s pretty much all, not quite as ambitious as my teenage summers where I would cram in the full lineup of ABC soap operas:  All My Children, One Life To live, General Hospital AND still manage to get a tan (the secret to that was moving the basement tv close to the window and blocking the glare with an umbrella).  Those were the hazy days of summer, and at night we would prowl like cats on the River Road, looking for boys and trouble but settling for a Mr. Freezie and then walking home with a single bare foot because one Jesus sandal snapped and then stepping on a piece of broken glass (a Brador bottle, no doubt:  Quebec, circa 1978) and having to get a tetanus shot the next morning at the walk-in clinic which was beside the pharmacy where the Archie comics were displayed in a carousel.  I still remember how the paper and ink smelled in those Betty and Veronicas.  And do you know what, I checked out an episode of one of my old soaps and some of the characters are still there, Botoxed and sandpapered, to which I say: nice work if you can get it, Erica Kane.