The Theatre Experience

Part 1: I Will Speak My Mind.
Part 2: Why Toddlers and Theatres Don’t Mesh:

In the midst of letting go of my hate, and by extension, some of my anger, I thought I would make a few things clear.

“Letting go of my hate” does not mean I’ve suddenly turned into a soft-spoken, curled-up, terrified, little worm. When I have something to say, I’m gonna damn well say it.

1: When I call ahead to inform you of the time I will be arriving, I expect you to be prepared. When I am informed that you will be “ready to go” when I arrive, I expect that to be the case. When I arrive to see you barefoot and playing video games, do not expect me to be right as rain. When I remind you of the time, and the aforementioned arrangements, I expect not to get told to “chill”. When I adjust my mode of transportation so that I don’t miss my pre-arranged meeting, I expect you not to act like a spoiled, immature brat. When you tell me to get out of your house, don’t expect me back anytime soon.

2: When I - along with a dozen other people - are walking up the stairs behind you, stopping in the middle of the steps to choose your seat, turn around, and push your way past is not acceptable. Be considerate, or you might find yourself tripping down a few of those stairs.

3: When a movie is advertised to begin at 7:40, twenty minutes of previews is a bit much. If the movie’s going to start at 8:00, advertise the correct time. I will complain, and I will not do it quietly.

4: When you are in a crowded theatre (children’s movie or otherwise), be respectful of the people around you. You are not the only ones there. When you bring your toddler into a movie theatre - insert separate rant here:

- 4.1: A theatre is dark, loud, packed with strangers. The screen fills up the entire front area, alternating between impossibly dark, and blindingly bright. People you don’t know are cramped in beside you, laughing at different intervals, lengths, and pitches. How exactly is this a comforting environment for a child? Women who bring their infants to adult movies ‘cause they couldn’t or wouldn’t find a sitter - you annoy me. Parents who bring their children to a theatre, and then let them roam free through the aisles, running and thumping and crashing and shouting and giggling and racing and crashing - you annoy me. Parents who expect children to sit quietly through a movie, and then do nothing when they chat and whine and cry - you annoy me.

FYI, obnoxious Spanish lady who sat behind me chatting with your husband, your son, and some friends/family who were at least two rows behind you, “Beauty and the Beast” is a children’s movie from MY generation. There were more adults than children at that movie, because they could actually appreciate it. It’s a classic. You wanna take your kid to a movie? Take him to a matinee, where the theatre is less crowded, the lights aren’t as dim, and he isn't babbling to keep himself awake. Or better yet, buy the damn movie and watch it at home, so you don’t ruin it for the rest of us. I WILL tell you to shut up when I can hear your rude babbling over “Tale As Old As Time”.

4 continued: Ahem, getting back on track: When you bring your toddler into a movie theatre, be prepared to quiet him when he talks loudly AND repetitively. Do not just say “yeah”, and continue to watch the movie. Clearly, you were there for you, not for him. When people around you are going “sshhh!” that’s your cue to stop talking, not talk louder. When you bring your child into a crowded theatre, and he doesn’t stop talking, be prepared to take him out. We did not pay $50.00 to listen to you converse back and forth in another language.

When I go to a movie, I go to watch the movie. If someone is talking, I tell them to be quiet. If they bicker and bitch at me, I’ll give it right back. Guess what? Not only am I louder, I’m also not afraid to go get an usher to boot your ass out of the theatre. Nor am I afraid to stick my hand in your face to cut you off, or tell you how shitty a parent you’re being by submitting your child to such an ordeal.

Do I hate these people for nearly ruining a wonderful, magical, expensive evening for me? No. Hate is too strong - it takes up too much space. Would I mind if they’d been pushed … ahem, fallen down the stairs? Not particularly. Would they be more attractive with my popcorn dumped in their hair? Probably. Am I going to let them ruin “Beauty and the Beast” for me? No. Why? Because they’re not worth it. A punch in the face, sure … but not worth ruining the best, the first, the one that started it all.

Beauty and the Beast, you were spectacular. And yes, I kept my 3D glasses, ‘cause let’s face it … they look pretty awesome.

Beauty and the Beast 2012

Beauty and the Beast - or, how things are finally starting to turn around.

As mature as I am, I will always be young at heart. I will always giggle like a little girl when something is really funny, Goofy will always be my favorite Disney character, "The Fox and the Hound" will always make me smile, and I will always remember my very first movie.

Things have been touch-and-go for a while … just about five months, now. We’ve been stressed, shocked, annoyed, frustrated, hurt, disgusted, angry, spiteful, and just about defeated. Time was, my mother didn’t know the meaning of the word “quit”, but she’s finally thrown in the towel with Josh. He’s hurt us enough, it’s time to move on.

And so, we have. I’ve been working at the same wonderful job for the past 4.5 months, mum has been running her own day home - successfully - for about 2 months now. We’ve been delivering papers in the evenings, and now have our own early morning Red Deer Advocate route. (Getting up at 4 o’clock in the morning? Not so hard. Not going back to sleep as soon as we get home because I work in 3 hours? A tad hard.) But, for an extra 1000 bucks a month, it’s well worth it. No more scraping together money to get by each month. No more working 28 hours a week to see maybe 50 bucks of my paycheck. No more having to deal with the incredible bullshit that is Children’s Services. We’re moving on.

We were watching Bones last night, and a commercial came on for Beauty and the Beast - in theaters. I despise 3D, but for Beauty and the Beast? … Yeah, I’ll tolerate it. It’s coming to theatres tomorrow. I’m off work at 5 … I’m going to see the 7:40 showing.

Why do I get to see this? Today is payday. I don’t have to wait two months to get paid from Children’s services for Child Care. I don’t have to count on them for anything anymore. I have an awesome job that pays well, and I finally get to start spending my money on me. (After paying utilities and buying groceries, of course ;)

Beauty and the Beast was my very first movie. My mum bought it for me, and I watched it so many times that to preserve her sanity, she bought me and new one. And so on, and so on. Today, my room is flooded with bookshelves full of movies. Movies are my passion. I love action, drama, romance, thriller, animated, war, historical … the list goes on. I could happily spend a week just sitting in my room, watching hours upon hours of movies. “My Name is Khan” is my favorite movie, “Rent” is my favorite musical, “The Fox and the Hound” is my favorite kids movie … but “Beauty and the Beast” will always be the best, the first, the one that started it all.

And it’s coming to theaters. You bet your ass, I’m gonna be there.

Letting Go Of My Hate

This is not something that has ever been easy for me to do. Sure, I’m a pushover when it comes to apologies - I could hate someone to the point where I’m meticulously planning their murder, but if they so much as murmur out a quiet sorry, I’m goo in their hands. This doesn’t mean that I forget. Forgive, yes … temporarily. At least until the next time they do something to piss me off, and then I just add their latest indiscretion to the tally.

I have an amazing memory. I can recall conversations that took place in high school like they just happened a minute ago. I can quote lines from movies I’ve seen once a decade ago, and recite entire pages from my favorite books. There are very few things that I forget. Hate is not one of them.
I have always been an angry child. Angry at classmates, angry at teachers, angry at opponents, friends, family members, etc. It doesn’t take much to get on my bad side.

But, I’m trying to change all that. This is where people usually say “life is too short to fill it with hate” … I’m a big believer that life is not short. There is nothing you can do that is longer than life. Life is long … sometimes agonizingly so. I don’t want to spend every minute of every day hating people for stupid things.

So, I’m letting go. No more grudges. No more petty arguments or catty comments. No more rejoicing over ex-friends gaining weight while I’m losing it. No more nitpicking, no more looking for the tiniest little flaw to sink my claws into. I’m done.

I had this epiphany while looking at an ex-friend’s pictures online. I was cruising through news feeds, and one thing led to another. I happened upon a rather “questionable” picture, and seconds after reading the caption, snickered out a scathing remark. Ten o’clock at night, in my room alone, I was mocking this picture as though the subject within it could hear me. I don’t want to spend my life like that … would you?

So, I’m done. I’m letting go of my hate. And now, to cleanse:

Heather: I've edited this from the original draft, as I realized I hadn't really let go then. I've spent a lot of time going over our friendship, and where things went wrong. I've said for a long time that it was because you didn't believe in me, but that's just an excuse. The problem is, we're just too much alike. Both stubborn, both passionate, both relentless in our beliefs. You decided what you wanted to believe about me, and I was too stubborn to do anything other than hate you for it. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter who said what. I can look back on what we used to have, and still smile at the memories ... I guess that's all that matters.

James: I’m done hating you. Really, I haven’t actively hated you for about three years, but I figured I should give you an “honorable mention”. I’ve outgrown my juvenile attachment to you, and am better for it. I’ve overcome the feelings that I once had for you, but I’m not sorry about them. You showed me exactly the kind of guy I don’t want in my life. I’m done hating you for leading me on, I’m done hating you for toying with my emotions. I hope that one day, you can do more with you life than play being straight, and work Connections at Walmart.

Walmart (AKA, Store Manager Lee): I’m done hating you for forcing me to quit because I was sick. I’m done hating you for wasting twenty months of my life on you. I’m done resenting you for letting the “regular” sized clothing overrun the Women’s Plus (k, maybe a little resentment left over - they’re tiny, they don’t need THAT MUCH space!). Ahem, I digress. In short, I’m putting your part in my life behind me. I’ve finally found a job that I LOVE, and I know now that you never really stood a chance with me … no one can be expected to give their all to a job that they despise. Fortunately, I don’t have to fake a smile in my workplace anymore.

Dad: … I want to say I’m done hating you. Most of me is, but part of me will always hate you for forgetting my name, for forgetting how old I am, and for treating my family like shit. Part of me will always hate you, for all the years that I spent loving you, not knowing the real you. I’m going to work hard at not hating you. I don’t want to be miserable … I don’t want to spend my life despising you for being you. You’re never going to change, so I have to. I’m done.

Josh: You proved the saying, “there’s a fine line between love and hate”. You are my brother, and I will always love you … and I’m trying not to hate you for what you’ve done to my mother. You will never be “whole” … your biological mother ruined that chance for you. I hope that one day, you’ll be able to look back on everything that you’ve done, and feel some modicum of remorse for it. I hope that you’ll let go of all your hate and anger for what your biological mother did to you, and realize that there are better ways of channeling your anger. Most of all, I hope that you stay far, far away from us … it’s easier not to hate you if I don’t have to see you.

The list could go on and on … I’m done hating Tauni for picking on me in elementary school; I’m done hating Mark for … well, everything that little shit did; I’m done hating Jackie our first landlord for screwing us out of our house in Innisfail; I’m done hating Byron for screwing my Mum over, I’m done hating Gaetes for not accepting his responsibilities as a landlord. Etc, etc, etc.

So much hate. Too much. No one should live like that. I’m done. I’m done bottling it all up, waiting for it to explode. I feel better.

You should try it, too.

My Anti-Resolutions

2011 was, quite frankly, a shitty year. It sucked ass. And the sad part is, three out of the four quarters of the year were good. One might even say great.

We sent our Foster kids to live with their “Forever Mommy and Daddy”, welcomed two new girls into the family, and went camping in our home town (oh, how I miss Brooks) for the first time in three years. I had a wonderful third practicum, started volunteering at the women’s shelter, and then got hired at my local library - can you say dream job?

I watched and was disappointed in the last Harry Potter film, discovered True Blood, and through Charlaine Harris’s wonderful Sookie Stackhouse books, rediscovered my love of Vampire love stories. (Sorry, Twilight, but I'm not a teeny-bopper anymore, I just can't take you seriously). I hit the 300 mark for my published fan-fictions, and won 1^st Place for one of them through Energize W.I.P. Awards. I discovered the Hunger Games trilogy, and loved it all the way up until the end (die Peeta, die!!!).

All of these little things made 2011 good, but one action from Joshua, my adopted little shit of a brother, made the year a complete and utter catastrophe.

I’m not going to go off on a long rant about how he fucked us over (yes, there is harsh language in this post, sorry if it offends). I’m not going to rant and rage over the ridiculousness of the Foster Care system, or the inconsiderate, two-faced, vindictive assholes at Children’s Services. Nope, not this time ;)

It’s a new year, and I am going to do my best to move on. That being said, here are my anti-resolutions.

Why, you may ask, am I making anti-resolutions, as opposed to resolutions, which are the norm with the New Year tradition? The simple answer is that resolutions are just a flashy way of listing all the things you aren’t going to do. How many people honestly stick to their New Year’s Resolutions year-round? Not many. It’s kind of like dieting - it only works while you do it, but once you stop, you’re back to square one.

So, these are my 2012 anti-resolutions:

1) I will not let Josh’s cruel, sadistic actions stop me and my mother from enjoying life.

2) I will not use Facebook as free therapy, or a place to flaunt my drama for the world to see (I don’t normally do this anyway, but I thought I’d put this out there for certain people to consider - you know who you are, quit lying to yourself).

3) I will not let my dog go another three months without a bath (If you have a hairy dog, you know it’s not pleasant).

4) I will not let games like Solitaire and Mahjong distract me from finishing my novels (may have to implement aversion therapy to get this one to stick).

5) I will not let it bother me when my father calls me three days after my birthday and forgets how old I am. (Well, it might bother me, but I won’t let it ruin my night again.)

6) I will not go another year without paying off my late fees at the Red Deer Downtown Library (finally sent back my movies that were about 4 years overdue).

7) I will not pass up a work-free day to take my dog for a walk.

8) I will not spend half of my paycheck on movies (especially now that I can request most of them through the library).

9) I will not let my room get as messy as it currently is. (Spring cleaning a little early this year, I think.)

10) Finally, I will not snicker madly when I see ex-friends stuck in dead-end jobs that will slowly drive them insane (this will quite possibly be the hardest of my anti-resolutions … I’m a little vindictive myself.)

Will I stick to them? Hopefully. The point is? These aren’t just things that I’m going to try and stick to for one year, and then pat myself on the back when I’ve achieved them. These are changes that I want to make in my life for good, not just for now.

How about you?

The Compass

The Compass. Global Destruction. Rogue Gnomes. Or, the consequences of my boss asking me what she could possibly use her Christmas Cracker compass for.

As you may have inferred from the title, I had an interesting time at my staff Christmas party. There were nine of us sitting around two long tables we'd pushed together. As we were eating, we started popping open our Christmas Crackers. Mine was a weird, plastic clip thing that broke seconds after it erupted from its tube. My boss, the actual title-holding "Librarian" at our library, got a small compass. She made a silly, passing comment about what she could possibly use the compass for. … She did it to herself, really.

The conversation was thus:

Me: “If you were lost in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, how else would you find your way out?”

Librarian: “Well, generally I would look at where the sun is in the sky.”

Me: “There is no sun, the sun is gone.”

Librarian: “Oh? Well, don’t you use moss then? It grows on the north side of the tree.”

Me: “All the moss has been burned away. There is no moss. The sun has exploded, the sky is all red, and the Earth is on fire. There’s no more moss.”

Librarian: “Well, if that was the case, I think I’d have more pressing matters than finding north on a compass.”

Me: “Ah, but there’s a special building that was built just for this purpose, and it’s 50 miles north of where you are in the forest. The few people who survived the Earth being destroyed are there, and you have to get to them.”

Co-Worker: “Well, but what if she gets there, and they don’t let her in?”

Me: “Ah, but she has something that they need! She has a key, the only key that will start the generator inside the building to make it work.”

Co-Worker: “What kind of key?”

Me: “A diamond key.”

Librarian: “So, if I have the key, then why was I in the forest in the first place?”

Me: “’Cause you had to go get something. The Gnome Princess! You have to get her and bring her back to the building, and she’s going to repopulate the Earth.”

Co-Worker: “Hang on, there’s gnomes? That isn’t Earth!”

Me: “There’s gnomes on Earth!”

Co-Worker: “Really? Where are they?”

Me: “My old neighbor has a bunch in her garden. They all came to life. It was rogue gnomes who destroyed the Sun and the Earth in the first place. The other gnomes are good. So, in one hand, she has the key, and in the other, she has the Gnome Princess - tucked right under her arm, ‘cause she’s tiny.”

Co-Worker # 2: “Gnomes? What are you talking about?”

Me: “The fantasy world in which she would need to use her compass.”

Co-Worker # 2: “And that led to … that’s quite the imagination you’ve got there, girl.”

Me: “You have no idea.”

Co-Worker: “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure that cheap, Dollar Store compass wouldn’t last her very long.”

Me: “Ahh, but they thought of that. They knew that she would need the compass, and that the Rogue Gnomes would destroy it if they found it, so they put it in with a bunch of cheap ones to disguise it.”

Co-Worker: “Oh, god.”

Me: (snicker).

Co-Worker: “You should totally write this down.”

Worried, Happy, Nervous

Worried Leads to Happy Leads to Nervous … Or my experience with the Hunger Games.

I’ve been working at the Sylvan Lake library for a few months now. I’ve seen and read several new books that I really liked, hogged the ones that I loved, and complained about the ones that were terrible (sorry, Gerch, but I just can’t take your book seriously. At all.).

Since getting nominated for one of my fan fictions (which I won 1^st place for, woot!), I’ve been trying to spend more time writing. I’ve been neglecting my writing since school started, and I started working part-time, and all this bullshit with my adopted brother hit the fan. I have always loved writing, but lately it’s been seeming like a chore - so much easier to just plop in a movie and fall asleep. (I know, I suck.)

Anyways, for some time now, I’ve been hearing about this book trilogy called “The Hunger Games”. My workmates have been talking it up like there’s no tomorrow. I hadn’t decided if I was going to read it, though, until I saw a preview for the upcoming movie. The preview looked awesome enough for me to want to watch the movie. Since I’m the kind of person who hates when books get made into movies - ‘cause they ALWAYS leave too much out/change too much - I decided I’d at least have to read the series first.
Ooh boy … I have not gotten much sleep in the last few days.

I took the first book home from the library on Friday, and started reading it Sunday. I finished it after work Monday, and just about screamed at the cliffhanger ending. What the FRACK???? How could you do this to me, Suzanne Collins? I did not have the second and third books! How cruel!!!

After I settled down, and my dog stopped staring at me like I was crazy, I told myself that I would just grab the second and third book from the library, knowing that we had both of them in our collection. Good idea in theory, but of course BOTH of the books were signed out. Grr …

Enter my awesome workmate. I had requested the books, and the third one came in on the van run (explanation: one a week we send books to and receive from other libraries), but not the second! I would have to restrain myself from reading the third book until the second came in, which could be up to two weeks! Restraint is not my middle name. I can’t imagine a time I’ve ever successfully used restraint (with the possible exception of hunting down my adopted brother’s biological mother and bludgeoning her to death … I’m not AT ALL bitter). Luckily, I did not have to test my non-existent restraint. My workmate went home for her break, and came back with the second book. Love. Complete and utter love. I may have to bake her cookies, or something.

Anywhoo, that was yesterday. I finished the second book at one o’clock in the morning. I loved it. But I was also feeling a bit worried.

So many parts of the Hunger Games (the woman warrior, the girl protecting her younger sibling, the father that died when she was young, the primitive weapons, the barbaric fighting, the love triangle, the three-novel series - to name a few things) ARE SO MUCH LIKE MY NOVEL! Obviously there are some major differences, but I couldn’t help seeing the parallels. I started overanalyzing, like I always do: “I thought my novel was so original, but then there’s this. And it came first! Who would want to read my novel, when they have this?” Worry, worry, worry.

But then I stopped. “Hang on … this novel has done really well. Everyone loves it. It ends with three. My novel isn’t EXACTLY like The Hunger Games, but it shares a lot of aspects that people like. Maybe this isn’t so bad … maybe this means people will LOVE my novel!” And so, my worry turned sharply to happy. I started thinking about finishing up the editing in my novel, and trying to publish it.

And then the happy turned to nervous. “Oh, jeeze … published. Actually putting my work out there. For people to actually … read.” Sure, I’ve just won an award for one of my fan fictions, but that’s just that: “fan fiction”. Me playing with someone else’s work. It was the first time I’d ever received outside praise for my work, other than people reviewing my stories. The workmate that leant me the book was the first person to read my fan fictions, and then comment on them to my face. She said she loved it, but I nearly died when she told me.

How am I going to cope if I actually get published? I might just have to curl up in a cold, dark corner and die.

But, at some point, I’m going to have to stop hypothesizing about what might happen when I get published. My novel has been finished for a year. I’ve been writing since I was six years old, it has always been my biggest dream. I’m making enough money now that I could consider self-publishing … Oh boy. Even typing those words is making me nervous. At some point, I’m going to have to take that leap. Put my work out there, see what people think. It’s terrifying. It’s enough to make me want to close my laptop, and never type a single word again.

But, I can’t. I’m addicted. Writing it my drug. Reviews are my heroin. Worried. Happy. Nervous. Bouncing between the emotions like a ping pong ball.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll pull out my novel, finish the editing, and send it to my friend to do illustrations. Tomorrow I’ll decide between self publishing, and traditional. Tomorrow I’ll get off my ass, and stop being an “aspiring” writer. Tomorrow.

Today, I have the third Hunger Games novel to finish. And it had better be good.

Progress Report for the Post-Secondary Education of Corrie Brown

This was an assignment for my COMM class that I decided to post as a blog. Hopefully I don't come off as too bitter ...


Three short years ago, I enrolled in my first semester of college; four on-campus classes, and one practicum. I was two years out of high school, and the options were simple: get a job, or go to school. I chose the lesser of two evils.

While initially preferring to take Psychology, I was told that I did not have the pre-requisites to enter the degree program. After following shoddy advice from a home economics teacher (lesson learned), I chose to switch out of Pure Math and into Applied Math, since I would only require Math 20 - of any kind - to graduate. I completed Applied Math 20, and graduated high school on schedule. Two years later, I was informed that to get a degree in Psychology, I would need Pure Math 30 on my transcripts; there being a statistics course in the degree program, after all. That was awesome …

Giving up my dream - temporarily - of Psychology, I decided to switch to Early Learning and Child Care. It was only a two-year program, and in that time I could upgrade my math. Sounds like a plan, right?
I applied for my funding, nervous about the cost of tuition and books, and was pleasantly surprised when I was approved for $3000.00 per semester. After being forced to quit my lovely cashier’s job at Walmart for having excessive Strep Throat, Candida, and an overall lack of desire to be there, 3000 bucks for three months of school sounded pretty awesome. Paying off student loans? I’d just deal with that later.

First day of class came and went, leaving me feeling a little less nervous after discovering that my teacher was an old classmate’s mom. I made a few friends, won a gift certificate door prize, and went home with a cheery “First Day of College” poster. I wasn’t crazy about my actual classes, but college seemed fun so far.
My classes seemed relatively easy, but I was concerned about my practicum. Two days a week with some twenty-odd kids I’d never met? A tad nerve-wracking. Having to have an activity ready to go, for my very first day? Terrifying. I chose to defer my practicum, wanting to get a little knowledge under my belt before confronting the mass of snotty noses and “why” questions. Yet another decision I ended up regretting, but we’ll get to that later.

I dropped one class by the add-drop date, though I should have dropped two. Unfortunately, with it being my first semester of college, I wasn’t acquainted with the “proper channels”, so to speak. We had recently moved out to Sylvan Lake, and even though we’d filled out our Change of Address forms, some of our mail was still going to our old address. I lost two tax credit checks, as well as my official High School Transcripts. I was told by the registrars that I only needed to take COMM 150 if I didn’t have a mark above 60 in English 30. Once they got my transcripts, I would be taken out of the class. … Their exact words: “I would be taken out of the class”. To a first-year college student, that meant they would sort it all out once they got my transcripts. I didn’t attend a single COMM 150 class, because I knew my English 30-1 grade was well above 60. It was over a year later that I discovered I was never taken out of COMM 150, and as a result, had an F on my college transcripts. I was less than pleased, but that was only the beginning.

After completing my first year of Early Learning and Child Care - and discovering that my first practicum was certainly nothing to fear - I was genuinely excited about the turn my life was taking. It turned out I was actually kind of awesome at taking care of/playing with children. It’s a lot easier hearing things like “is there a baby in your belly?” and “do you have chicken pox?” from children, than it is from your peers. I loved that children had no censor button; I loved their limitless curiosity about the world around them.

I knew that I would have to complete a couple first year courses before I could receive my certificate - my second practicum, as well as Guiding Behavior (ELCC 217). At our year-end pizza party, I made time to speak to the Chair of my program about doing some spring courses. That was when I got the bombshell about my COMM course. “There seems to be a problem with your transcripts, Corrie,” she told me. “You don’t have a COMM course completed.” My response was simply, “I don’t need to take COMM 150, I had well over 60 in English 30.” She stared at me like I was an alien. “Yes, but you still need to have a COMM course to complete your first year. It’s part of the program.” My reaction was not, shall we say, admirable. Quite frankly, I blew a gasket. I yelled and screamed, and all-but tore my hair out. “Are you sh--ing me? Why the hell can’t anyone at this college give me a straight f---ing answer? Everyone has two different sets of information, how the hell am I expected to know which way is up!” I went on and on. I was told that I could take a COMM course in the spring, and be ready to start my second year in the fall. I was annoyed - to say the least - but I agreed.

I decided to take COMM 250 - I didn’t need to learn basic grammar and sentence structure, I’d done that in primary school. COMM 250 was a nice break from the rest of my studies. It seemed as though I was one of the few students in the class who knew the difference between “you’re” and “your”. Our teacher took us to online postings and dating sites, where we mocked the poster’s horrible spelling and grammar. I was in heaven. I completed my second practicum in the spring, and got the required COMM course on my transcripts. Everything seemed to be on schedule.

Is anything ever that easy?

Once our second year started up, I had to have a discussion with the new Chair. Yes, I’d completed my second practicum, and yes, I’d completed my COMM course, but I still had Guiding Behavior 217 to complete. It was against protocol to be enrolled in any second-year courses when the first-year courses weren’t completed. I managed to restrain my temper tantrum this time, but just barely. After some fist-and-jaw clenching, I worked it out with the Chairperson that I would defer my practicum and drop one second-year class, while still maintaining my three-course requirement for a full-time student loan. I was informed that I would be on something akin to academic probation, where the Chairperson and my teachers would be keeping an eye on my progress in their classes, and once the withdrawal date came close, they would decide if my grades were such that I could continue regularly, or if I would need to withdraw from my classes. This seemed to be reasonable, until I found out a student in a similar situation as me was allowed to take her practicum, as well as all of her second-year courses.

I completed all of my courses for the semester - successfully - and was ready to complete my last course and practicum in the Fall 2011 semester. I discovered that I could take my last class online, was assured that I would get a practicum in Sylvan Lake, and was finally enrolled in psychology. (Insert next rant here: I also discovered when registering for my third-year classes, that I didn’t actually need Pure Math 30 at the start of my psychology courses, after all. I could upgrade as I went. Two years later, I get this information. Isn’t that awesome?) Anyway, I was registered and ready to go for the semester, when I heard back from my local library. I had applied for a job there, and they wanted to interview me. I was ecstatic - first because it was one of my childhood dream jobs, and also because I hadn’t had a real job since Walmart - and eagerly attended the interview. I got the job a few days later. All that was left was to work out my schedule. They were willing to work around my school schedule, I just hoped that my practicum was as well.

Enter the next hurdle in my career as a student. In order to be in my final practicum, I would need to commit to Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from 8:00 am to 4:00 pm. As understanding as the library was, they weren’t willing to be that flexible with my schedule. Three years down the road, and I was faced with the same decision once again: get a job, or go to school. This time, though, I wanted both.

In the end, it was more important for me to be working, than it was to complete my last practicum. I dropped the practicum and registered for COMM 150 - ready to wipe that ridiculous F off my transcripts - so that I could keep my three-course requirement for a full-time loan. Now it’s November, and the semester is just about over.

I’ve come a long way since my first semester at Red Deer College. I’ve learned not to trust anything unless I’ve heard it from at least three different “professionals”, I’ve learned that I have a fierce love for children, and that part-time schooling is definitely the way to go. Most of all, I’ve found my once-lost love for education. Will my built-up loans be worth it in the end? I don’t know. Right now, I’m loving it, and that’s all that matters.