The Icemageddon 2015 Diaries

I live near Raleigh, NC, home of this:

Snowmageddon 2014
When snow happens,
 adorable southerners need to stay indoors
and get the heck off the roads.

Monday night, there was another winter storm.  Schools were cancelled, businesses were cancelled.

The South was, in fact, cancelled.

All the adorable southerners cheered for joy and immediately went outside to play in the 1/8 inch of snow that had accumulated on the ground (which would soon be covered by a layer of ice that is actually no joke) .  I just thanked God I was able to get off the roads before the wintry mix started, and I crawled into my cave to await death.

This, my friends, might be my last blog post. 

I have decided to document my final days, just in case anyone survives to read it.  You'll know of my bravery in the face of being stuck inside a heated house with functioning electricity, warm water, plenty of food, books, movies, and the internet at my fingertips...oh!  and getting time off work, to boot.

Remember our courage, friends.  Remember and rebuild.

My friends, I give you:

The SnowIcemageddon 2015 Diaries:

Day 1, 7:55 a.m. 

My alarm goes off.  I awake.  I check my messages to see if I am required to watch anyone's kids.  Nothing.  I see it as a sign that I am not meant to brave the ice and snow, and I burrow back down beneath my covers.  I wonder if I will ever emerge again.  I slip back into dreamless slumber.  Sleep is the only release from the anticipation of spending hours upon hours trapped in this place.  

Sleep is the only release.

Day 1, 8:59

I brace myself and look out the window.  I am shocked to find that my back yard has been covered by a thin blanket of icy whiteness that is nearly identical to all of the photos my friends have been sharing on the Facebook of their own back yards.  All snow-covered back yards look the same!  This must be a conspiracy of some sort.  I blame Obama.

This is what my backyard looks like.
This is what your backyard looks like.
This is what everyone's stupid backyard looks like.
THANKS, SNOWBAMA!

Day 1, 9:07 a.m. 

I hunger.  I emerge from my room and reheat a cup of day old coffee.  Only then do I realize that I am almost out of organic Half and Half, and I neglected to buy another carton while I was at the store buying "pre-snow produce."  I am so distraught that I forget to eat.

At least I did not go to the store for bread and milk.

In that thought alone, I am comforted.

Day 1, 9:15 a.m. 

The toilet seat is cold, and I am numb.

Day 1, 10:18 a.m. 

I emerge from the cave in search of nourishment, once again.  There is a talkative roommate in the food room.  Like a bear, I decide to respond to her loud "I love snow" happiness with grunts and soft growls of disinterest.  Unlike a bear, I decide not to eat her face off.  

I consume a handful of almonds instead.

Life goes on.

Day 1, 11:02 a.m. 

Hours into Icemageddon, and I literally can't even because I am literally so bored I am about to literally die the death.  Literally.

I'm so bored that I resort to cleaning.

Day 1, 12:12 p.m.

Hope is renewed!  Today is a gift!  I have time to do all the things I have never had time to do!  

I procrastinate by putting together a playlist of songs that will be the soundtrack to help me accomplish the things I never have time to do.

I don't actually accomplish the things I never have time to do.

Day 1, 1:09 p.m. 

I diffuse happy organic essential oils to help lighten the mood.  It only serves as a bitter reminder of warmer days, sunshine, and the things I cannot have.

The struggle is real.

Day 1, 2:34 p.m.

There is a pain in my stomach, an emptiness. I find it strange and unsettling. Death must be near. Yet I realize, after some thought on the matter, that I must be hungry, but I can't, for the life of me, think of why. It has not been that long since I have consumed sustenance. I look at the clock and ponder this, only to find that it has indeed been some time since I have eaten. I have lost all sense of time. I have lost all sense of reality. I fear that I will go insane.

I will eat. I will carry on. I will survive.

Day 1, 4:06 p.m.

My friends keep posting puns from the movie "Frozen" on the Facebook.  I am dying inside.

I decide to let it go.



Day 1, 5:08 p.m.

I learn school is cancelled another day due to icy road conditions.

This makes me want to weep and then die.



Day 1, 6:42 p.m.

I make cauliflower cheese "bread" for dinner.

I realize that I am now guilty of purchasing ingredients to make "bread" in anticipation of snow.  And there is milk in the cheese I bought.

Oh. My. Gosh.

I did it.

I went to the store for bread and milk.

Day 1, 7:57 p.m.

I decide to make comfort food--grain-free peanut butter cookies.  I eat the whole batch, but I find no comfort in them.  Instead, I gain 73 pounds and die from The Beetus.

But not really.

Sigh.

There is no relief.




Day 1, 8:12 p.m.

I check the weather forecast for the next few days.

I want my mommy.



Day 1, 9:32 p.m.

I receive a text.  I am expected to try to come into work tomorrow afternoon, if I can manage it.  There is a light at the end of the tunnel.  Perhaps it is only the light that comes when one is electrocuted when one's car slips on the ice and rams into a telephone pole, but I will try to remain positive.  I mean, chances are, I won't even be able to get my car out of the driveway.

...if my car even starts...


Day 1, 11:12 p.m.

I return to the cave and to the burrow of blankets, once again to succumb to the sweet release of sleep.

I dream about icicles.

Those things have been known to kill people.



Day 2, 8:25 a.m.

I awake.  I remember.  I cry.



Day 2, 8:48 a.m.

I pour myself a hot cup of coffee.

Alas, there is no more Half and Half, but on the bright side, I can flavor my coffee with my own desperation and tears.



Day 2, 10:01 a.m.

I venture outside.  It is not warm.

I think I see a polar bear.



Day 2, 10:02 a.m.

There is ice everywhere, everywhere ice.  I walk like a penguin to avoid slipping and spraining my next of kin.  I imagine that I am cute and fluffy like a baby penguin, learning to walk upon the frozen tundra for the first time.  In reality:

Day 2, 10:03 a.m. 

I can't get my car door open.  It is frozen solid.  Everything is hard.  

I manage to get in through the passenger side.  When I do get it open, I can't actually get into the car because my feet have no traction.  I am in eminent danger of slipping beneath the car and most likely being eaten by a Grue.  I wonder how it is possible that I am SO NERDY that I choose such a moment to make a very vague reference to a text-based adventure game from the 1980s.

I use my pathetic upper body strength to somehow pull myself into the car to safety.  I take a deep breath.   I realize how much trash I have on this side of the car.  Seriously.  I'm a slob.

Day 2, 10:04 a.m.

On the third attempt, my frozen car reluctantly starts.  There is a God.



Day 2, 10:05 a.m.

I begin the arduous process of thawing my car.  Much like the ice that so adamantly adheres to my windshield, I am stalwart and unyielding in my task.  My task involves sitting inside the car with the defrost on high, waiting...waiting...waiting....



Day 2, 10:36 a.m.

I have achieved visibility from all windows in my car.  This is both good and bad.  It is good because now I can see through the windows.  It is bad because it means that I must now attempt to drive it somewhere.  Good thing I started early.   My car is clean, at least on the outside.

Now all I have to do is go back into my cave and await the inevitable doom.  I drink more coffee and tears.



Day 2, 11:30 a.m.

I finally venture out of my driveway, praying the entire time that I will not lose control of my car and skid into oncoming traffic.

The roads are mostly clear.  I feel silly for worrying.  I make it to work safely.



Day 2, 3:45 p.m.

The sunshine disappears and flurries begin as I drive a kid to her indoor soccer practice.  I begin to wonder if I will be stranded at said practice until April.



Day 2, 4:07 p.m.

The dad of the girls I watch calls to let me know he is arranging transportation for his daughter, so that I can leave before the snow really begins to start.  For that, I am grateful.



Day 2, 4:20 p.m.

I make it home safely.  Then I realize I will most likely be stuck here until the end of time.

I want to check the mail before burrowing back into my cave.  I am afraid to walk on the driveway, so my roommate braves the icy tundra in my stead.  There is no mail.  Her sacrifice is for naught.  Also, she is eaten by a polar bear.

I return to my cave and quietly contemplate my cowardice.



Day 2, 5:33 p.m.

...I come to the sudden and unfortunate realization that I neglected to buy more Half and Half while I was out earlier...

...
...
...

Day 2, 6:02 p.m.

The roommates all go out to play in the snow, shouting like children on Christmas morning.

I warn them that we are all going to die, but they choose to greet their doom with cheers of joy.

There is no sanity left in the world.  We will probably resort to cannibalism by morning, if the polar bears don't eat us first.



Day 2, 10:04 p.m.

I learn that school has been cancelled for the third day in a row.

I skip the crying and go straight to the maniacal laughter.



Day 2, 11:45 p.m.

I burrow under my covers and just decide to go ahead and hibernate until the Fourth of July.



Day 3, 8:47 a.m.

My body will not let me hibernate, despite all my efforts.  I rise to fight another day like a brave little soldier.

I do not want to be a brave little soldier.



Day 3, 10:02 a.m.

I learn, according to friends' statuses on the Facebook, and ya know, looking out my own window, that the snow and ice isn't really that bad at all.  None of the snow from the previous night accumulated!  Could it be that Icemageddon is over???  Did I survive?  Does this mean I won't be having "roommate arm sandwiches" for lunch?!?

I break out into celebratory song.  The first thing that pops into my head:



...I'm in childcare.



Day 3, 10:15 a.m.

I do what any red-blooded 'Murican survivor of the Icemageddon would do, and decide to go to the Walmart.



Day 3, 11:02 a.m.

The Walmart is like an episode of The Walking Dead.

I fight for my life.



Day 3, 11:47 a.m.

I make it home safely, and have not been turned into a zombie.  Awesomesauce.



Day 3, 12:26 p.m.

I realize I forgot the Half and Half.

Things My Space Mom Taught Me (Happy 20th Anniversary Star Trek: Voyager)

I learned today that it was TWENTY years ago that I first watched Captain Kathryn Janeway (aka my SPACE MOM) get stranded with the intrepid crew of the U.S.S. Voyager in the Delta Quadrant.

TWENTY. YEARS.

While it's hard to wrap my brain around the fact that Star Trek: Voyager is 20 years old, I must admit that it's even harder to imagine a world without Captain Janeway.  She was such a strong character, so much larger than life, yet so down to earth; so powerful and commanding, yet also tender and feminine.  I didn't realize it at the time, but Captain Janeway was quite the role model for my nerdy adolescent self.  It's no wonder she's my Space Mom.

Yes, fools.  She actually is my Space Mom.

Here are some of the lessons I learned from Captain Kathryn Janeway, arguably the snarkiest captain in Star Fleet.   Because these are the Janeways:

1. A well-timed, well-crafted "glare of death" speaks SO much louder than words.

Whether she was dealing with some manipulative alien race or just a disgruntled former Maquis crew member, she let you know she wasn't having any of your foolishness.

I'd hate to be on the receiving end of the Janeway "glare of death."
Just one glare, and you know stuff just got real.

2. When you do want to speak, a bit of snark never hurt anyone.  Okay.  It hurt anyone she was snarking at.  It hurt bad.  It hurt real bad.  But in a way that just made you love her for caring enough to snark the very best.

3. Never be afraid to resort to creative solutions to problems...

...or to give unusual people a chance to become more than who they were before.

She accepted the rebellious Tom Paris, giving him the second chance he needed to shine.  She was able to mesh two very different crews into one strong crew that learned to depend upon one another, and on her.  She was able to see past B'elanna's rough exterior and give her a chance to grow and shine as chief engineer.  She was able to help Neelix and Kes find new purpose and meaning on board Voyager, despite Neelix's unusual (and often annoying) demeanor.  She was able to see the Doctor as more than just a hologram.  She was able to guide Seven of Nine out of the collective and back into a loving, human, family.

Faced with similar situations, Captain Kirk would have just wrestled with everyone.  With his shirt off.  Just sayin'.

4, Be able to perfectly find that perfect balance of tough and tender, strong and sensitive, commanding and coy, fierce and feminine...if that's your thing.

No one can deny Janeway's amazing leadership and awesome ability to scare the crap out of you and shut your face up with a single death glare, but it's her tender moments that make her the most amazing captain ever.

She can even melt the heart of a Vulcan.

She also knows where she stands, as a woman leading a Federation star ship crew.  Don't call her sir.  Ma'am is acceptable, but she PREFERS Captain.  She holds on to her femininity without sacrificing her authority at all.  And that is all kinds of awesome, and all kinds of lovely.  

5.  And best of all, Captain Janeway taught me something extremely important:

Always, always.  Coffee first.  Always.

And it's totally worth changing course for.

Basically...coffee the most powerful thing in the world.

Happy 20th Anniversary, Space Mom.  You're the greatest.

Always keep the JaneWays.  And remember, always be yourself.  Janeway would want it that way.  ...since we can't be her, of course.

I LOVE YOU, SPACE MOM!!!

My Fellow Mericans

My Fellow 'Mericans,

I have recently come to the realization that I will be old enough to run for President of these United States of 'Merica, on my next birthday, which will occur in March of 2015.  In light of this historic event, I have decided to announce my candidacy for the office of President of the United States of 'Merica.

I have announced it.  I announced my campaign.  That's a thing, right?  Okay.

My campaign rests on a simple premise.  Ponies.  I like ponies.  Invisible ponies.  Imaginary ponies, even.  That sparkle.  The world needs more ponies.  This is why, if and when I am elected President of the United States of 'Merica, I promise that every citizen, regardless of age, race, gender, creed, or preference of which way the toilet paper goes on the roll (the correct way is OVER, but Pres Couth don't judge), will receive an imaginary pony.  A few preliminary supporters have already received theirs.  My cousin, Steve*, named his imaginary pony, "Carrots," and reports that she is "very pretty."
(*Cousin Steve may or may not also be imaginary)

I have decided that I will not be affiliated with the Democratic nor the Republican party.  Instead, I have established my own political party, which I have named the "Surprise Party."  Affiliates of the Surprise Party tend to politically favor long walks on the beach, warm hugs, and sweet potato fries.  They tend to oppose Snuggies, generic Twinkies, and Elves on the Shelf--because seriously.  Those things are creepy.

I also have many changes in store that will make 'Merica great again, some of which will include:
1. I promise to replace all Michelle Obama approved school lunches with Rockamole, hummus, ginger tea, chocolate, and bacon.
2. I will plan trips to the moon--and not just for astronauts.  Everyone shall be given Moon Shoes, with which to bounce up into space.  This will reduce fundage to the space program significantly.  Go ahead, say it. I'm awesome.
3. The praying mantis will replace the bald eagle as our national animal.
4. The kumquat will replace the dollar as our national currency.  Money really will grow on trees.  You're welcome.
5. Hoverboards will be a thing.
6. I'm SO instituting mandatory daily siestas for everyone.
7. I will veto the Ebola.
8. Instead of spying on my citizens through smart phone cameras, I'm just going to livestream my future webshow, "Pres Couth Cares" to every smart phone in the nation.  Every hour.  On the hour.  Because Pres Couth cares.
9. I'm redecorating the Oval Office to look like the inside of the Tardis.
10. I will make it a rule that the National Anthem can only be sung by people capable of singing it without jumping the octave at "rocket's red glare."

If you are interested in supporting The Couth for Pres, there are many ways that you can get involved.
1. You can contribute financially by sending your unmarked kumquats to the moon, where they will be retrieved by hummus fed praying mantises wearing moon shoes and/or riding hoverboards.

2. You can tell all your friends to "Vote for Couth" in the 2016 election.  Feel free to use one or ALL of the many slogans The Couth has chosen to use in her campaign.  You can also make up your own or steal one from a popular cartoon, like another president whose name I will not mention ("Yes we can!"--Bob the Builder; "Keep Moving Forward!"--Meet the Robinsons).  You can also just keep shouting one word, like "Hope!" or "Change!" Personally, I think I'm going with "Tacos!"  When in doubt, just say my name along with things that sound good like, "fiscal report," "energy surplus," and "women's rights," or choose from one of my many Couth-approved slogans:

"A vote for Couth is a vote for Truth!  So get on down to the voting booth."
"Don't you gamble.  Vote for Ramble!"
"Vote for Couth.  Because politics and stuff."
"I'm having trouble reading the teleprompter that tells me what I'm supposed to say."
"Couth Ramble: Changing the diapers, changing the world."
"Couth Ramble: Making Politics Pretty since 2014."
"I put the dent in president."
"Hillary Schmillary."
"A vote for me is a vote for me.  So vote for me."
"I'm old enough to be President now, so vote for me."
"I'm so convincingly immature."
"Couth for Pres.  That's a thing, right?"
"I like ponies."
"I have no idea what I'm doing! *double thumbs up*"

3. This one is pretty obvious, but VOTE FOR ME.  If you don't vote for me, I will never be Pres.  And I think you'll agree after reading about my campaign that the Pres is the job Couth was born to do.  Also, saying Pres Couth sounds really cool, doesn't it.  It so does.  This needs to happen.  I need YOU to make it happen.  "Tacos!"

And well, my fellow 'Mericans, there's my announcement.  I announced my candidacy for President of the United States of 'Merica 2016.  I expect lots of kumquats to come rolling in, though due to the moon's low gravity, they'll probably just bounce around a bit before the mantises get there.  I hope to see YOU in the voting booths in 2016.

And remember:
"I have no idea what I'm doing!"
*double thumbs up*

Sincerely...ish,
Your future leader,
Future Pres Couth

P.S. Tacos!

Cauliflower Power!

Hello, sea monkeys!

I'm sorry I've been away for like, the entire summer.  You see, this summer was supposed to be epic.  Turns out, it was just an epic fail.

Things were going quite well.  Then, my car decided to almost catch on fire, and my neck decided it was going to stop being a bendy thing that supports my head, and instead it was going to be a hurty thing that caused major trauma for my entire body.

This was not a great summer.

Well, because the neck issues weren't getting better (or rather, they would get better, then get worse again, then get better again, then get worse again--like the worst roller coaster ride ever), I decided I needed to drastically change my diet.

How does a diet make a difference in neck pain?

I'm glad you asked.

The answer is SCIENCE!

I SAID SCIENCE!

Well, okay, actually, the answer is inflammation.  I did some interneting, and I discovered that certain foods are either inflammatory (increasing your body's inflammatory response), or anti-inflammatory (figure out what that does on your own, brainiac.  Must I spell out everything for you?).  And I figured I'd cut out all the foods that would increase my body's inflammatory response, while adding in more foods that would decrease my body's inflammatory response.

Wow.  That was boring.  Sorry.  If you're at all interested in that anti-inflammatory diet stuff, go use the Google.  It has way more boring than I have.

Anyway, with my new diet, I cut out sugar, red meat, poultry, gluten, AND all grains (at least for now).

I call my new diet the "Oh My Gosh, I Can't Eat Anything" Diet.

OMGICEAD?
OhMagicHead?
Sounds good.  The Oh Magic Head Diet.

Well, I knew I'd eventually start missing things like eating, so I started looking into what I could do with vegetables.  I discovered some recipes for making "rice" out of cauliflower.  So I decided to try it.

Here is the Couth Ramble method of cooking the PERFECT cauliflower "rice" in 10 easy steps.  More or less.  I really didn't bother counting them, okay?  I may or may not actually be a cooking expert.

1. Wash your cauliflower and chop the big florets into little florets.  While you're doing this, think about the word "floret," and how silly it is.  Also think about how angry it makes you that cauliflower isn't spelled "collieflower."  But then think about how "caul" looks like "maul," and how the word "mauliflower" really should be in everyday English usage.

Chuck Norris doesn't eat cauliflower.  He eats MAULiflower.



...because he's angry it's not spelled "collieflower."

2. Chop the mess out of your mauliflower (I used a food processor, because I'm not She-Ra: Princess of Cooking Power) until it's in these little bitty pieces that somewhat resemble rice.

3. Decide that you are no longer making mauliflower rice.  You are now making mauliflower couscous.  Because that junk don't look like no rice you ever seen.  Consider going back to elementary school for grammar lessons.

4. Think about how much you like to say couscous.  Say it a few times to yourself, because, gosh darn it, it feels good.  Couscous.  Coooouscoooous.

5. Put some butter in a skillet.  Turn on the burner.  If you don't turn the burner on, your skillet will not get hot, and your butter will get sad and lonely.

6. Wash and cut up some mushrooms to saute in that lonely butter.  Stir it up now, nice and slow.  Wonder if you should give your mushrooms and butter some privacy.  Turn your back for a moment, and think about how much fun it is to say 'saute.'

7. When your butter and mushrooms have combined into something beautiful, go ahead and add in that mauliflower couscous.  Couscous.  Cous....cous.  Couscous.  Stir it up.

8.  Keep stirring.

9.  Keep stirring.

10. Add in a little olive oil.  Tell yourself you're only adding the olive oil for anti-inflammatory purposes.  Stir some more.  Lie to yourself some more.  You were way too good for that jerkface, anyway.  Yeah.

11.  Add some spices--like sage and cilantro--because obviously those two spices go well with everything.  And obviously I have no idea what I'm doing.

No.  Idea.

12. After you're just really tired of stirring, turn off the burner.  Put that mauliflower couscous mix into a bowl.

13. Tentatively try a spoonful.

14. Make a weird face.

15.  Immediately add enough extra spices to sufficiently cover up that you are, in fact, eating cauliflower.

16. Try it again.  Smile.

Victory is yours!

Victory tastes kinda like spices trying to mask the flavor of cauliflower.

Enjoy!

...ish.

Why I'd Make a Horrible Doctor Who Companion

If you've never seen Doctor Who, please be aware that there are some minor SPOILERS, Sweetie.  I recommend you go right now and watch all the Doctor Who you can get your hands on.  And next week when you've become converted like me, come back and read this blog.  It will make more sense to you then.

So early last year, I discovered Doctor Who by watching the "new Who" on Netflix.  That's the way most future Whovians start.  And most people have a similar first reaction:

What. in. the. world. is. this. and. why. can't. I. stop. watching...?

And then, after a few episodes about intelligent plastic/crazy mannequins, a poorly animated flat lady who demands to be moisturized, and a race of green creatures who zip up into human suits and fart all the time, something strange happens and most people actually begin to LIKE the show.  At first, you can't turn away because it's so bizarre and awful.  But by the end of the last season, you're actually sad that Christopher Eccleston went away.  Until you see David Tennant, and you lose your heart and mind to the abyss that is his awesome.  And Doctor Who becomes more than just a show--it becomes a lifestyle.  And even after Tennant left, though I'm not a huge fan of Matt Smith, Arthur Darvill as Rory kept things interesting enough to keep me hooked.  ...and I'm really looking forward to Peter Capaldi, because he's basically a blue-eyed older version of Tennant.

Yeah, at least that has been my experience.

I think that most Whovians are also the sort that secretly dream that one day a TARDIS will appear from nowhere, a handsome stranger will emerge, extend his hand and say:

Because the thing is, if we can't BE the Doctor, then we want to be the next best thing.  Which, of course, would be the Doctor's companion.

(of course, I do think I'd make a pretty fabulous Doctor...
if the Doctor would ever be female...
...and American...
...which he should never, ever, EVER be...
I digress...)

Yeah, so, since the TARDIS has never appeared in my bedroom...

A girl can dream...

...it's probably a moot point.  But I've actually given the matter a lot of thought, as in, too much thought to really be justified.  And I've come to the sad conclusion that I'd probably make a terrible companion for the Doctor.  There are several reasons for this.

1. I'd fall in love with him.

Yeah, apparently that's only okay if you're Rose Tyler.

I'm going to be jealous of you forever, Rose Tyler.  That's what I'm going to do.  

2. I'm socially awkward.

Well, this probably wouldn't be that much of a big deal.  I mean, most of the Doctor's companions have had at least a little bit of social awkwardness. 

 Yeah, a bit of social awkwardness is practically a prerequisite for being open-minded enough to travel through all and time and space.  You can't cling to things like logic and societal norms, because, well, there aren't any.  And the Doctor himself is pretty awkward, too.

So much better than Matt Smith's giraffe dance, in my humble opinion.
Seriously...I could watch this all day.  All...day...

But I happen to be a bit of a homebody.  I would rather go read a book than go to a party.  So, I have the feeling that even with all of time and space at my fingertips, I'd rather just stay on the TARDIS and take a nap than go meet aliens.

Either that or I'd get off the TARDIS to meet aliens and people from the past, and I'd start CONSTANTLY saying and doing things that would make the Doctor say:

Eventually, I wouldn't have to ask to stay on the TARDIS.  The Doctor would just be like, "Yeah...why don't you just stay here and recalibrate something. ...on second thought, no.  Just sit there.  And don't touch anything.  And don't think about touching anything.  And...never mind.  I'm taking you back to earth.  Now.

3. I'm afraid of everything.

On top of social phobias, I'm also afraid of little things like heights and open spaces and closed spaces and change and things staying the same and rap music.  Then, last year THIS happened, and now I'm afraid of staircases, too.  

Of course, there might be ways to get around staircases...

...or not...

And being afraid of things doesn't mean I don't try to do them anyway...

Eighth Doctor: You're not afraid of heights, are you?

Grace: Yeah.

Eighth Doctor: So am I.

(I know it's not the right scene.  It's better.  Shut up)

But, in the long run, I don't think that the Doctor would be patient enough to deal with someone who has as many hang-ups as I do.

4. I lack basic athletic skills.

Let's face it.  This is pretty much the gist of Doctor Who:

While I have been a runner in the past, I'm a bit out of shape right now.  And even if I were running like I used to, I'm pathetically slow.  And slow-long-distance running was about the apex of my athletic abilities.  I'm pretty much useless in any kind of dangerous situation that might involve using strength, speed, or skill.

Basically...I'd die the first time I ever left the TARDIS, and the Doctor would feel guilty.  And I don't want him to feel guilty, so it would be better for me to just stay on earth.  And away from statues.  And never ever blink.

5. I'm too silly.

You'd think that this would be a good thing.  The Doctor, himself, can be rather silly.  And a fair amount of silliness is a very good thing in a good companion.  A completely rational companion could not handle the beautiful ridiculousness of the Doctor.

...beautiful ridiculousness, indeed.  Mmm...

But my problem is that I have TOO much silliness.  The Doctor needs someone to ground him.  A little silly is exactly what he needs, but too much silly would probably cause the universe to implode or something.

But then again, it could work.  

If I were ginger...

Because, let's face it, there was a LOT of silliness going around with the Doctor and Donna.  It was magical and good.

And even with her silliness, she managed to keep him well-grounded (and the rest of the universe in check, too).

But in my current state of hair colors, I really think I am too much like the Doctor.  Just rude and not ginger.

There are sometimes, though, that I wonder.  I wonder if maybe I once was a companion.  Because if I were a companion, I'd be a lot like Donna (albeit, not ginger).  And maybe I had epic adventures with the Doctor.  And maybe I even became the most important woman in the universe.  And then maybe...maybe...

I forgot.

Now, if you will excuse me, I must go.  I have a huge case of the feels that must be dealt with.

Happy running.