Susieboldt's Blog

Random Comments from a Dreamer

A Lack of Maturity

I don’t feel like a twenty-three year old.

Okay, let me rephrase that. I don’t feel like an adult.

I look at people the same age as me and some just seem…more mature.

Some twenty-three year-olds dress so sophisticated that I can’t help but stare and wonder where I went wrong. I mean, I have absolutely no sense of style, nor do I desire one. I dress in jeans and tee-shirts and wear ugly Adidas running shoes. I’m into the comfy style, not the stylish style.

Some twenty-three year olds have a child, or multiple children. They care for another life, feed it, change it, and comfort it. I don’t even understand how this works. I look at young mothers and marvel at their ability to raise another human being. I can’t even see myself mature enough to take care of someone else’s child, yet alone one of my own!

Some twenty-three year olds read adult novels with adult themes. They read Jane Austen and Margaret Atwood. I read Stephanie Meyer and Gordon Kormen: teenager and young adult novels. I know I should probably be reading university level novels, considering I’m in university, but I just can’t imagine myself doing that. I also like to write for kids and teenagers.

 It’s a weird feeling, feeling like I’m still immature.

It feels like I’m being left behind.

Many of the women my age are thinking about starting families. Families! I’m petrified at the mere thought. I feel like I’ll be last in this race.

I don’t even understand how this happens. How are some people my own age so much more mature than me?

I was driving around the other day and I saw some graffiti in the shape of male genitalia. Now most mature people would scoff at such a blatant display of disrespect for public property. I, on the other hand, pointed and laughed. As much as it’s just wrong to paint genitalia on…well, anything…I couldn’t help but find it funny. Why? Because I’m immature. This is the only explanation I can come up with.

I feel like I’m still seventeen. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe I should relish in my immaturity and enjoy it.

What is the boundary between maturity and immaturity? What makes someone mature, or immature? I just don’t know anymore. I’m still mulling it over.


July 28, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 3 Comments

An Update on My Lost and Lonely Bike

A few weeks ago I shared with you the harrowing story of my lost and lonely bike.

I’ve been meaning to update you for quite some time now, but it just fell onto the backburner of blog post topics. So prepare yourselves for this conclusive update.

There were only two options that could have explained what happened to my bike.

Option A: My bike was, sadly, stolen.

Option B: I lost my bike.

I had never anticipated a third option.

I was sitting in my living room when it happened. My cousin, who at the time was living with my husband and I, had ventured into our shed(s) (it has two separately locked compartments), and discovered something most unusual. He approached me and asked:

Cousin: “So that must be (husband’s name) bike out there, eh?”

Me: “What bike?” Now, at this point in time I was utterly confused. My husband didn’t own a bike.

Cousin: “The bike in the shed. The orange one.”

Me: Blank stare.

Cousin: Blank stare reciprocated back at me.  

Me: “There’s no bike in the sheds, I checked.”

Cousin: “Well there is one. I saw it.”

I bolted from my couch in sheer disbelief, grabbed the shed key, and let my hopes reach heavenward.

I opened shed number two and stared in disbelief. My bike was there. It was twisted all weirdly and covered in cobwebs. But it was there.

The only plausible explanation that I can offer you is that somebody stole my bike, felt horrible about it afterwards, and then out of sheer goodness, returned it.

Or…I just overlooked it in the first place. The bike just happened to be in the shed that I was most afraid to open. You know, the one in which I thought rabid raccoons were living in. I must have just scanned the shed half-heartedly and closed the door before my mind could tell me that the bike was in fact, there and intact.

And to think I was pricing out bikes at the local stores all the while my bike being lonely and neglected in my own shed(s).

The sad thing about this whole situation is that I had really wanted to ride my bike when I had thought it was stolen, but now that I have it, it just sits there, taunting me.

My laziness confounds me.

Thank you Cousin. You are my bike’s hero.

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July 22, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Christmas in July

My husband is obsessed with Christmas.

It’s July and already he’s thinking about December 25th. He had a dream the other night in which he was driving and he kept seeing Christmas lights. He had enjoyed seeing the lights, and even though it was July in his dream, the bright festive lights felt perfectly natural to him. Now, after such a dream, all he can think about is Christmas.

He’s always loved the Christmas holiday. Between him and me, he’s always the first to get into the Christmas spirit. But lately his love for Christmas has turned into an obsession, a harmless obsession, but an obsession nonetheless.

I can just see it now. It’s the future and we’ve become the Griswolds, and we’re fighting a Christmas lights war with our neighbours.

My husband will yell: “Jimmy! Come help your dad put the rest of these lights up!” (Jimmy, of course being our slightly…okay, highly embarrassed teenaged son.)

Jimmy will then respond: “Dad, you’re such a loser! Our entire house is already covered, and it’s negative a million degrees outside! This is complete insanity!”

Dad/husband: “We have to get a head start if we’re going to beat the Thompson’s this year!”

Jimmy: “IT’S OCTOBER!”

Of course, I’ll end up intervening, like all mothers naturally do:

“Jimmy, listen to your father. Here’s a fifty.” Clearly, bribery would be the only approach to get a teenager to put up Christmas lights in October.

Of course, after handing Jimmy fifty bucks, he would put on his jacket and assist his father in his crazy lights obsession.

Yelling wars, bribery, and insane electricity bills. This is what our Christmas’ will eventually become.

Do I have a problem with this inevitable future?

No, not at all. In fact, it sounds incredibly enjoyable and downright fantastic.

My husband was even whistling the tune of jingle bells the other day. After a few minutes of enduring such ridiculousness, I loudly reminded him that it’s JULY. Did that stop him? No, of course not.

Frankly, I’m not even sure what it is about Christmas that he likes so much. It couldn’t possibly be the excess of family gatherings in which you’re expected to shake hands and hug extended members of the family, who you, up until that moment, had no idea was actually a member of the family. It couldn’t possibly be the hustle and bustle of downtown traffic, or the craziness of last minute holiday shoppers. It can’t possibly be the over-played radio Christmas jingles.

So what exactly is it then, that attracts my husband to such a holiday?

It must be the general feeling of Christmas that entices him. You know, that feeling that all’s right with the world, and that feeling of togetherness shared with family members that you do actually know.

But whatever the reason, if my husband whistles any more Christmas jingles before November I’m going to become highly annoyed and maybe even tape his mouth shut with scotch tape.

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July 18, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 4 Comments

Cedar Point

Do you ever wonder why people love roller coasters? Sure they’re a rush and a thrill, but in actuality they’re massive death machines.

Don’t get me wrong, I crave the excitement of roller coasters. I love feeling as though my stomach has dislodged itself and made its new home in my lungs. I love the way the track whips you one way, and then before you’ve even wrapped your head around what way that is, it whips you another way. I love the way my mouth screams and laughs even when I didn’t tell it to.

I was standing in line for one of those rides that carries you hundreds of feet into the air and then drops you when you’re least expecting it, and it hit me then, how crazy we really are for riding these things. We’re putting our precious lives into the heavy steel arms of machinery. Although, as much as these huge machines scare me, they still won’t stop me from riding them.

My family and I went to Cedar Point on Monday. I’m sure you’ve guessed something to that extent already, since I’ve been ranting about roller coasters.

We were all standing in line to ride the Maverick, Cedar Point’s new ride, and I began to feel something very strange, and yet very familiar. I looked over to my husband and I said: “I’m going to faint in fifteen minutes.” I have a track record for fainting and almost fainting whenever it gets hot outside, or I’m working really hard. I know the signs well and I could feel the tingling sensation of my skin turning pale and the wobbling of my weakening legs.

We were half an hour into the Maverick line and I didn’t want to push my way back through the line looking for the exit, so I stayed, convincing myself I could stick through this and command my body not to faint. My body had different ideas, though. I began to lose my vision and all the noises around me began to mix together, like one big siren. I don’t remember much after that. I definitely fainted, and it was definitely in the middle of the line. I can just imagine how this all went down. The line was probably held up by more than sixty feet, which is un-acceptable in theme park lines. I’m sure every single person within my line of sight was staring me down, watching me turn white and then slump to the ground.

Apparently we had been standing next to a Physician. She laid me down (in the line) and helped me to breathe more deeply. I think I was starting to hyperventilate from embarrassment. Some members of my family went to go get one of those little ambulances for me and soon they were carting me away to the first aid centre. I was fine, just a little dizzy.

What struck me as odd and simply fantastic was how nice the Americans were. They were concerned and helpful. Apparently one giant of a man asked my family if they wanted him to carry me out of the line, because he could if he wanted to. Also, as I was being led out of the line, a man from the upper tier of the line looked down to us and yelled: “Take care of her, okay?” Who were these caring and wonderful people, I wondered. If I had fainted in a Canadian theme park line, people probably would have stepped over my limp body, angry over the fact that I was holding up the line.

Of course my family and I had to leave the line and forfeit our spots in line. We got to cut back in though when I was better, all the way to the front of the line! Fainting in line sure has its benefits.

It wasn’t even hot when I fainted, and I was in the shade. Usually it takes a hot sun beating down on me and strenuous work. Apparently not anymore. All that I need now is perfect weather and a horribly inconvenient place to drop.

There’s only one word that I can use to describe this memory: embarrassing.

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July 14, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 6 Comments

The Bikini Babe Calendar

I have this very part-time job in which I deliver car parts to businesses and whatnot. I see some pretty interesting things, and meet some very interesting people.

I noticed something particularly interesting a while ago, concerning a calendar. Now this was not just any ordinary calendar. This calendar was a super-model bikini-wearing issue. It was a babe calendar and the year was 2004. I was staring down the September model, scantily clad in none other than a red and white polka-dotted bikini. The owner of the calendar must really enjoy September model, what with her beach blonde hair, tanned-to-a-crisp skin, and seductive come-hither look, because the page is never flipped to some other girl. The owner of this calendar is neither single, nor childless, which is something I find surprisingly odd.

I have two theories as to why the owner’s kept his calendar up so long. Either he’s truly enamoured by September beach babe and drools over her, wishing wishes, and dreaming dreams; or he’s lazy. Maybe he’s a little bit of both.

If the reason is pure laziness, I understand. I too, have an outdated calendar in my house. Granted, it’s not a calendar filled with almost naked women sprawling beachside. My outdated calendar is filled with pictures of birds. It sits in my garage still turned to November, 2006. I imagine the previous owners were birdwatchers.

I won’t lie to you. Ninety percent of the reason as to why this calendar still hangs collecting dust and cobwebs is: laziness. The amount of energy I would exert taking this calendar down would be inexplicably too much, especially when there’s no good reason to take it down. The other ten percent is due to the fact that it serves as a reminder as to what year my husband and I bought our house. You wouldn’t believe how easily such information is forgotten.

At least my calendar is a bird calendar. I can live with it. I’m not sure how the wife of the bikini-model-calendar owner can stand it. Apparently she too, can live with it. One word: gross.

July 12, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The Twilight Closet

It was only a matter of time before I wrote about Twilight. Get over it.

I used to be proud of my Twilight fetish. I used to read the books in public, on park benches and in fast-food restaurants. I used to wear my Twilight tee-shirt with self confidence, holding my head high. Now, everything’s changed and I’m forced to hide my love. Now, Twilight’s become obsessively popular and faddish.

The popularity of Twilight made it something that it should never have become: a cult. Twilight used to be a series of phenomenal books, well written and captivating. Now, with any mention of the names Edward and Bella, eyes roll and people mock. It’s become an obsession and a craze. Forty year old moms are watching these movies screaming alongside their daughters every time Edward takes his shirt off. Something is seriously wrong with this picture.

I was wearing my Twilight tee-shirt outdoors one day, and a ten year old girl looked up at me with sceptic eyes and said, “Twilight? Really?” I have to deal with this. I can’t get away with being one of those Twilight haters. I love Twilight. I fell in love with the books years ago and stayed up until three in the morning every night reading them.

My friends had expected me to wear my Twilight tee-shirt to the opening night of Eclipse. I purposefully made it dirty so that I wouldn’t have too. What would people think? Here’s this twenty-three year old, wearing an Edward tee-shirt and standing in line to watch Eclipse. Oh boy. I can already see the rolling eyes.

I don’t even like to mention Twilight to people anymore. Too many people assume I’m a Twi-hard. Nope sorry. I’m just a fan, not some obsessed teenager who will wait days outside of a theatre just to see the movie! Um…their called advance tickets, look into them. I’m not a part of the Twilight cult, as some like to refer to it. I don’t have posters of Edward hanging on my ceiling. I don’t have a Jacob shrine equipped with dozens of burning candles or pictures of my face photo shopped over Bella’s. Nope, I’m just an average young adult who loves the books. Sorry to burst any bubbles out there, just in case there were those of you who envisioned me owning all the paraphernalia.

I feel as though people like me, who love Twilight but have now become too embarrassed to admit it, are waiting in the closets. We’re afraid to come out of these closets because of what people will think. This should not be the case. We should feel free and liberated from those dark and musty enclosed spaces. We should be able to open the door, and exclaim to the world, “I love Twilight, and I don’t care who knows!” Of course, this is easier said than done. It’s much easier to stay inside of the closet and mutter to yourself how much you love the books and how much you wish you were Bella.

Even though I’m encouraging a stepping-out-of-the-closet ideal, I just don’t think I’m ready. Edward will continue to look dark and brooding as he dangles on my clothes hanger in utter failure.

July 7, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 5 Comments

Wait…Why Do I Like Camping?

I went camping for the first time this year and as I sat down on the picnic table, I proclaimed, “I love camping!” After the next several hours I began to wonder why I said such a ridiculous combination of words.  

Granted, you can barely call what I did camping, considering it was only one night and we ordered pizza, but it was camping none-the-less. It was my sister’s sweet sixteen and I think I’ll have more lasting memories than she will! Let’s just say, it was one oddly satisfying night.

Our campground was a pathetic excuse for a camp site. It had no running water…anywhere. Not even a tap. The bathrooms were holes cut out in plastic, basically one step up from a Porta John. The spiders of the forest had decided that they would make this washroom their home, which was convenient considering there was no light.

We also had a racoon infestation. They were fearless, curious, and apparently hungry. Even when we shone our flashlights on them they wouldn’t budge. They would just look at us with those creepy glowing eyes. Every time we turned off our flashlights, the raccoons would walk closer and closer to us, to the point where one was directly behind my chair. Paranoia had officially set it. We put all the food away and tried to calm our nerves. Eventually it got better, but not before jumping at every hiss and growl coming from the bushes.

I had a tent set up and a sleeping bag ready to go for night but after I crawled into my bed I was attacked by an un-identified buzzing insect. Clearly it did not like me in its new home, and would do everything to get me to leave. The bug succeeded and I slept in my friend’s truck. As wonderful as the truck first seemed, it certainly had its downfalls. I woke up three hours later with the most painful leg cramp in the history of all legs cramps.

So that was it. After three hours of restless sleep I awoke and decided to set out in search of a decent bathroom and running water. I gathered my backpack, put on my hat, and felt like Crocodile Dundee. Of course, this feeling did not last. As I walked down the dirt driveway to the main campground road, I was viciously attacked by another un-identified bug. I have no way of knowing if the incidents between both bugs were related. I decided to continue on my harrowing journey. Sooner or later this bug would have to stop attacking me. Eventually I found the motherload. A washroom with a flushing toilet and a sink! I know, it was hard for me to believe, too.

As I got back into camp, a strange song was being played very loudly over someone’s car speakers. This seemed natural to me considering most of the group had slept in their cars and probably thought it would be funny to crank karaoke-type music at 6:30 in the morning. I didn’t care that it was loud and waking everybody up, but that’s because I was being selfish and wanted people to wake up. So I didn’t say anything until another person complained. At least people were up now.

As the most devoted campers (the ones who slept overnight and decided not to go home to their beds) sat around the smoking fire pit, we began to talk about memories, and oddly enough, prank ideas. This is something I will never forget for the rest of my life. My cousin had this brilliant prank idea that involved a golf course and a bag of marshmallows. He thought it would be funny to chuck marshmallows in random spots on the green and then as golfers went to pick up their ball, they would instead pick up one of the strewn marshmallows. I’m still laughing, even as I write this. Just imagine the looks on those golfers faces as they go to pick up their ball, and instead pick up marshmallows!

Even though it took me days to catch up on sleep, and racoons were trying to kill us, and mystery bugs were plotting revenge against me, I still had a very good time.

Do I like camping?

I just don’t know.

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July 6, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 1 Comment