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.

SAA Ep. #38: What Century is This, Anyway?

One of the questions I like to ask little kids a lot is, "Can I be YOU when I grow up?"  They all kind of look at me like, "Um...?" and then say something cute like, "NOOOO!  Your name isn't the same as mine!" or "NOOOO! You're a girl, and I'm a boy!" or "NOOOO! You're already a grown up, and I'm just a little kid." or "SURE!  We can both be ME!"

The thing is, I don't want to be any of these kids when I grow up (and yes, I do realize that I'm 31 years old--it matters not).  I know what I want to be when I grow up.  I know exactly what I want to be when I grow up. 

When I grow up, I want to be a Medieval Princess.

I mean, when I first start thinking about it, it all sounds awesome.  I would get to wear those awesome dresses with the flowy sleeves, and my pale skin and my untamed poofy-curly hair would be the envy of all of those peasants with natural tans and bone straight hair.  I'd get to hang out with knights and/or Dragons all day--even if the Dragons wanted to eat me, that'd still be pretty cool--because I'd still be hangin' with the Dragons.  Incidentally, if I have a choice in the matter, let the record show that if I can't die painlessly in my sleep, I'd like to be burned and/or eaten by a Dragon.  If I have to die painfully, I'd rather my death be really stinkin' awesome.  And what's a more awesome death than being devoured by a fire-breathing Dragon?  Nothing.  That's what.

But I really start thinking about the whole Medieval Princess thing, and then the voice of reason kicks in.  And I realize that if I were a Medieval Princess, I probably wouldn't be literate.  And that's kind of a deal breaker with me.  I've gotta be able to read and write.  I also would very much appreciate having some freedom.  I'm no feminist, but I kind of like having some basic rights, you know.  In Medieval times, I probably wouldn't have any say in a lot of matters in my life because, princess or not, I'd just be a woman.  And women back then were only good for one thing (or so the mutton-eatin', mead drinkin' men thought).  Women were only good for birthin' the babies.  And I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies.

I have shared my thoughts on childbirth before, but I don't know if I've ever just spilled them out here in this lovely blog.  See, I love kids.  If I ever get married one day, I'd love to adopt.  I'm just not too keen on the whole getting pregnant/giving birth thing.  I mean, it's cool to see pregnant women being all cute and "glowing" and all.  I just don't want to be one of them.  The thought of something GROWING INSIDE ME for nine months doesn't make me feel warm and fuzzy.  It makes me feel like Sigourney Weaver in those movies with the aliens (what WERE those movies called??--note the sarcasm).  I mean, I'd be going about my business, then all the sudden this little creature starts moving around inside me.  I'd expect it to just burst out of me and start dancing and singing "Hello, my baby!  Hello, my honey!  Hello my ragtime gal!" 

I think I'm getting off track.

Yes.  Well, carrying a child inside me doesn't really appeal to me.  Nor does the thought of actually giving birth.  The thought of squeezing out a baby doesn't fill me with happiness and warmth.  And I'd be one of those women who would want to do it all without an epidural, because there is NO WAY I want anyone sticking a needle up my spine.  And I know they would have to do that if I had to have a c-section--and the thought of being AWAKE while having a needle stuck in my spine AND THEN WATCHING THEM CUT ME OPEN doesn't really fill me with happiness and warmth either.  So if someone can devise a transporter beam that could just get the baby out of me without any pain and/or needles in my spine, I might consider this giving birth thing.  Otherwise, I'm not really for it.  And even then, would a transporter beam be safe?  I'm reminded from a scene from ANOTHER movie.  "But the creature is inside out.  ...AND it exploded."

So yeah.  Not really into the whole "only being good for childbirth" thing.

Then there's the whole not having indoor plumbing and central heating stuff.  As annoying as technology is, I do kind of like most of it.  I guess it wouldn't be SO bad if I had servants.  I could deal with being a Medieval Princess if I had people who would do all the tedious work--like laundry, but how often did they actually DO laundry back then?  Once a year?  And how often would I be allowed to bathe?  I kind of like taking showers every day.  I wouldn't be too happy about all those quack doctors telling me that bathing was unhealthy whilst covering me in leeches.  I'd want to say, "HEY DOCTORS!  YOU STINK!  AND GUESS WHAT!  I STINK, TOO!  BECAUSE NONE OF US TAKE BATHS!  TAKE YOUR LEECHES AND GO BALANCE SOMEONE ELSE'S HUMOURS!"  But I wouldn't be allowed to say that, because I would be a woman who was only good for birthin' the babies.

Then there's the plague.  Um.  'Nuff said.

So maybe I was born in the right century.  I thought for a long time that I wasn't.  I thought that I was supposed to be born in a century of Dragons and knights and poofy dresses and equally poofy hair.  But now that I think of it, I kind of like light bulbs.  I kind of like being able to write a blog on a magical glowing box of happiness.  I kind of like having a purpose other than restocking the population of unwashed, uneducated, plague-ridden masses.  Maybe I was born in the right century.

But maybe I was born in the wrong decade.  Because if I can't be a Medieval Princess, I've always thought I'd like to be a hippy.  Again, the long unkempt hair and pale skin wouldn't be too awful if I were a hippy.  I'd get to voice my opinions in protests and be able to read and write and everything.

But hippies don't take baths.  So I guess that wouldn't work out for me so well, after all.