my pink panties

Yet Another Update

2008-04-06T00:44:00.001-05:00

Hey hey hey...it’s been a while.

I thought it would be a good time to write a quick update of some sort. I had very good intentions on catching up with y’all last weekend but it simply did not happen. And for good reasons at that.

It looks like the bitter end of winter is finally here. The days seem sunnier and warmer. I would like to believe we are out of the blue where snow and cold is concerned. I’m keeping my fingers crossed because this winter seemed to drag on and on. The brightness and that certain smell of spring in the air is definitely improving my mood and those around me.

I’ll be honest. Winter was rough, especially from mid-February and on. I don’t care for airing too much dirty laundry via my blogs so I’ll keep it short and sweet - my anxiety was sky high. Sure, I was stressed in several areas of my life - work, health of myself and of others, and so on. I’ve always been the nervous kind but this bout of anxiety was far from fun. I don’t think it was ever this bad - it came to the point of affecting me physically. However, this time taught me something - it showed me that I do have the strength to get help. And I’m not saying that I’m weak and frail either. Bottom line is - I have anxiety and I want to learn how to control it so every day events shouldn’t be stressed over. I don’t ever want it to get to the point where it was at the end of February and early March. I don’t want to be shaky at the thought of leaving the house. I’m much more conscious of it though and I have talked it through with friends and professionals. I’m trying to get out and get a little more active (I tried Pilates tonight!). I’m trying to find the things that make me happy and challenge me. I’m trying to feel less isolated (which I’m beginning to think is part of the problem since moving to Quebec).

So, do you want the good recent news or the bad recent news? Let’s get the bad out of the way first.

Just when I thought my anxiety was on the mend and I was going back to work (I took a bit of a stress leave, if you will), my dog ended up getting in a really nasty fight with another dog last weekend (though the more I think of it, the more I think he was attacked first). Hence no blog update - I was busy mopping up eight bleeding wounds and trying to not cry my head off. Of course, last weekend was the weekend the boyfriend went out of town. Of course! That’s always when shit happens. Anyway, I don’t want to go into details.

My dog got bit about 8 times, very badly. I felt like it was my fault. I didn’t know what to do because I panicked but I tried my best. I couldn’t get him to see a vet immediately because he couldn’t walk that well and we leave on a second floor (refused to walk down the stairs). We couldn’t carry him. He didn’t want to eat or drink. We managed to get him antibiotics the day after, by the persistance of my friend’s mother. When the boyfriend finally got home, we got him (the dog, haha) to a vet. He had a fever, poor thing. They cleaned, drained, and flushed his wounds. We are continuing to clean/flush the wounds at home and give him peanut butter coated pills. After a day or so, there was such an improvement. The swelling is down and he is affectionate again, he has his appetite and he’s smiling at everything. He’s my silly, goofy dog again - back to his ol’ ways. I’m so grateful, so incredibly grateful. I thank my friends that kept me company on Saturday, my friend’s mom who bent over backwards to find help and talk me through my anxiety, and those who called to check in on me and to give me pep talks. We truly appreciate it. :) Toshio is happy and on the mend! Yippee!

And onto the good news....

I’m learning my first instrument. No, it’s not a piano. Le sigh. It’s still cool and awfully quirky! It’s a ukulele, which is a lot more affordable and easy to store than a piano. It’s a cool little instrument too - it’s a metal-bodied resonator ukulele. It has a very bright tone and it’s loud. I got it last night so I’ve been fooling around on it ever since. The boyfriend has been showing me a few things he knows, general music "stuff", and little lessons I can do. I strummed along with him (badly) to a simple song he was playing on the guitar. With the limited chords I am comfortable with right now, I can play the chorus to Aha’s Take on Me (which is not cool, but whatever) and I can also play along with Johnny Thunders’ Sad Vacation. As well, doing some fingerpicking exercises to that riff in Wipeout. Before you know it, I will be tip-toeing through the tulips. But seriously, I’ve discovered that it is a really underrated instrument. It’s actually really cool to play even though you have to hold it high up and the boobs get in the way.

Other than that, things are good. I’m feeling happier. My dog is happier and healthier. Spring is here and it’s causing me to have weird dreams that guest stars ex-boyfriends and Big Brother contestants. I have a brand new shiny ukulele and another week off work between projects. It hurts the bank account but I’m looking forward to warm days and good books and ukulele lessons and home-cooked meals. And maybe, just maybe, another go at Pilates.

Privacy Policy

2008-04-05T23:25:00.001-05:00

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Last Night

2007-11-17T19:21:00.001-05:00

All this work has really caught up to me. It's my first day off of my weekend and I feel like a monster of a cold is coming on. I'm heavy-headed, I'm slightly feverish, and all I want to do is curl up on the couch with a blanket. I'm emotional. I need sleep and soup and kisses on my forehead. Sigh.

The man is out of town, playing in Quebec City tonight. He'll be back very early in the morning as they are driving back after the show. I was left in charge of the dog today. I discovered what fun it is to walk a dog when it's cold and you are feeling like pure crap. At least, seeing the dog act silly and run around makes me smile. Yet, I have to say, I'm not looking forward to going out to walk him tomorrow morning and I doubt my partner wants to take him out if he only sleeps for three or four hours.

It's been a weird couple of days. Not weird, amazingly weird. Just weird; emotionally, regarding people, etc. On Thursday, on my way to work, I was laughed at by some teenagers in the metro station. This was not the first time. For some reason, teenagers laugh at me in this city. And no, I'm not being paranoid either. It was almost something out a movie. This chick pointed at me and laughed a big belly laugh, "HA HA HA, LOOK AT HER!". I didn't say anything, as usual. However, I walked away thinking that this really doesn't bother me. And I was grateful that I didn't let such a comment bug the hell out of me like it did in the past. Moments later, I was standing on the escalator. The man beside me, who sounded a bit drunk, turned to me and said, "I just want you to know that you are very beautiful and I hope you have a wonderful day." That was sweet.

An acquaintance from back home passed away today. It's made me a little sad, even though we weren't close. I will always admire her strength and positivity regarding life and her illness.

I'm done like dinner. Must curl up in bed or drink hot tea....

Boring

2007-11-11T16:29:00.000-05:00

I do apologize for doing some website promotion in my blog but I need all the extra cash I can get! I cannot reveal my sponsors - ooh, how mysterious am I? Anyway, I thought I would write a real blog even though it seems as though commentary from friends are limited nowadays. I have to wonder if others are as sick of being online as I am or has everyone moved to Facebook?

I hope you are all well. Happy autumn!

There is not much new at my end of the world. After a long stint of not working, I am back at my job. My work is funny that way. Not "ha-ha" funny either. When there is no work, it's scary. The time off is intense and all my bills stresses me out. I slack off on my sad attempt at budgeting. However, when work starts up again...I transform into a machine. When it rains, it pours - as they say. It seems as though I have been working like a madwoman. I have some regular eight hour days and then I have a monster of a day - nine, ten, eleven hours plus. I can't complain - I do need the money, especially at this time of year. By the end of the week, I am toast. Done like dinner. All I want to do is go to sleep for a good two days. Therefore, my social life is non-existant. I don't have one.

And I can't really say that I mind. Of course, it would be nice to go out on the town and paint it red or get dolled up for an adventurous night. Yet, at the end of the week, all I can think about is being home and comfortable - spending a night curled up on the couch with my partner, the dog at our feets napping away, having a nice homemade meal that I am not in a rush to make. Oh, how domestic I have become!

I can't believe it is November now. Christmas is almost a month away. It is also a month away before I go home again. I have yet to book my flight because I do everything last minute. I feel bad about going, abandoning my dog and my partner. When I went home in the summer, I cried when I left Toshio...knowing that he's sitting there all bummed out and knowing that mommy's leaving. Ugh, it's heartbreaking to leave him when he is giving me that face that says, please don't go.

Anyway, what else can I tell you....

I'm reading here and there, watching some good and bad movies lately, making some wicked autumn meals (like veggie chili and homemade bread and cake), brainstorming for unique and inexpensive Christmas gifts, listening to a lot of Japanese instrumental music from the 60s, still plugging away at my gratitude photoblog, and playing one too many games of online Scrabble on Facebook.

Yep, I'm going through a boring phase.

Dream

2007-09-29T17:08:00.001-05:00

It's been awhile since I have shared my dreams here. I don't know who is amused by my silly night-time dreams other than Dawneth. Anyway, I told my partner that I had a dream about someone and he stopped me - he did not want to know any more. So, I share with you, my lovely blog readers...

I'm in Kildonan Mall, back home in Winnipeg. I'm with a friend. I cannot remember who, but I'm certain it was a male friend. We're walking through the center court area. As with many generic shopping centers, there is this center area with a sitting area (for the old folks and tuckered out parents of teenagers) with a skylight above. So, I'm walking with my man friend...we're chatting...laughing it up. I took a look at all of those sitting in the center court. It's full of goths. Goths, everywhere! And the goths...they had a ringleader in a trenchcoat. I didn't take much notice of who the ringleader was.

As we were walking away from the circle of goths, I heard a heckle.

"What is that? A man!? Look at her hands! She's got man hands! She's got man hands!"

In "real" life, I have had jocko types who have bluntly asked at the bar if I was a man or a drag queen or a lesbian just because I am tall and wear makeup. I never told them "what" I was other than give them a good bark and maybe once I shoved one of the jockos. Anyway, so there I am in the dream getting heckled. I turn around, mad as hell to see who said that. It was their ringleader in the art of darkness. And it was none other than Scott Baio.

I scream. I scream like I never have before. I scream to him that I am not a man. I scream that my hands are not man hands. And I left the best for last for my final scream:

"AT LEAST I'M NOT SCOTT BAIO, CHARLES in CHARGE!"

I walked away and felt incredibly satisfied that I left Scott Baio speechless. And then I felt a tinge of regret when I finally admitted it to myself, "I kinda liked Charles in Charge".

And then I woke up...

A Late Summer Update

2007-09-10T21:43:00.000-05:00

It's about time that I let you know the skinny on what's been happening in the lovely life of Linda. I haven't been blogging and writing as much as I would like to and I hope to get back into the swing of things, especially with summer sadly winding down.

I have to say, I had a truly fun summer. If I were to make a list of things that happened, it probably wouldn't amount to much as far as number of things go. I had a lot of great little things happen to me and, for that, I am grateful.

Firstly, we got Toshio the Happy Good Luck Dog. I remember the night I met Toshio. Zak dropped him off at our place as he was dogsitting at another friend's house. I was so scared! I never had a dog before, only cats. I was scared he would turn on me in the middle of the night and attack me when I was peacefully sleeping in bed. Those thoughts left me very quickly after that first night. It didn't take long to fall in love with Toshio. Somedays, I just look at him and I am amazed at what a wonderful creature he is. I am so very glad he is in my life, it's not even funny. I used to hate dog kisses and dog slobber and dog smell, but now...oh, how I love Toshio's kisses and I don't mind his slobber even when it's all over my nice skirts and I could honestly care less that he smells "like a dog". He's my dog and that's all that matters. He is well, thanks for asking! He is getting better around strangers and is behaving rather well. He is still pulling on his leash everyday. He has had many encounters with skunks recently and, knock on wood, he's been one lucky dog.

I'm sure all of you will remember photographs in my previous entries of the distinguished Chester the Cat that lives on my balcony. Just recently, we found out the history of Chester. His owner finally took the time to find her cat, after months of him living in a Rubbermaid container on our balcony. She told me that his name is Vendredi, which means Friday in French. He was born on Good Friday and he is seventeen years of age. He's an old man cat who does not want to go home, she said as she manhandled Chester. Last Wednesday, Chester started to look ill and I started to worry. I know he is not my cat nor is he my neighbor's cat. He is simply a cat that chose to live on our balcony in a blue Rubbermaid container for a house. He looked frail. He could not close his mouth, tongue hanging out. He had a glob of yellow-ish drool on his chin. He looked skinnier and he smelled rather funky. We were all worried, the neighbors and myself included. He disappeared this last Friday and I thought he went away forever. My neighbor ended up talking to the owner. Chester is back at his first home and the owner is not letting him out anymore. I hope she takes good care of him but I sadly doubt it. I wonder if I will ever see his handsome face ever again?

As far as my health goes, my thyroid has once again turned inactive on me. I had another series of doctors appointments and blood tests which determined this. Overall, I haven't been feeling that bad - just a little dizzy here and there, which I naively thought was the result of the heatwave we were having in Montreal. My doctor upped my medication and I am waiting for it to kick in. I have another blood test at the end of the month. As well, I have started a new skincare regime as per my lacklustre dermatologist. My skin currently hates me for using this particular gel that I am using. I have winter skin; dry and itchy. I have discovered that everything I use on my face contains alcohol which causes my face to feel like it is on fire and my eyelids to become extremely dry. I won't give up hope yet so see if there are any positive results.

I'm still laid off from work and I'm okay with that. Work should be starting up soon, so they say. They have recently handed off some paperwork to do at home and that made me happy. I like working from home. It means that I can work while listening to Guns N' Roses in my pajamas. I'm looking forward to starting work again - it gets me out of the house and it's always nice to have a regular paycheque. I'm not looking forward to dealing with people again and being away from my dog however.

I haven't been writing or being as creative as I wanted to be this summer. I have been taking lots of photographs with my digital camera so I guess that counts as something.

I have, however, been regularly watching that reality show called Big Brother. It's something that I am not proud of and I hate to admit how much I enjoy the show. I rarily watch television so you'd think that I would stick with something "smart". Heh, nope. It's trash television. Is it wrong of me to admit that, for once, I adore how the game is turning out? Is it wrong to be excited to see the person I want to win up there in the final three?! Err, admitting this makes me feel ashamed! One last thing - I love Dick!

I had the pleasure, this summer, of entertaining two out of town friends as well. Nicole came out for a few weeks in August and Ren came out this past weekend. Both visits were full of fun and exploration! I had a blast with them. You know, I don't have a lot of friends here so it was nice to get out and see all these little things I normally don't get out to see. It kept me busy, that's for certain! I went many places during this time too, many places I never knew existed! As well, I blew off some steam via the power of shopping. It's about time that I spent some of my hard earned money on ME. We went for lunch, we saw some pretty cool museum exhibits, we went to many different shops, and we did a lot of walking about. I can't wait until my sister comes out or even some other friends back home. Now I know where to take them even though I might still get a little lost along the way!

Speaking of shopping, I started to pick up a few gifts for Christmas already. I always despised those who shop early for Christmas. Perhaps, it is bitterness for being among the masses that shops last minute. I figure that in the long run, I will save more money by shopping earlier and bit by bit versus all in one shopping trip. I will also save some sanity, which is always a good thing. I picked up something cool for my brother-in-law and something really unique for my sister that I just know she will adore! Maybe this will give me more time to make individual cross-stitched goodies for people this holiday season!

Wow, what else can I tell you?!

What does the autumn hold for me? Hmmm...
Continue taking photos and loving my boo-boo dog. I would love to quit smoking for my health and to save money. I look forward to coming home for Christmas but I don't look forward to being apart from Zak and Toshio. I hope to get my ass into gear and start writing something more than a few blogs here and there. I hope more friends come out to conquer Montreal for a day or longer! I hope to have more drinks and more company over and invite more folks for dinner. I hope to work until late spring but we'll see what happens with my frequently unreliable job. I'll probably spend a little more time exploring Montreal on my own.

All in all, I just look forward to being happy and healthy and getting wintery dog kisses.

I'm Back...

2007-08-02T19:37:00.001-05:00

So!

I should be writing this fabulous blog. You know, one that catches us up on everything that has happened in the last fews weeks. One that rants and raves about what a fantastic trip, without sparing you the sordid details. Believe me when I say that I want to.

However, I'm sitting before the computer and sweating. Sweating for all the wrong reasons. My twelve days in Manitoba was spent in sweltering hot temperatures. I return to Montreal for much of the same. I swear, this delicate flower is wilting.

I'll say this much - I had a blast. My last two trips back home were write-offs, being sick and all. This time rocked. I wasn't sick once! I saw friends, I spent tons of time with family, I kicked ass at American Idol on the Playstation, I took tons of photos (a lot, I'm afraid, weren't as artistic as I liked them to be), I got new glasses, I got a haircut, I spent waaay too much money on cheap shopping (A sweater for $6.99! Capri pants for $9.99!), and so on and so forth.

The downsides, other than the heat, were the terrible mosquitoes and the water. I don't know what it is but Winnipeg water tastes like dirt, even with a water filtering system. Selkirk water is incredibly bad. Not to mention, Manitoba water makes my hair and skin look like crap. Oh, and it always sucks to say bye and feeling like old friends have drifted away because of distance.

I will write in depth of my trip. Perhaps, I will do a photo-blog about it. Looks like I exceeded the amount of photos for my Flickr, so I'll either upgrade or find somewhere else to post them. Until then, hang on tight for a real update!

Hiatus

2007-07-16T18:04:00.000-05:00

If you don't hear from me for a while, I'm on hiatus!

I'm going home for 12 days, starting tomorrow! I will be sure to update y'all when I get back!

See you after the 29th of July!

Dermatologist

2007-06-27T11:37:00.001-05:00

I waited three months to see a dermatologist.

I have complained and talked about my skin before in this blog. For those of you who do not know, I don't have the greatest skin. It is not as bad as before (it was terrible when I was 14 and around 21 years of age) but I still have slight scarring from hormonal cystic acne break-outs. Around PMS, I will have the occasional cystic acne...but as I mentioned, it is not as bad as before. In fact, my skin doesn't look that bad compared to years ago. With age, it is beginning to look pretty good. However, I'm 30 years old and it feels like my face is still 15 - haha. I'm sick of breaking out and I'm sick of the slight scarring. All I want is nice skin for once.

I waited three months for this appointment with the dermatologist.

I pretty much figured that my options were slim as I don't want to go on birth control pills, Accutane, or anti-biotics as suggested when I was 14 and going to the dermatologist. I thought, however, that there might be some other options to explore as it's been over ten years since I saw a dermatologist.

I waited three months to see this dermatologist and I felt like such a number. I was in and out of his room in a matter of minutes. He never asked me about my skin or what medications I have tried in the past, he did not tell me anything about my skin, or even ask "how are you today?". He asked me what I wanted, he took a look at my skin, and wrote a prescription. I seriously waited longer to get fast food compared to the time I spent in the doctor's room. I felt so rushed that I did not get the chance to ask him about another skin concern or a general question about heat rash (my partner is suffering from this at the moment). And I understand that I do live in Quebec but the guy could barely speak English.

Why is that I have to wait three months to see a specialist when he only gives me three minutes of his time? It doesn't seem fair especially when you think of how much money he makes out of my three minute visit!

He gave me a presciption for tetracycline and two different topical gels. Chances are, I won't use this prescription. He never told me what the side effects of these medications are, he never told me if they can be used with the thyroid medication that I am on, and he seemed defensive when I told him that I was on anti-biotics when I was a teen and it didn't work.

I can say this - when I was a teen, I saw a really wonderful dermatologist. He took the time to talk to you, he cared, and he thoroughly explained medications and skincare to you. You could tell he had children of his own. He was warm and gentle and professional. He did not rush you out in a matter of three minutes after a three month long wait to see him.

Anyway, my friend manages a health store. She suggested a number of things that I will look over when I go back home for a little holiday. Maybe I'll ask my family doctor for another referral to a different dermatologist too.

Or maybe I'll just have to live with less than perfect skin as I have been doing since I was 14 years old. Sigh!

Tags: Acne, Cystic Acne, Dermatologist, Skin, Skincare

Frustration

2007-06-08T00:02:00.001-05:00

So, it's official. Being a tour widow is kind of dragging me down. It's been close to three weeks and I've kept myself occupied. I've kept myself busy. I've even had my hands full, for all the wrong reasons. There has been only one creepy insect sighting and nothing has dramatically broken down or gone wrong (the only close call being the skunk that nearly sprayed Toshio). This kind of luck is rare for me, it seems.

I can say this - I'm lonely. And that is what is getting me down. Sure, I have a four-legged companion now and I am grateful for that. I miss having a body around. I miss laughing with someone. I miss sleeping in and I miss not walking the dog in the morning. I miss being touched. I miss shared smiles.

It was much the same last time around. In the middle of being a tour widow, I turn to porn. Ah, porn! What a faithful companion! I turn it on expecting to be turned on and then the phone rings. I'm alone for weeks and the telephone barely rings. Finally, it does...I race to the phone and it is always the most unsexy people calling at clearly the wrong time. I won't name names. At least it wasn't my ex - he always had this uncanny habit of calling out of the blue when I just so happened to be watching porn. I swear he had some sort of "porn radar" or something when it came to me. Frustrated, I return to my porn only to discover that I overanalyze it to the point of not enjoying it. I shouldn't have to think when I am watching porn, isn't that the rule? So to put it bluntly, I am a bit frustrated at the moment. And that kind of frustration usually leads to pure anger and hatred towards most people. Haha...

I feel like my life has been revolving around the dog and admitting that makes me feel like one big asshole. I can't help it though, it kind of gets me down. At times, people ask me about the dog before asking how I am doing. I go to the park and I am forced to talk...about our dogs. I get advice, whether I like it or not (which I am grateful for, don't get me wrong). Everything is dog dog dog. And though I love my dog, I swear to God...he is aging me which each and every passing day. I'm surprised I don't have any grey hair - thank God for hair dye and good genes!

And for all those smart asses who will leave a comment asking me how my dog is, he is fine. He is getting better day by day, I think (I hope!). Our midnight walks are rather successful, I'm pleased about that. Our morning and afternoon walks - that is when I am subjected to learning the art of patience. There have been mornings where I came home and had dramatic meltdowns while dishing out dog food, actually pulled at my hair while letting out some sort of ungodly moan, and chainsmoked after the walk. I know it's not his fault though - he's only scared. His pulling is insane. Yesterday, he yanked me in such a way that I pulled something in my arm. Ouch.

The worst thing is how people look at me on the street with Toshio. They look at me like some sort of freakshow animal abuser. Some are amused. Some are appalled. Children stop and stare, riding up to me on their bikes without realizing that bicycles tremendously scare the dog. And I hate them all. See, if I truly got off on porn the other night...I wouldn't viciously loathe them as much.

I do what the advice-givers tell me - stop and turn, stand still like a tree. Reward him for good walking with a treat and verbal encouragement. And I do...and it does work. However, when he is scared - there is no stopping him. Saying NO! is apparently a bad thing and it really doesn't work anyhow. Once we hit the end of my street, it is not even a minute's walk. It takes us close to fifteen minutes. And in those fifteen minutes, all I can think about is going on a holiday - anywhere. This afternoon's walk was something else. On one side of the street, two boys were playing street hockey. One the other side, a bunch of five year old armed with heavy metal shovels and planks of wood, hitting the sidewalk. And then a car with a terrible muffler drove by. And then there was an abandoned shopping cart. And then people doing renovations. And then some jackass who playfully commented, "Your dog doesn't listen to you, huh huh huh" (that's French laughter, in case you didn't know). And then, I wanted to breathe fire on everyone.

With all that said, I sincerely love Toshio. He makes me laugh and we have a great time together. We run through the lawn sprinklers at midnight. I sing him songs that make him give me high fives (my biggest fan, by far, of my singing voice). He kisses me in the morning and he guards my side of the bed at night (he got stuck under the bed the other morning though). He runs through the white fluffy dandelions in the morning and has white fluff all over his tongue (and then he yaks, so that part isn't so cute). Other than his fearful walks and nervous barks, he's been a really amazing companion.

My life revolves around the dog. See!

On a good note, Toly took me out for a milkshake yesterday. It made my week. I haven't had a milkshake in many, many years. Sure, they are easy to come by...but I like to abstain from certain delights because when you finally taste or experience whatever it is you are abstaining from - it is explosive with flavor and texture and pleasure.

Heh, way to turn that dirty!

Dealing With Dog

2007-05-27T11:48:00.001-05:00

I think Toshio is officially draining the life out of me! In my head, I am screaming - "Calgon, take me away!" and "Good God, I need a vacation! Please, grant me a vacation! Vegas...Winnipeg...I don't care!".

Okay, so he's not that bad. I have to admit, he's a little neurotic since my boyfriend left for his tour. He is now barking at anything in the house. He has been reasonably good on his leash but this morning he pulled something fierce. He pulled to the point where his collar almost came off. He is really scared of people - people coming out of their cars, people on bicycles who choose to ride on the sideWALK, people who are making lots of noise. I keep getting handfuls of advice for his leash pulling and his barking. I even read online that I am supposed to look out the window to reassure him that there is no threat outside and then say he is a good boy. My hands are sore from the leash already. My body is tired. My voice is tired from saying no. I love the dog, don't get me wrong. I just want him to calm down a bit. God, imagine me with a child - yikes.

One trick I read online actually worked. Have the dog sit. You calmly say his name and "good dog" while softly petting his body, from his head to his legs. It apparently helps you bond with your dog. I noticed that when I do that, he calms right down. His body becomes less tense. He ends up on his back, allowing me to pet his chest and belly. He looks like he is in heaven. It's actually rather adorable. As well, I noticed that since doing that - he is spending more time with me rather than waiting at the door for my boyfriend to return home. I'm feeling lonely...I need some petting and encouraging words whispered in my ear, haha.

I ran into a man and his dog in the park, if you will, this morning. Of course, I didn't even have any coffee in my system so I was pretty out of it. We talked about skunks while Toshio played with his Scottie-dog named Miles. His dog got sprayed three times, once at ten in the morning. He told me that peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap is better than tomato juice to remove the stink of skunk spray. I should get some of that...just in case. According to this man, there are a lot of skunks in this area. Great!

Anyway, I had an exciting Saturday night last night. I cleaned the bathroom. How sexy is that? Of course, the bathroom really did need a good cleaning. I've been putting it off for far too long. Everything is shiny and dust-free. I get a bizarre sense of satisfaction out of that part. However, I could think of more interesting ways to spend my Saturday night than cleaning my bathroom. My entire Saturday was cleaning and saying no to the dog's barking.

Slowly but surely, all the sexy will be drained out of me by the time my boyfriend gets back from tour.

Tags: Cleaning, Dogs, Skunks

Dealing With Dog

2007-05-27T11:48:00.000-05:00

Day One of Tour Widowry

2007-05-26T11:18:00.001-05:00

Ah, so today is the first full day of being a tour widow. I'll begin to conquer the day once the coffee kicks in. My man left us yesterday afternoon.

Our new dog is a little bummed out and that makes me sad. My man told me that dogs can sense your moods so I've been trying to keep up a cheerful and playful attitude around the mutt. Still, our dog waits patiently by the door for his daddy to return despite my efforts. Our first walk together sans daddy went alright. Actually, it felt like tug o' war between us.

Our midnight walk went surprisingly well though. Needless to say, the dog got a little cookie when we reached home. We usually take him to this parking lot at night, which faces a grassy hill. We both run around and act silly. So I let him off his leash and we begin to act goofy together. From out of nowhere, a skunk bolted across the lot. And of course, the dog thinks it is another small dog that he can play with. He got this incredibly silly look on his face that screams playtime. They went face to face and I was yelling at him to get back to me. Thank God, he listened to me and came back with this look of "what's wrong?". The last thing I needed was a skunky dog at midnight with nothing to cure it. By the way, in case something like this actually happens - what do I do? I heard something about tomato juice or tomato sauce. The highlight of our midnight walk? Since it was so incredibly hot and humid out yesterday - we found a lawn sprinkler and ran through it together! That cooled us both off.

Our morning walk was quiet and he was reasonably well behaved. I am not as overwhelmed as I thought I would be with just the dog and me. Now if he can only shut his trap when the neighbors are out on the balcony and I'd be happy! I think he is just trying to protect me though even though the neighbors think he is adorable enough to bring him "cookies". On a side note, the neighbor also brought me a big bag of oranges. I won't be getting any scurvy while my man is on the road, that's for sure.

My man played in Ottawa last night and it looks like everything went surprisingly well. We found out this morning that his phone card has expired which kind of sucks. I don't recall the phone card having an expiration date on it and it was only recently that I put more money on the card. You would think that a card would not expire if the card is still active and being used. I hate wasting money.

In other news, I made an amazing pot of coffee this morning. I'm hoping it kicks in soon. I feel beat and, for some strange reason, my right eyelid is swollen. Just call me Popeye.

I had a dream last night that my friend was pretending to be a werewolf and was chasing me around. I was giggling like a schoolgirl, bouncy in a tight sweater and all.

You know what I'm sick of? Myspace"friend" requests from books. Heck, I love to read. I adore the written word. However, I'm sick of seeing these stupid requests for books. I have accepted a few of them. For example, I accepted a certain book/friend request - not only does his punk rock writings seem interesting, he's a former Winnipegger and he's a cool, funny guy. Books on Myspace are becoming like music. It seems like anyone can put a book out nowadays. I suppose I should not assume but I highly doubt that the majority of these books are any good. I can say for certain, the book covers are usually terrible. I wonder if there is an option on Myspace that allows you to not accept requests from books? I know there is one for bands.

Anyway, this blorg is all over the place.

I should be making good use of my time. Conquering the day or something grand. My place is a mess so I think I should take care of that first. My life should be a little sexier than dirty dishes and laundry, haha.

Tags: Bands, Dogs, Musicians, Myspace, Tour, Tour Widow

Sickly Update

2007-05-19T12:51:00.001-05:00

I've been here in Montreal for almost three years and this is pretty much the first time I fell ill (not counting my wisdom tooth ordeal). My head feels heavy and feverish. My eyes are half-shut. I feel like staying in bed all day, for all the wrong reasons. It could be worse, of course. I can still breathe. My throat is not scratchy. My body and mind is simply feeling worn down and weak. I'm certain I will make pleasant company at the dinner party I am attending tonight. I'll be the one in the corner, grasping my forehead. Come say hi, I'll let out a pitiful moan in return!

Lately, my dreams are scattered and make no sense. I've come to realize the Gods of Sleep are working against me. Last night, I had a fantastic and potentially sexy dream of being in Las Vegas with a handful of former co-workers. I was in a skyscraper, looking at the city skyline with a smirk on my face and wondering what kind of mischief I will find in the middle of my night. Ah...and then the dog woke me up at four in the morning by getting sick.

Speaking of the dog, Toshio is getting along rather well. He is still quite afraid of people and strange objects (bicycles, pylons, plastic bags blowing in the wind, etc). He trusts us now, knowing that he does have a home to go back to and won't be abused. He behaves himself a little better on the leash, as well. He only starts to pull when he is scared or when he knows he is on our street. He still doesn't make much of a production when he has to go outside though so there have been a few messes here and there. I get tons of morning kisses from him, which is a bit strange, and he follows me around constantly, protecting me until a plastic bag crosses our path! And I'm getting used to taking care of the beast too. Of course, he thinks we're equals - I think - and doesn't listen to me as much as he should. I'm trying my best to be more dominent though I admit...sometimes I am so tired of saying no, heh. We'll see what happens when it's only me and Toshio for the next three weeks.

My stint as a tour widow starts next week. I hope some lovely gals will keep me company. Sweaty pillow fight, anyone?!

As some of you know, I get the summers (and Christmas) off at my work. It comes in handy. I get to go home when I can. Anyway, I managed to get a gig typing out my friend's film script...which was actually full of fun and surprises. As well, I took on some extra work from my job to complete at home. Without revealing too many details, I'm doing government agency evaluations via the telephone. It's easy, good money, and I could "go to work" while not wearing pants...if I want to. Pants-free Linda = Happiness.

One of the highlights of my week was finding a long-lost friend on Facebook. I found my old co-worker and good friend Liza. This makes me incredibly happy as she always crossed my mind since we lost touch. She's the kind of woman that brings a smile to your face and makes you feel incredibly glad that you have someone like her in your life as a friend. I've missed our talks and our laughs. She's in Tennessee now, happy and healthy and doing rather well for herself. That's exactly what I hoped to hear from her. I guess the internet is good for something other than porn, haha!

Lately, all I want to do is go home. I've been thinking about home a lot these days. I don't know when I can get home this summer. I have a dog to think about now and I'll be left alone for a good chunk of summer. I have to plan my trip around that and, call me selfish, it discourages me a little. I wish I could be there for when my father retires this month (just typing that brings tears to my eyes). I wish I could be goofy with my sister when she takes her holidays. I wish I could say happy birthday to my grandmother's face rather than over the telephone. I even wish I could be irked by my mom, haha. Sometimes, I feel like the worst daughter in the world for living so far from my family. I think I just need a good dose of endless, beautiful prairie skies and honest smiles from old friends to renew myself. I think I need an adventure.

But first, I have to get over this cold....haha.

Hair

2007-04-29T19:33:00.001-05:00

Freshly cut bangs = happiness.

I need a little happiness, I need a little bang trim. Badly. My bangs have gotten to the point of no return. I am forced to sculpt, if you will, my bangs in place with my bare hands. With this method, my bangs will stay in place for a good hour. A minute past that hour, it collapses like a house of cards. Tomorrow, hopefully, I will get my bangs trimmed and then I'll stop growling at the mirror. Speaking of my hair, I think I can honestly say that I am officially sick of it.

Back in the day, when I had money to toss around carelessly on whatever I pleased, I had some pretty cool hair. And when it wasn't "cool", I was trying fun things with it regardless of the outcome. I guess it comes in handy to work in a salon, like I did back then. As well, I knew some pretty amazing people in the hair business. I had so much fun with my stylist back then. Not only did she do a fantastic job, she had a heart of gold. She was one of those people that you just had to smile with. She saw the beauty in a lot of things, in a lot of people. She always made me feel beautiful and it wasn't because she was an awesome stylist. It was more than just that. She simply was a beautiful person herself, inside and out, who got herself into a bit of mess that I cannot elaborate on.

I haven't really let people mess with my hair since her, other than my mom and a few others. Needless to say, my hair has done nothing exciting for a long time. It's long. It gets caught in things. It strangles me in my sleep. My bangs look fine when they are cut but the rest of it is just there.

I don't like depending and becoming attached to hair. I just want to chop it off without having second thoughts (it's easier to do so when your hair isn't long). I don't like to be caught in that cycle where you wonder and obsess on what-if-it-doesn't-look-good.

Anyway, in the grand scheme of things - this means nothing. It's just hair and I'm just complaining. I've let only about three people in my life cut my hair - my mom, my wonderful stylist, and the stylist at the salon I worked at. Truth is, I just don't trust anyone when it comes to hair.

I'm thinking about finding my old stylist when I go back home this summer. I sincerely hope life is treating her well again. I sincerely hope she is brimming with wonder and beauty again.

Tags: Bangs, Hair, Hairstylists, Salons

RIP June Callwood

2007-04-14T13:08:00.000-05:00

Last weekend, I watched the last interview with June Callwood on CBC's The Hour. It was beautiful, touching - what a marvelous lady she was, full of grace and wit. If you want to watch the video of her, this is the LINK.

Last Updated: Saturday, April 14, 2007 | 10:28 AM ET
CBC Arts

June Callwood, the remarkable Canadian journalist, humanitarian and social activist, died early Saturday after a long fight with cancer. She was 82.

She was first diagnosed with inoperable cancer in 2004, but refused treatment and continued to be active, most recently on the campaign to end child poverty, until a few months ago.

Callwood blazed trails for women's rights, gay rights and the rights of the underprivileged in a history of activism dating back to the 1960s.

The author of 30 books, she was also the founder of a breast-cancer support centre, Nellie's hostel for abused women, Jessie's centre for teenage mothers and the AIDS hospice Casey House.

"The Casey House community is deeply appreciative to the Frayne family for sharing their precious mother and wife with us for so many years," said Jaime Watt, chair of the hospice's board of directors, in a statement. "We send them our love and deepest condolences."

Callwood was a founding member of the Writers' Union of Canada, the Writers' Development Trust, Canadian PEN, the Canadian Civil Liberties Association and the Canadian Association for the Repeal of Abortion Laws, the president of a prostitutes' community organization and a bencher of the Law Society of Upper Canada.

A tireless campaigner who harangued politicians, wrote letters and organized lobby groups, Callwood fought poverty and injustice wherever she saw it.

"She was gentle to a fault ... She wasn't called Saint June for nothing," said friend and writer Sally Armstrong.

Always dressed chicly and known for driving a sporty car, Callwood approached social justice with a smile and joyful, optimistic demeanour. Even living with cancer didn't seem to get her down.

"As a companion, June is self-aware, witty, non-judgmental, sophisticated, informed, passionate, available and loyal — all those special qualities, leavened with her own brand of quirkiness and self-deprecating irony," friend Sylvia Fraser wrote in Toronto Life in March 2005.

Takes on journalism challenge

Born June 2, 1924, in Belle River, Ont., a French-speaking community near Windsor, Callwood remembered the deprivation of the Depression years and a father who left the family when she was 13.

She found her way into newspaper writing during the Second World War, initially at the Brantford Expositor and later at the Globe and Mail.

At the Globe, she met and married sportswriter Trent Frayne, and quit her job at age 20 when she had her first child.

She and Frayne had four children — Jill, Brant, Jennifer and Casey — losing the youngest, Casey, in 1982 in a motorcycle accident when he was 20.

After a period spent raising her children, Callwood began freelance writing, starting with a magazine piece on her flying instructor, a woman named Violet Millsted. She wrote for Chatelaine and Maclean's, tackling such subjects as the sexual abuse of children, birth control, test-tube babies and the battle of the sexes.

It was later, when her children were adolescent hippies, that Callwood began her social activism.

"What brought me on to it was during the '60s in Yorkville — that was my watershed," she said in an interview with CBC Radio.

A hippie at heart

Callwood said she was "entranced by the hippie movement," but noticed that when hippie kids from the Toronto suburbs went home there was an underclass of homeless, poor youth remaining in Yorkville.

"Everyone thought it was a middle-class kids' revolt. What was going underneath [was] that despair of thousands of teenagers who've never had anything and thought for one brief crazy moment that there was a place for them," she said.

Already a founding member of the Canadian Civil Liberties Association, she tried to get help and health care for the poor homeless youth, and saw doors slammed in their faces.

"That politicized me — that did it," she said. She founded a house, Yorkville Digger House, for them to live in.

In the summer of 1968, Callwood was arrested for protesting against police conduct in Yorkville. "I thought I was ruined," she recalled in an article in Saturday Night magazine.

"In my generation, you didn't get arrested unless you were an awful person. One year later, I was B'nai Brith Woman of the Year!"

Founded shelter, hostel for teens

A prominent voice against sexual violence and domestic abuse, she was founder of Nellie's Hostel for Women, a shelter for abused women in Toronto, serving as its first director in 1974. She also founded Jessie's Centre for pregnant teenagers.

She continued to write prolifically on feminist topics — penning Love, Hate, Fear and Anger (1964), Canadian Women and the Law (1974) and The Law Is Not for Women (1976).

Other books from this period include Emma: The True Story of Canada's Unlikely Spy, the story of a young Doukhobor woman from Saskatchewan convicted of spying for the Soviet Union and imprisoned in the late 1940s, and Twelve Weeks in Spring, about the last months of a friend named Margaret Fraser, who died at home with the help of a group of friends and volunteers.

"Someone in that group said to me that being with Margaret was like studying — we were boning up for our own deaths," she said in a 2004 interview with the Globe and Mail.

"It was a huge gift to us, in fact, because there's a great pleasure in providing palliative care, in surrendering your own ego totally in order to stay in tune with the person you're trying to help. You're not calling the shots for once. You're not doing anything except getting the ice cream."

Callwood's next big project was Casey House Hospice, for people dying of AIDS, which opened in 1988 at a time when there was little effective treatment for the disease.

Faced accusations of racism

With her direct, shoot-from-the-hip style, Callwood was described as better at founding organizations than at running them.

She was disparaged by public accusations of racism in the late 1980s, a period of extreme political correctness.

A conference she organized for the Canadian branch of PEN International was picketed by local black writers for excluding writers of colour, despite PEN's plan to bring in writers dedicated to freedom of speech from Ghana, South America and India.

The bad vibrations around the dispute spilled over into her term as a director of Nellie's, where an employee accused her of racism and the board boycotted a fundraiser it had asked her to organize.

There followed months of accusations in the press, with Callwood portrayed as an insensitive WASP, despite her years of activism and Métis background.

"Except for my son's death, nothing in life had hurt so much," she said in a Toronto Life article.

Callwood had two TV programs, In Touch on CBC (1975-78) and Callwood's National Treasures (Vision TV 1991-96), and also a column in the Globe and Mail that highlighted social issues.

She continued writing about AIDS in Jim: A Life With AIDS (1988) and Trail Without End: A Shocking Story of Women and Aids in 1995, the story of 20 women infected with the AIDS virus by the same lover. She also wrote Callwood's National Treasures, a book of portraits of great Canadians.

She has been an awards judge for Governor General's Literary Awards, National Newspaper Awards, 1976-83, and National Magazine Awards.

Callwood was made member of the Order of Canada in 1978 and officer in 1986, and has won numerous humanitarian awards and honorary university doctorates.

She points out that her effectiveness in leading change evolved from her energy and work, instead of privilege.

"I don't have power — I have influence," she said. "Power and privilege? It's an ability to help to change. My prominence is a trust."

A park in Toronto's Fort York neighbourhood has been named after her.

Tags: Canada, June Callwood, Women

The Big White Cat with the Small White Head

2007-04-10T17:53:00.001-05:00

I don't need to tell anyone that I am secretly a crazy old cat lady in training.

This afternoon, I peeked out the front door window to see my neighbor feeding her tabby cat (the one I recently blogged about) and the squirrel. Yes, they were sitting side by side. I never met her before - only her husband, who is a bit standoff-ish but generally a nice man. I heard from Zak that she is a nice older lady so I thought I would say hello and introduce myself. Heck, we've been neighbors since November afterall.

I had other motives though. I wanted to find out the name of her old tabby cat and what happened to her other cat that hasn't been seen outdoors in many months. I've been waiting to photograph this cat that I affectionately call "the big white cat with the small white head". Everytime I saw this cat, I'd get a chuckle. He'd be sitting outside on the balcony tied to the railing with a small string, while sitting on a small piece of cardboard. The tabby was free to roam...but no, the big white cat with the small white head clearly had special needs. We'd imagine that white cat with a white ruffly satin clown collar, just sitting there tied to a string on his small piece of cardboard while saying a humiliating "meow".

Unfortunately, I did not like what I heard. She told me that the (big) white cat (with the small white head) died. He was poisoned. He was on his string (sitting on his piece of cardboard, I imagine). He ate something. He went inside the apartment and died a short time after. This made me rather sad, I have to admit. For months, I have been waiting to photograph this silly looking (but adorable) cat. And now he's gone, died without a name. At least, he had love and a warm home to sleep and a lovely piece of cardboard to sit on.

I asked her what her tabby's name was. He has no name, she said, she did not know. She takes in stray cats and feeds them and, clearly, the tabby decided to live with her and husband. It made me smile - I have a neighbor with a good heart, which is a big change from my last neighbors who piled dog shit in front of our living room window and waist-deep garbage in our fire escape. She seems to feed all the stray cats, as well as the squirrels and pigeons. She seems like a sweet lady, even though sometimes there are about 20 pigeons on the balcony.

I like to believe the big white cat with the small white head died of natural causes, in his sleep where he was dreaming of eating fancy cat food out of foil packets or chasing a delicious bird. May his kitty-cat heaven be lined with cardboard. Godspeed, big white cat with the small white head, godspeed!

Tags: Cat, Cats, Felines, Neighbors

Lost in Translation

2007-03-30T18:25:00.000-05:00

So, I was at the grocery store the other day waiting in line. I was so tired that day. The kind of tired in which you can get into a giggle about absolutely anything. The girl at the counter asked me, in French, if I wanted to donate two dollars for a heart and stroke charity. I was surprised at myself! I actually understood what she said! I was rather proud of myself.

Of course, I didn't know exactly how to respond to her question. I think I know how to say I don't have any money but I don't think that would have been the proper way to express the fact that I didn't have any change on me since I was paying with my debit card. I told her that I did not have two dollars on me.

She was French and didn't know much English. She called the teenaged bag boy over to repeat what she asked me even though I totally understood what she said. The kid comes over and calls me Madam, which kind of makes me sound like a drag queen and/or old but whatever. In his translation, he said:

"She wants to know if you want to give two dollars for someone to have a heart attack."

Bahahahahaha!
I didn't laugh out loud, that would have been rude. I'm sure my attempts at French would sound just as strange. I couldn't help but laugh inside though.

And yes, I ended up donating with my debit card because that was the best laugh of the day.

Tags: French, Funny, Humor, Laugh, Lost in Translation

Slow Times...

2007-03-19T19:37:00.000-05:00

For the first time in a while, I've had an actual weekend off. I'm talking Saturday and Sunday off, plus Monday. I was looking forward to this. I wanted to go for a late morning breakfast. I wanted to do a little writing. Maybe even catch up on some email. Lord knows how lazy I am when it comes to emailing people back promptly. Err.

And of course, my entire body started to fall apart on Friday night. Great.

My teeth started to hurt. You see, I have this one vindictive tooth. Every now and then, it misbehaves. I wait for the pain to pass, as it eventually does. I know that there will come a day when the pain won't go away and I'll have to take care of it once and for all. And that day will probably be when not much money is coming in because life is a jerk that way. Nothing spells fun like getting a $1400 root canal when you are unemployed. *grits teefs*

Just to torture myself...I went browsing around online to see if my tooth pain is related to any other aspect of my health. For once, I actually found good news and not morbid information. Apparently, when your sinuses are messed up it can affect your teeth. I'd rather deal with a sinus issue than a really expensive dental procedure.

Anyway, I felt like my head was a brick this weekend. Tooth pain (it was more like the roof of my mouth was severely bruised, to be exact) truly drains the life out of you. Top it off with the beginnings of a head cold, and you just don't want to do a single thing but curl up on the bed and sleep with the aid of painkillers. And that is what I did. I feel like the weekend just zipped past me and I accomplished little. Curses!

I managed to drag my weary body to the optometrist this weekend though. In my attempt at getting to the bottom of my lack of balance, I discovered that my prescription has changed. Seems like I have astigmatism in my right eyeball which could actually be the reason why I feel like a bit of a lush when I am walking. I hope that's the answer because I'm sick of seeing doctors and having to be aware of how I am walking. Thankfully, it is not as bad as it was back in December. You never really think when you walk down the street, other than to pay attention to cars or a mound of dog shit or a patch of ice on the sidewalk. Since December, I've had to be aware and stay focused while walking. Believe me, it cuts the fun and relaxation out of going for a walk.

When you are under the weather, it is natural to think of all the things that you could be doing if you were well. I have to remind myself that this is my body telling me to slow down and take time for yourself. It's okay to stay in bed with a good book. It's okay to take a long, hot bath. It's okay that you did not go-go-go - even though you have been on the move all week. Basically, it's okay to be lazy. That's what I keep telling myself, since I really do waste time. Sigh.

I guess I did accomplish some. I did some baking, which caused the aroma of cinnamon to swirl around the apartment. I finished reading a pretty darn good novel. I took care of my health. I wandered into an old antique shop to look at this strange instrument and visit the black street cat that lives there. I did all the grown-up things that needed to be done - including my taxes! I made a nice dinner on Saturday night. I watched a silly movie. I wrote to Felica, in one of many journals I have filled for her. I took a nap or two. Oh, and most importantly - I did some sewing. No, nothing fancy and creative. My winter coat's buttons were dangling by a thread and three fell off. My cardigan had a small hole at the seam, which ended up becoming a very large hole. I've been putting it off for such a long time. I've probably looking like a bit of a hobo these last few weeks.

Anyway, I'm off to work tomorrow. This potentially could be my last week of work, as we normally take a bit of a hiatus for the summer. I don't mind being off in the summer but I'd be happy to work well into spring. I need the money, just like everyone else. I'm trying my best to get ahead but it never seems to work that way, even with my brand new nifty budgeting skills. Looks like I'll save a whole $21 this pay period (thanks to our ridiculous hydro bill and getting new glasses so I can see/not fall on my ass). I have this odd feeling that I will sent home early this week. It's a mainly French project we are working on. In the evenings, I'll be waiting patiently by the telephone to purr questions into your strictly Anglo ears...

Tags: Astigmatism, Cold, Eyes, Life, Looking Like a Hobo, Sick, Weekend

Life, life, slow little life...

2007-03-13T19:53:00.001-05:00

I think it is about time for an update. I know y'all missed me. Now, do you want the glamorous version or the truth?!

In all honesty, not much is going on and I think I like it that way. I could, however, be making much better use of my time. I keep telling myself that but by the end of the day or the work week, all I want to do is mellow out and kick back. Thankfully, I don't have a television set that works and gets a variety of English programming otherwise I would probably waste a lot of time. Really, is it wasting time if you choose to curl up on the couch or soak in a bubble bath to read? No, I don't think so.

My health has been alright. The dizziness/lightheadedness is coming back every now and then. It perplexes me. It only seems to hit me when I am walking outside and usually when I am alone. I'm beginning to think it is either completely psychological or it's my ear. I had a nasty ear infection last summer and who knows what kind of damage could be throwing my balance off. I'm also getting my eyes checked this weekend. To clarify, it's not really a dizziness now. It's more of a lack of balance which is a little frightening as I am already clumsy.

Speaking of clumsy, I fell down some stairs the other day. Sadly, I wasn't carrying twelve cream pies. Actually, I was laughing at the neighbor across the street as he was wearing his neon green toque and a bright striped t-shirt. I couldn't help but laugh at his outfit, I wasn't laughing at him. Honest! He is a bit slow and always asks my partner specifically for old coins from other countries. I never saw him in such a bright outfit before and a laugh slipped past my painted red lips - and then I fell down about five stairs to the bottom. The neighbor looked thoroughly disturbed, like I ruined the routine of his entire day. He stood there, looking disturbed at the sight of me falling down the stairs and then laughing to myself at how clumsy I am. A few hours later and my body started to ache. It wasn't as funny as before.

Work has been fine. There's always something to complain about but I'll just keep a pleasant smile on this face of mine. Actually, I enjoy work these days even when it feels long and repetitive. We joke around a lot and we talk girl talk. I like it. And I miss that. There's a lack of girl talk and giggling over ridiculous things in my Montreal life. I have it with my fellow co-workers. I appreciate it. As far as the work itself goes, it's work. Sometimes I'm tired of repeating the same things over and over again. Sometimes I'm sick of smelling them all day long. Sometimes I'm amazed that people take work so lightly, and this is coming from someone who is pretty lazy. I never slept in for work, I'm always on time. Even when I hate the job I am doing, I'm always there and reasonably ready to work. As well, work makes me want to smack people with cell phones. One day I am going to flip out and I look forward to that day. Maybe I'll even stamp my foot as I bark, "we pay you to work, not to text message your - tabernac!"

What else, what else...

I haven't written in a while, or at least not this weekend. Sometimes my mind is distracted. I can't be creative because of this or because of that. I know they are just excuses. But one thing is for sure, I can't be creative if the entire house is a bloody mess. I cleaned this weekend. I started a little writing project a few weeks ago. I don't want to talk about because I'm secretive that way. It's something that takes a lot of thought and I find that I am mentally exhausted after a handful of pages. The way I see it, if I am not in a mental rush in regards to it - there's nothing wrong with taking my time. Who knows if it's any good. Right now, it's just something for me.

Which brings me back to the idea of making better use of my time. I know I should. I know I have to, if I want to continue to be happy after work ends. I find that when I am not working, I fall into some sort of tragic slump. I feel worthless when I am not working. Yet, I start working again and I feel like I am just another working dummy going over the same motions day after day. I have some friends that truly inspire me to create and hone my apparent talents. It's a matter of getting off my ass, quite honestly. It's a matter of believing what you are doing and can do. I lack this. I see myself as a number. Someone who is ordinary and plain, who will never lead a spectacular life and time is running out. I have to shake off that feeling. There is nothing wrong with leading a life that isn't seen as spectacular to others. As long as it's spectacular to you...that is what counts. The problem is, I don't think I am that satisfied and I am often disappointed in myself and what I do. I know there is talent and drive kicking around here somewhere. It's just a matter of doing it. Soon, I will have time. Work will end and my partner will go on the road. I will have time to be creative. I just have to promise myself that I WILL accomplish something that makes me happy whether it's a knitting project or that so-called book I playfully challenged myself to write last year when the band went on tour.

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could go back to certain places and just inhale all the old scents of my past. When I was housesitting years ago, there was the smell of lumber and spring-time that reminded me of going to the lumber store with my father (he used to go to a store called Beaver Lumber, heh) and yet reminded me of the pain of a broken heart. When I worked at the Bay, there was the stockroom full of pillows and comforters (trust me, a roomful of pillows will give off a distinct aroma). That room was my escape from my boss, who liked my Ukrainian cleavage a little too much. The smell of lemon peppered fried eggs and hashbrowns - I could never recreate that breakfast meal or the aroma. The smell of old pencil boxes full of crayons reminds me of being a kid - if I stick my nose close to one of my partner's old parlor guitars, it smells like that.

I'm babbling.

Reflections on Turning 30

2007-02-14T14:50:00.000-05:00

My thirtieth birthday has come and gone. As the calendar page turned over, I was happy to discover that I did not feel instantly older. I still feel like myself, only with a badge that tells me I'm officially an adult now. And as a friend told me at the stroke of midnight, I can now act like a kid because I can get away with it without being labeled as someone in their annoying 20s. Thirty is the new twenty, I have heard as well. And I have heard from enough women in their thirties that reassure me that they are now having the time of their lives. Good to know, it's not like I can physically go back to my twenties anyhow! I'm thirty and there's no turning back - I feel like I should do some sort of celebratory high kick in the air while wearing scratchy polyester pantsuit like that skit on SNL. I'm fifty! *kicks high in the air, without tearing scratchy polyester pantsuit*

I had a lovely birthday, thanks for asking. My boyfriend woke up with me, even though he played a show the night before and got home quite late. He had morning coffee with me, which I found to be rather sweet, and gave me my birthday gift. Ah, my bathroom is now complete with the wonderful skull and crossbones shower curtain that I have pined for, for a long time now. It goes well with my Umbra black fishbone soap dish. *big goofy smile*

It was a quiet birthday, however. I had to work that day and, boy, was that a kick in the pants. It was not a stressful day, thankfully, but we were at the end of a project so we had to work our asses off. Luckily, I have a flexible voice that can reassure or excite or convince - whatever you want my voice to be, it can. Of course, someday people are jerks and my voice's capability will not prove successful. On my birthday, I was on fire. We had to get the project done so I played it up. I added concern, if the person was unhappy. I became uptight and professional, if the person was uptight and professional themselves. My voice was outgoing while talking to giggly college girls who just love, as I imagine them jumping up and down and having a sweaty dorm-room pillow fight, the quality of service provided to their student loans. Oh, and the best...my greatest ability, adding sexy to my voice to convince men to participate in telephone studies. Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do. It's bad enough that they honestly don't want to participate. You might as well make it a little entertaining for them. Anyway, I ended up working overtime on my birthday. I didn't get out of there 'til well past seven at night.

I came home to a wonderful, casual dinner made by my boyfriend. He's a good cook, needless to say. We talked about our days, his show the night before that I could not attend. My belly was full of homemade food, which is truly a great feeling on a cold winter's night.

My telephone was a little too quiet, I must admit. A friend from back home did call but did not recall that is my birthday. Even though he oftens calls me his best friend and we have known each other for about ten years now. At least, I talked to my family and a few phone calls trickled in over the next few days.

A little later in the evening, a couple of our friends stopped by. They went all out for my birthday and it did make me miss home a little less. Thank you! I couldn't believe people took my online birthday list seriously - I mean, I did secretly want all those things I posted but I was simply joking around when I said to buy me things. I'm not that much of a princess, I swear. I just have a stupid sense of humor. Nonetheless, Ryan and Vanessa came armed with individually-sized penis cakes for my thirtieth birthday as they knew a friend of mine back home makes penis cakes and they didn't want me to be missing home on my birthday! It was a very sweet gesture that made me smile. They gave me a little gift, full of nice things like penis candles and a penis post-it notepad and a penis birthday card and Avon footsoak/cream. I guess the Avon part didn't quite fit with the theme there, but my feets are quite happy now! As well, they are giving me the Housewives Tarot deck that I wished for but it is a little late on arriving. I felt truly spoiled. Also, I opened the gift from my parents. It wasn't so much the contents of the gift that surprised me - it was sheer amazement and wonder of how my mother can fit so many little gifts into one regular sized box. I know Parris probably read that sentence and laughed a great dirty laugh (no matter how I worded that, it still sounded dirty). My parents gave me a ton of stuff - from the fancy KitchenAid pizza cutter that matches my curtains and dishes to packets of rice and Asian seasonings, from cute coffee themed pajamas to various bakeware found at the Dollar Store or at garage sales. Oh, and plenty of chocolate and little cards from them and my grandmother. I felt so loved and spoiled - but I'd give those gifts all up just to have a slice of cake (um, not the penis cake though) with them that day. Well, maybe I wouldn't for that pizza cutter, haha. It's the sexiest pizza cutter I have ever seen, I have to mention.

All in all, I had a lovely birthday with my friends. We sat around and talked, ate a little penis cake, and had a good time. I ended up dipping into the gin by myself and felt a little warm and fuzzy. Good times.

On a side note, I have been feeling a lot better since taking iron supplements and thyroid medication. I feel much more mentally sharp and on the ball. It's been a long time since I felt this way. I no longer feel dizzy and incapable of walking fast in public. I feel a bit happier and more willing to work at what makes me happy, if that makes any sense. It is as though my creative edge has woke up after too many years. I hope this is a good sign as I enter my thirties.

Here are some pictures of my night...well, mostly just the penis cakes, haha.

I received a small chocolate mouse from my co-worker Nicole.

Clean shaven, straight hair, curly hair, and black!

What fine craftmanship!

I ate the black one.

Note, penis candles! Happy Birthday to me!

Tags: 30, Birthday, Cake, Gifts, Happiness, Health, Penis, Penis Cake, Presents, Thirty, Turning Thirty

Turning 30 - A Wishlist

2007-02-05T17:59:00.000-05:00

So.
I'm actually hitting the so-called "big 3-0" this Saturday. Yikes, I'm not sure if I like this "milestone". It's intimidating and haunting. Thirty. 30. Three-Zero. No matter how you type it, it all seems too grown up for me. Dare I say old?

Actually, it doesn't seem old considering that many of my friends are well into their thirties and they are all still cool and stylish and act like little kids every now and then. It's a kind of strange that sits on a more personal level. It's like one day you are in your carefree twenties, boozing it up and not worried about money (or whatever people in their 20s do, haha) and then the next day you turn thirty and wonder where those years have gone, all those New Year's resolutions that never have been completed. Perhaps, I would think differently if I had others to care about (err, like children) to put things into perspective. Or maybe not. I could be just talking out of my ass as far as I'm concerned!

It's weird, though. There are a lot of things that I should have done and probably shouldn't have done, in my twenties. I won't be spending my time here, beating myself up and confessing all the shitty choices I made. Like that time I thought it would be a good idea to go to school and get a student loan. Farg! I think about that every time I go to work. I paid X-amount of money for school and I work at a call center? Well, at least it is a decent one that gives me time off when needed and I'm mainly doing supervising. I just got a raise the other day - go me! I think about all the things that I did not do - like use my talents. Turning thirty isn't a death sentence though, there's plenty of time to complete what I truly want to do.

So, on that note, I am turning thirty. Therefore, you all should get me presents. Last year, I posted a wish list and received NONE of them. Actually, I ended up buying myself a couple of them well after my birthday. I'm posting another list, for your enjoyment. Hint, hint.

Last year, I asked for a skull and crossbones cardigan. I'm still waiting! Hell, I'll even take a plain pink argyle cardigan!

Also, I asked for the Housewives Tarot card deck. I did not get this either. That's okay, I can still go on the website and play around. By the way, they are available on eBay. :)

I still want a naughty, naked latch hook rug kit. Not necessarily this pattern, but something with naked boobies that I can create with little pieces of yarn. Check out their website - www.madewithsweetlove.com.

And I still want to see a giraffe. Please, take me to see a giraffe? I'm pretty and I want to see a giraffe!

A new addition to my birthday wishlist is a retro Winnipeg Jets t-shirt. Not like I like hockey, I just like Winnipeg and I want to attract other 'Peggers to me when I'm walking down the street. Girl sized t-shirt, please!

A skull and crossbones shower curtain. Yes, it will make our bathroom look even more tiny, but at least it will look stylish! It will also go well with my fishbone soap dish.

Yarn. It seems to be a little too challenging to find craft supplies in Montreal. I want to make a hot pink scarf, meow!

I want some bubble bath. I prefer Ombra's line of bubble baths. Nothing beats a Ginger Lime bubble bath on those wintery nights.

White roses. That would be nice. I don't need 12 of them, one will do just fine.

Last but not least, a penis birthday cake made by my lovely friend Nicole. I don't expect to get one as she lives far away and it probably wouldn't look or taste good when it arrives in the mail. Ah, maybe she can surprise me with one the next time I come home!

You get the point and I'm getting kind of bored posting these pics. I'm pretty easy when it comes to shopping - books, homemade gifts, sexy gotch, or even a simple card will make my day. What I really want I can't have. That is to be with my family, with a little boozin' it up with my old friends back home, and later come stumbling to play with my cat Tiki. Sigh!

Tags: 30, Birthday, Gifts, Presents, Thirty, Turning Thirty, Wishlist

Chia Hippo Update - Jan 24-28th

2007-01-29T13:54:00.000-05:00

So, it's been a few days. Let's see what's happening in the world of my Chia Hippo...

He's starting to look a little more hairier! Thank goodness, I was beginning to worry about him.

He is finally comfortable with his new hairstyle. Note, the subtle smile on his Chia Hippo face.

Unfortunately, he is still suffering from a wee bit of patchiness.

Chia Hippo after his pilates class. He really broke a sweat this time.

Ah, Chia Hippo. I think he is looking smashing!

Tags: Chia Pet

Blood Test

2007-01-29T13:50:00.000-05:00

So the good news is I'm not going to die. I can now sleep at night, haha.

I received the blood test results today and I am now glad that I didn't throw that raffle. Otherwise, I'd be handing out the prizes left and right! Fortunately, there is nothing too severe that cannot be fixed. Being a lazy vegetarian didn't pay off - I seem to be "severely anemic". As well, I have a bit of low blood sugar and low cholesterol. Not only that, I have a "lazy thyroid" (but I'm pretty!). I guess I shouldn't laugh at that. I just keep imagining my thyroid gland kicking back on a recliner and watching television all day long. The good news is...my cervix is in perfect form. Ha-zah!

These results don't come as a true shock to me. Actually, it all makes sense. My doctor said that with a "lazy thyroid" you often feel tired and you have no desire to do anything. Heh, and how! It explains my pale complexion better than the fact that I used to go to goth clubs, haha. It explains how terribly weak I feel sometimes. Somedays I feel like Mr. Burns, all brittle and weak.

Now, I have to take iron supplements and thyroid medication. And then I'll begin my career as a world class arm wrestler. Watch out! Truth be told, I'm just looking forward to having energy again. I can't remember when I last felt like I had some.

And you all thought I was just sleepy and lazy!

Tags: Anemia, Blood, Cholesterol, Health, Iron, Thyroid, Weakness

So the other day...

2007-01-29T00:08:00.000-05:00

I'm at work doing surveys. And I call a man named Mr. Mehboob. Heh. Meh. Boob. I giggled out loud.

Ah, it is the first day of my "weekend". Last night, our friends came over. We drank a little beer, smoked some cigarettes. The boys went off to listen to some music. The girls sat on the couch and clucked away. We ordered some pizza and that was an instant satisfaction. You see, PMS Monster demanded melted cheese and lots of it. There has been a sad lack of cheese in my life lately so that pizza made me feel truly euphoric.

Tomorrow, I get my blood work results back from the doctor. I won't lie and say that I'm not concerned. I'm just a little nervous. I suppose the reassuring thing is that they didn't need to see me immediately. I'm assuming if it is truly bad, they would have rescheduled my appointment to an earlier date. Wish me luck! I still think people should be placing bets on what's my health problem. It could have been a fun thing to do - you know, like raffles during the Grey Cup. Most people have their bets on low iron. I agree with the odd few that say hypoglycemia. Who knows, maybe thyroid will be the winning diagnosis. Thyroid's a jerk that way. My bosses keep saying I'm "with seed" and have the tapeworm, since I'm always hungry. That's how rumours start, I told them. To set the record straight, I am neither "with seed" or do I have the tapeworm.

I feel like the day zoomed past me. Didn't I just roll out of bed a few hours ago? And now it's quarter to midnight. It's no fair, I say! I have to say, I accomplished very little. I did some of my darling domestic duties. I took a hot bath. I surfed the net and posted in my daily photoblog. I drank hot tea. I played around with my cosmetics. And now it's close to midnight. I guess I'm allowed to slack off on my day off.

I did, however, have fun playing dress-up. I, once again, attempted to create a vampy 1920's face. I wouldn't call it a great success. 1920's makeup always seems like a good idea. I love that decade for makeup but I can never get it right. It's frustrating. Painting on those Clara Bow lips, those bee-stung lips, is always a huge disaster. It never fails, I end up looking like a bad drag queen.

It reminds me of that time my friend and I thought it would be a brilliant idea to dress up in modest lingerie and do our makeup in 1920's style....while drinking copious amounts of gin. Anyway, once we got the photographs back from developing, we had a good laugh. Yep, drinking and applying vintage makeup looks don't mix. And nothing is more glamourous than vomiting after a boudoir photoshoot. Hot.

My attempt at a 1920's eye went alright, actually. I suppose if I had the appropriate costume, eyebrow shape, and hairstyle - I'd be more convinced. I don't know if my face belongs in the 1920's or a goth club.

The bee-stung lips. Ack, disasterous as usual. Perhaps if I had a different shape of lips it would look better. I can achieve the shape of the popular lip look of that era with lipliner. Once I fill in the lips with lipstick...enter bad drag queen. I laugh at how ridiculous it really looks. I ended up filling my entire lips, in defeat. I guess I'm just not ment to have bee-stung lips.

Excuse me while I babble about makeup.

That's what I love about makeup. It's fun and I get lost in it. It relaxes me, unless something goes terribly wrong. Like that time I thought my black liquid eyeliner was concealer. I think I breathed fire that morning.

Meh. Boob.

Tags: 1920's, Bee-stung Lips, Bloodwork, Cosmetics, Doctors, Health, Makeup

Unhealthy Obsessions

2007-01-23T19:28:00.000-05:00

There should be a website for wingnuts like me to make it easier to assume what their physical ailments are. For a good month and change, I've been wondering what the fark is wrong with me. I'm dizzy and lightheaded, I'm off balance, I'm hungry .... the list goes on. Sometimes it feels like I am on a plane, ascending or descending. It is hard for me to be in a crowded place with lots of busyness around me. I have to stay focused on what is straight ahead of me when I walk (narrowly avoiding stepping in dog crap on the sidewalk). My concentration is off. I don't know what the hell is wrong.

So, this is why there should be a website out there for people like me who obsess and analyze my health until I feel even more shitty. Instead of random Google searches for possible illnesses, there would be a page of symptoms that you check off. You know, kind of like one of those silly blog quizzes one does to see what kind of an evil CareBear they would be or what kind of famous serial killer they are. You just click on the symptoms list, submit your results, and outcomes all the possibilities of your health issue. And it would be in percentages, like you are 60 percent likely to have Lyme disease and 45 percent likely to have vestibular neuronitis, for example. Having your possible list of illnesses cuts your internet search down in half - it's all right in front of you! With handy links! And it's all available at one handy location! No longer do you have to stay up all night in front of your computer, searching webpage after webpage about what deathly disease you have. Just take a survey, click submit, and you have one page full of ailments to obsess over. All night long.

Truth be told, I tried my best to avoid abusing the search engines to figure out what's wrong. I've been fairly good. I gave in, though. It sounds like dizziness /lightheadedness is a common symptoms of a lot of diseases, minor and major ones.

I have to admit, I am a little nervous. I received a phone call from my doctor's office. They told me that the blood results are in and the doctor wants to see me. After the removal of my blood last week, I booked an appointment. I thought they would have made some sort of note about this upcoming appointment related to my blood work. I got a little worried - what if there is something worse that they wanted to urgently talk to me about, what if it's this, what if it's that.

I asked the receptionist, "Is this an urgent matter, like 'you're going to die' kind of urgency?"

She laughed it off and said she didn't think so. I know they aren't allowed to say anything to me anyhow. Clearly, there is something funky (I'm trying not to say "wrong") with me...if they want to speak to me about tests. Ugh. This means waiting for a week to go to the clinic. Which I can handle but I really want to know what's going on with this body of mine. I'm starting to think I should hold some sort of raffle to see who guesses my illness. So far, there are some bets on low iron. My money is on the hypoglycemia.

I guess I will know soon enough. I'm a little worried about starting to work again (tomorrow). Nothing beats feeling dizzy when a subway car is whizzing past you. Good times.

I must go. I have a steamy date with my newfound culinary skills, vegetable broth, and leeks. And I can't get that damned Hockey Night in Canada theme song out of my head....

Tags: Blood, Disease, Dizziness, Health, Illness, Lightheaded, Sickness

Chia Pet Update - Jan 17-23rd

2007-01-23T13:20:00.000-05:00

It is time for another update. I know you all are curious about the health and well-being of my Chia Hippo. Don't worry, he misses you too.

The best place to start, his ass. You see, he is having trouble growing hair(or herb, if you will) on his wee behind. I feel kinda sorry for him.

Look, he is wearing an irritated face after I took that picture of his ass.

The next day, he forgave me.

Here's a nice close up of his growth.

Chia Hippo hates the cold weather and being stuck indoors. This is his view.

I gave him a few days off from posing. Actually, I was just lazy and didn't want to take his pic. Here is his new 'do after a few days.

Don't let it fool you...he is still very patchy. Poor guy.

And this is today! :)

Tags: Chia Pet, News, Update

Celebrities and Why We Give a F*ck

2007-01-22T16:42:00.000-05:00

I try my best not to pay attention to catchy celebrity news headlines or to get wrapped up in the lives of celebrities. Believe me, it is much easier to avoid this when you do not own a functional television set like I do. Yet every now and then, I admit I get distracted with celebrity life and gossip. I despise myself for it and often ask myself why I even care to know whether or not Britney Spears is on another drunken tirade or if Brangelina is going to adopt another child from a third world country. Why do I care? Why am I wasting my seemingly precious thoughts on people I don't even care about, let alone know in "real" life?

The answer is simple. Us "regular" folks, we lead boring, routine lives in an instant age. We wake up every morning. We go to work. We come home. We spend time with our "regular" spouses, less than perfect friends, and often bratty children. We go to bed on low thread count bedding. We eat frozen food that we buy on sale. Often, we live on miserable pay check to miserable pay check. Let's face it. We are regular, routine creatures and there is nothing wrong with that.

The media and celebrity gossip surrounds us whenever we turn on the television, read the newspapers, or go to a web page. It is hard to avoid, even when you loathe it. I believe it is a poor example of escapism. When we lead seemingly boring lives, we tend to escape into a fantasy world. When celebrities are hailed in the media, we care because it is in our face. As we sit there in our department store clothes, they are flaunting expensive jewelry and designer dresses. They have fancy automobiles and private jets. We have a car that needs a new muffler or we have the less than glamorous bus, full of other stinking regular people. It's hard not to wonder what that kind of life that would be, without having to worry how you are going to pay your next heating bill or afford to send your kids to extra-curricular activities or to clean up the house day after day.

The media also builds a relationship between us and the celebrity. At first, we are tossed tiny pieces of information like scraps of bread to a flock of pigeons. We eat it up and want more. Perhaps we don't care which celebrity hooked up with who, at first. More information is then tossed at us - the romance, the exclusive wedding, the gifts, the babies, the wacky religions. By the time you know it, we are hooked in and hungrily waiting for the cruel and torturous rumors and the heartache of the break-up. We say we don't want it to end but I think there is a part of us that wants to inflict negativity on these celebrity couples. It is not because we are truly cruel. Well, maybe only some of us. We just want them to have see what being a "regular" person is all about, warts and all. After all, regular people make mistakes. Regular people go bankrupt. Regular people date the wrong person for them. Regular people have heartache, so celebrites should too. Dammit.

We pay extra attention when a celebrity does something ridiculous or embarrassing as well. Sometimes we express a little sympathy. Most of the time, we just laugh. It is partially the fact that this makes them a little more real. Personally, I think we laugh because it reminds us that our simple lives aren't so bad in the end. A celebrity can have all the money or fame in the world, but us "regular" folk will remember how to get out of a vehicle without showing the world our underwear(or lack thereof) or have our drunken mishaps kept between friends and not the world. We have our privacy and we should be grateful for that.

We care about celebrities because we lead regular lives and we are surrounded by media. Turn off the television, avoid the gossip headlines - it'll do you some good. Pick up a book instead. Get out and enjoy the real world, even though you have bills to pay and a routine to follow. Surround yourself with good, genuine people. Care more about the actual people in your life that you have contact with - your family, your friends, and your community.

There is more to life than Brangelina, Tomkat, or Bennifer. And who the fuck made up those quirky, combined names anyway???

Tags: Bennifer, Brangelina, Britney Spears, Celebrities, Celebrity Gossip, Entertainment, Gossip, Hollywood, Media, Movies, Tomkat

Nice Magazines, Let's F*ck

2007-01-22T15:11:00.000-05:00

My head has been like a turned-on television set when I fall asleep. I dream, on and on. Though I have slept, I wake up tired but very amused.

I had a dream yesterday that I was in this very fancy and exclusive magazine/wine shop. I was with a good friend of mine. This was a lovely place to be; trendy music playing in the background, mahogany decor, and a lovely wine selection. We walked around the place as though we owned it. I had a glass of red wine in my hand and I catwalked in front of the magazines as though I was a supermodel or had a lot of money to blow on magazines for the rich. We drank our wine and looked beautiful.

Sitting on a mahogany bench was this young man. He was rather nerdy, with chin length hair and glasses. He began to walk about and I began to notice him a little more. He was looking at me. He commented outloud, "They have nice magazines here", while staring directly at my boobs. He just called my boobs magazines!

After a while of drinking wine and roaming around with our noses in the air, the young man approached us. I gave my friend a look of pretend-you're-my-boyfriend. The young man simply wanted to thank us, in a snooty accent, for making this stop on our trip to Montreal and to support the scene. We thought he was a complete wingnut.

And because my dreams are so stupid, I proceeded to go to the magazine/wine shop's kitchen and do dishes while standing on a wee stool and the kitchen staff glared at me.

When my friend and I were leaving, there were grocery store type check-out lines at the exit. I noticed the young man again, but with a woman. And then I figured it all out - he was with his mother and he was really only twelve years old. The thought of a twelve year old calling my boobs "magazines" left a bad, bad taste in my mouth.

The next dream, I was in a very big and open room that had lots of couches and seating areas. My close girl friend was with me. An long-time online friend was there as well. My girl friend presented me with this tiny stuffed animal that she made out of pom-poms and felt. My online friend picked up the toy to look at it, and then made the stuffed animal kiss my nose and my cheeks. He did the same to my girl friend. We felt warm and fuzzy. And then he gave us acid.

He gave us these pills that he called acid, but really looked like the anti-anxiety pills I have taken before. I thought, I shouldn't be doing this, this isn't right. But my online friend, who was wearing wonderful pants, put the pill under my tongue and told me to let it dissolve in my mouth. I couldn't say no, he just had such a nice pair of pants on. He gave my girl friend some pills too. He gave me another pill. He gave her another pill. By then, I noticed everyone was high around me and it was a very peaceful room. Little did my online friend know, I only took half a pill and hide the other pills under my leg. I was feeling dizzy and stoned (not like I know what an acid-high is like anyway). I kept asking myself, what is he trying to do by feeding us all these pills...oh, but his pants are sooo nice.

And then I spent the rest of the dream cuddling with my girl friend on a couch. We took a walk-around and I figured out that we were all in a police youth detention center.

Tags:Dreams, Drugs, Sleeping

Hinterland's Who's Who - Spiders on Drugs

2007-01-18T19:22:00.000-05:00

Anyone who grew up in Canada with a television set grew up remembering the great commercial spots sponsored by the Government of Canada. Of course, there were wonderful vignettes of our history and the faithful Hinterland's Who's Who spots. Apparently, those in Quebec do not seem to remember such commercials. Watching such informational commercials bring me back to my childhood, giving me a warm fuzzy feeling. Just that opening music makes me feel like a kid again. For example, this one is about the great Canadian Cougar. No, I'm not talking about the 40 year old lady in tight jeans that dances at your local top 40 bar.

The other day, my friend told me about a Canadian short film that was a hit at the Winnipeg International Film Festival. It is poking fun at these old commercials. It's brilliant!

Tags: Canada, Canadian Wildlife, Commercials, Drugs, film, Hinterland's Who's Who, Spiders, Spiders on Drugs, Youtube

Chia Hippo Update - January 12th to 16th

2007-01-17T21:02:00.000-05:00

So it's been a few days and the Chia Hippo has yet to grow his mossy coat. He may be patchy but I still love him.

Starting to grow a little mohawk!

He has a stunning side profile, if I do say so myself.

The plastic bag suffocation trick works! He's starting to grow!

Don't laugh at his patchiness...

I think my Chia Hippo was up to no good in this photo I took yesterday. Notice his curious way, as he looks out the window with wonder.

Looks like he took a little vacation while I was sleeping. Lucky Hippo! Must be nice to lounge around on the beaches of Greece.

Chia Hippo meets friends wherever he goes!

Tags: Chia Pet

Healthy Resolutions

2007-01-16T19:33:00.000-05:00

It’s only the middle of January and I have already completed two of my so-called New Year’s resolutions. The first resolution completed - I have (nearly) abandoned my fear and went to see my very own doctor.

I saw my new doctor for the first time last week. The clinic was surprisingly empty. I was afraid that it would be full of snotty children and other various St-Henri folk who may or may not have the dreaded “gastro” that is going around in Montreal. The only annoying part about the wait was the young college student who talked loudly on her cell phone the entire wait. I heard all about her car troubles and the difficulty scheduling her dance classes – like, omg, shut up!

When the doctor finally saw me, she put my mind at ease. See, I’m scared of most doctors as I believe they will tell me something truly awful and tragic. For example, “You are going to die”. She didn’t. She was very reassuring and very friendly. I confessed that I was nervous to go to the doctor. She asked if she makes me nervous. We laughed it off and she told me that if there is anything wrong, we can fix it. Instead of having to fill out a sheet of medical history while I waited in the lobby, she asked me questions and wrote it down herself. That impressed me. I didn’t feel like a number. Much like the walk-in clinic doctor back home, I felt like she was her only patient. I think that is important in finding a good doctor.

She gave me no explanation for my odd dizzy spells though. We talked for a while. She listened to my lungs and heart, checked my neck glands, and recorded my blood pressure (which is apparently “perfect”). She said the reasons for my dizziness/lightheadedness could be a number of things, including anxiety as the doctor back home mentioned. Another good sign of a good doctor – she doesn’t seem like a pill pusher. If it is anxiety, I do not want to rely on pills unless I truly have to take them. She agreed with me and said that exercise is the best remedy at times. Now, if they could only make a pill to end my sheer laziness!

This morning, I had blood work done. I had to go in twice – once before eating breakfast and once after. They will be checking for hypoglycemia, thyroid, iron, glucose, and so on. I will get the results come January 29^th. I’m not as paranoid of the results. I’m at the point where I just want this lightheadedness to end. I’ve basically been off for an entire month on a work hiatus and I haven’t been up to venturing out solo. I feel like I haven’t done enough during this time off, physically and socially speaking.

During this time off, however, I have completed my second New Year’s resolution. I have made soup.

Now, I realize this isn’t a life changing resolution like most people make and then eventually break. That’s why I keep my resolutions simple. I don’t even like calling them resolutions. Ah, more like non-stressful plans for the year ahead of me. If I fail to complete a non-stressful plan for 2007, it’s no big deal. I think the idea of finding a new doctor was the most stressful one on my list. However, one should never underestimate the power of a good bowl of soup.

I have to toot my proverbial horn here. I made a pretty damn good pot of soup for my first time. Sweet Baby Jesus, it was a damn fine bowl of soup! I made a tasty pot of leek and potato soup. It was a, as Borat would say, great success! And not only a pot of soup, I made a dozen of cheese and onion muffins to eat with it.

I rock domesticity.

Tags: Doctors, Health, Resolutions, Soup

Chia Pet Update

2007-01-10T21:05:00.000-05:00

I know...y'all have been on the edge of your seats, waiting for the hot Chia action...

When starting your Chia Pet, be prepared for a mess. I don't think I would ever want a child doing this in my house unsupervised. It's messy and it's not as easy as it looks to apply the seeds. You don't need two teaspoons of seeds either. You soak the seeds which turn into this strange seedy gel. You carefully rub the gel on your hippo (yes, it sounds pretty hot, huh?) and wait for the seedy action to begin. I'm still waiting.

As you can see, the Chia Hippo is not as bathed in seeds as I wanted him to be. It's rather difficult and I'm sure his coat will be a patchy one.

It's been about a week and the only growth has been on two or three seeds. Maybe I need to sing the Chia theme song to it?

Despite my tiredless efforts (okay, only filling his planter to the top everyday), Chia Hippo has yet to grow a mossy pelt. Torturous methods were needed - I am now forced to mist him with water and keep a plastic bag on him. I'm cruel that way. Note: Weedy the Bonsai Weed is in the lower right hand corner. :) Send him special growth vibes.

Stay tuned...

Tags: Chia Pet

My Pussy

2007-01-10T20:53:00.000-05:00

So I bought myself a handy digital camera for Christmas. You'd think I would take photographs of my family and friends. Nope, I took photos of my darling Tiki - she is our cat that lives back home with my folks. Oh, how I miss that furry little face.

This is the first picture I took of her. She looks like a little supermodel here, all skinny and stuff:

She usually doesn't look this grumpy:

I think she is mad at me now:

But my favourite...looking like a purrfect Turkey Angel at Christmas(and yet still disgruntled):

Tags: Animals, Cats, Pets, Tuxedo Cats

Ch-Ch-Chia Pet!

2007-01-09T22:18:00.000-05:00

Yep...I got myself my very own Chia Pet this Christmas from one of my best friends. Little did she know, I have always wanted a Chia Pet. Call me lame, but I like silly little things like this. Anyway, it's been days since I started this project (if you can call it that). My Chia Hippo has yet to grow a fine coat of chia herb. Sigh. I think Chia Hippo is in cahoots with my supposed bonsai "tree" which looks like a small weed. Also, I bought myself a digital camera over the holidays so I can take photographs of my exciting, fast-paced life here in Montreal.

Day One~
You are supposed to soak the Chia Hippo planter. I did that. And boy, was I excited to start planting. I soaked him for the suggested 24 hours and then realized that I was supposed to soak the seeds as well. Oops. Chia Hippo soaked for 48 hours instead. I think he enjoyed his bath.

Awww... isn't he cute?

Tags: Chia Pet

A Very Long Update.

2007-01-09T21:00:00.000-05:00

Another year has come and gone. This year I will be turning the so-called “big three-o”. Good grief. Sometimes I wonder how last year slipped past me so quickly, let alone thirty of ‘em. Age is only a number, right? I’ll be saying that to the hunky and young pool boy when I’m 80, heh. That and then, “get off my lawn”. And by lawn, I mean….

Anyway, I am not here to complain about my age or appear reflective (also known as panicky) on the last year or last thirty. I’m just here to catch up with you all. Make yourself a hi-ball of gin and tonic or a frothy mug of hot chocolate and get comfortable.

I know I have been a stranger lately. Lately is certainly an understatement, I suppose. There are unanswered emails and tardy responses. Sincerely, I hope no one is offended at me. At least it is cutting down my list of friends on myspace! Truth be told, I simply do not feel like being online. I don’t feel like wasting time – there are much better things to waste time with and I should know - I’m a constant waster of time! I don’t feel like being frustrated with the errors of myspace. I don’t feel like tearing out my hair every time myspace eats a blog. I don’t feel like wasting away reading the same bulletins written by different people, the tired out surveys and the demands on me to look at their new pics. Don’t get me wrong. I will read them if they are written by people I actually consider friends or interesting strangers, I will look over your new photographs and smile. The point is if I’m going to waste time, let it be with something that I actually enjoy. It may be a long handwritten letter or a well planned out hearty meal, a long distance phone call or curled up with a good book. It’s just a better way to waste time and there are less unexpected errors. And let’s face it. The last thing I really wish to do after a long day of work is to sit in front of another computer.

Work has been fine and I am on our Christmas break as we speak (or as you read). It was very hectic and draining the month or so. I’m at my old market research job but in a new position. I knew about this position for a long time. It was hard to keep quiet about it. Now, I’m what you call a listener. Quality control, if you will. Still, I do interviews when needed and necessary. It’s been a very good experience so far and I am sure it will continue to do so. When I first found out about this position, I was afraid that I was not strong enough to stand up to people who are doing things wrong and help them correct themselves. I still feel that pinch of nervousness and doubt. I try my best through and I believe that they are relatively pleased with my work thus far. I feel much more open and outspoken at work. I have my weak moments but I’m becoming much more comfortable to stand up for myself and more aggressive. It’s what I needed. Besides learning how to be more aggressive, I have discovered that I have absolutely no tolerance for most people under 25 nowadays. Anyway, it’s been interesting. What has been super cool is that my boss, amongst others in the office, has been very encouraging to me with my attempt (or lack thereof) to learn French. They will speak to me in French and then translate. I am comfortable asking them what something means in French or how to say it.

In November, we moved into a new apartment. Whew, at last! This has been such a relief, to say the least. The place is much larger, much cleaner, and very quiet compared to the last place. There are no mice! There is no waterfall coming out of our ceiling – knock on wood. Our neighbors are relatively quiet. I feel a bizarre sense of satisfaction when I clean because it actually looks clean. It has been a very good change for the both of us. There seems to be a sense of calm now between us. Perhaps it is the space we now have. Not only do we have space, we have light! We have a better view out of living room window as opposed to a brick wall and rotting garbage. The other day I sat on the couch and just wrote. I felt so peaceful and at home. It is a good feeling to have. It feels like a home. The other place didn’t have that true feeling.

A few days before I flew home for my annual Christmas visit, I fell ill. I don’t know if ill is the right word because I still don’t know what is wrong. One evening after work, I was walking home with my co-worker. I was feeling fine all day, maybe drank a little too much coffee than normal on an empty stomach. In the middle of a stride, I felt strangely lightheaded. Not my normal, I-need-to-eat-on-time dizziness. It was something else. I steadied myself against my co-worker and walked slowly to the metro. This feeling lingered for a few days and I couldn’t put my finger on it – could it be an inner ear thing or an eye thing? Vertigo? Low iron or blood sugar or blood pressure? Funny enough, I only feel this way when I am in public and there is a lot of motion around me in my peripheral vision. Usually, that is. The more aware I am of it, the worse it gets. Seeing the metro zoom past me makes me lightheaded. Walking in the grocery store where there are tall shelves of packages as people walk by and where there are colorful tiles beneath my feet makes me feel off. It is a very unsettling and uncomfortable feeling. I went to see the walk-in clinic doctor when I was back home and he checked the basic things – ears, eyes, mouth, blood pressure. Everything looked fine, he said. He had a very sincere look in his eye when he told me to promise I see a doctor when I got back to Montreal. Also, he said that it sounds like anxiety to him. I always knew I leaned towards the anxious and nervous side. I just never wanted to hear it said by a doctor. He gave me a very small prescription of Ataman to take when needed. I took one to see if I would experience any side effects. I didn’t want to take my first one in public and find myself passed out on a mall bench, as bums pick through my pockets. Or worse, have the side effect of explosive diarrhea. Thankfully, I just took a lovely journey to a town called Sleepyville. I began to feel better in the middle of my trip and it was only a couple of days ago where I felt like this again. It feels like being on a plane when you are ascending and descending. It’s a weird, another world type of feeling. I found myself a doctor taking new patients very close to our place and hopefully I will know more this week. Wish me luck. I am trying not to worry about this because I realize it will only make me feel worse. Sigh!

As for my trip home, it was great but flew by too quickly. Christmas is always a funny time of year to visit. I never get to see the amount of old friends I wish to see. Everybody, including myself, is busy with family. People are saving up their money for New Year’s Eve celebrations. They are wrapping up work and getting together with their other sets of old friends in from out of town. I can only understand and make the most of it. Once again, I wasn’t feeling that great so I didn’t want to exert myself with many social activities, like going out to a bar or what have you. I did get to see a handful of friends and catch up though. There was a great little Christmas party, lunch with old friends, late evening coffee sessions. A day of shopping in the not-so-crowded mall. Hanging out at friends’ houses. Sitting around in my mom’s kitchen, chatting with those who stopped by for a minute. I walked through the village one afternoon with a friend, stopping by the shops that I used to browse in. On my last night, we had drinks in a local drinking hole. Nothing fancy about the bar but it was being with my old friends that made the evening special. It is often a bittersweet feeling.

The best part about going home is seeing my family. I miss them more and more, each time I walk away to board that plane back to Montreal. Even if I see them on every single day of my visit, it doesn’t feel like enough time! I had a little more time with my sister this time around and we even had a little sleepover at her place. We spent the entire day in pajamas, playing video games. When was the last time we did that!? Probably when Colecovision was the hottest must-have toy for Christmas. I got to spend a lot of time with parents and my grandmother as well. I regret not seeing my brother-in-law as much as I could have – we totally have a bowl of boozed up punch with our names written all over it, as we gang up on my sister with sarcastic comments and jokes. And last but not least, Tiki. I spent so much time playing with my cat. That sounds dirty, heh. I missed my beautiful little kitty cat sooo much. What an angel. I taught her a few more tricks (for example, attacking my leg) and she thoroughly enjoyed her new cat toy I gave her. Those with animals – always give daily thanks for that furry little face that brightens up your every day. As least I have my new neighbor’s cats (as well as the strays they feed) to make me smile. I’ll have to take a photograph of their cat. I call it the “big white cat with the small white head”.

Sometimes it is hard being away from home. So much can change in a few months, let alone a year or two. Each time I come home, I notice changes in people and changes in myself. As I mentioned, it is a bittersweet feeling. It makes me feel like I am in limbo, in a sense. I don’t have a wide circle of friends here and people are a’changin’ back home. Often, I feel a little left out of the loop with people back home. It’s nobody’s fault, of course. I guess that is what happens when you move away. The best feeling is when you meet up with someone you haven’t seen in a very long time and there have been so many changes. You meet up, you go to some dingy coffee shop, and it’s like you have never left – it’s like you just hung out with that friend only a few days ago and are laughing at the same old things again. I like that familiar feeling, like no time has passed whatsoever.

So now I am back in Montreal and the days have been lazy. I have been writing everyday in my journal. I have been tending to my new Chia pet. I have been reading. I have been learning new knitting techniques (don’t expect a sweater soon). Out of sheer curiosity, I have been watching Ultimate Fighting events. I have even made cinnamon buns from scratch! I’m sort of anxious to get back to work but not really, to be honest. I like work, I like making money – but I want to take care of this dizziness thing before it gets the best of me. I want to be able to venture out on my own without the fear that I will black out one the metro or in a crowded shopping center.

I am turning 30 years old come February. Yarg! It seems wrong not to celebrate this age (as I write this, I am mildly cringing) without the people that I grew up with, from childhood through to high school. If I was loaded with cash, I’d fly out a few old friends for a weekend of boozy celebrations. Sigh…I can dream, can’t I?!

Tags - Christmas, Dizziness, Family, Friends, Health, Life

Wet and Wild

2006-11-01T19:44:00.000-05:00

As some jerk once said, when it rains – it pours. This should be the motto of our current apartment that we will soon be moving out of. Thank goodness for that, since our apartment has been equivalent to a house made out of cards. Piece by piece, it is truly falling apart.

It never fails. Something retarded must happen when my partner is on the road. It seems to be some sort of unwritten law. If it isn't a mouse seeking shelter in our stove top (which was the source of Friday night's emotional meltdown), it's something else. And that something was presented to me on Sunday afternoon.

In anticipation of my partner arriving, I took the time to dress up for him. I wasn't feeling that great about myself earlier in the weekend so I figured I would doll myself up for his arrival. I put on this tight and low cut shirt, a black skirt, and knee high argyle socks – saucy, mais oui!? I was doing the dishes in this outfit because I hate doing housework. The way I see it, if I'm going to do some redundant chores I might as well sauce it up a bit. You all should try it sometime. Nothing beats making a bed while wearing a very short skirt or vigorously scrubbing a bathtub in a boobtastically low cut shirt. Anyway, that's beside the point. So here I was, vigorously scrubbing dirty dishes in the sink. I have some good music blasting in the background. I feel good. I feel sexy. Soon, my man will be home and I'll be all over him like white on rice.

I hear a noise.

It's a kind of snapping noise. I turn off the water and stop cleaning the dishes. My first thought was fire. I'm morbid like that. I peek my head around the corner. There's fucking water pouring from the light fixture in the hallway. Fuck me. I'm pretty indecisive when it comes to first reactions but I kicked into gear, while profusely swearing. I'm grabbing buckets. I'm putting on my shoes because I don't want to get electrocuted. I'm running upstairs to pound on our stupid neighbor's door. There's no answer. I call all the numbers in our phone book – the landlord ("mailbox is full, goodbye"), a caretaker (who says he has nothing to do with this building), and the so-called handyman (number is disconnected). I call my in-laws and they tell me to call for emergency, which I did. By now, it is a waterfall pouring from my ceiling. Great.

I ran around the place, moving guitars and trying to remove all the vinyl we have in that area. There is a lot of vinyl and water is streaming on top of me. Within minutes, the firemen came to my rescue. Thank God. I have to admit, they did look very amused. Of course, they were concerned at the fire hazard this posed and at the stuff that was quickly being damaged. But here I was, all dressed up and nowhere to go but tend to a big messy disaster happening in my apartment as water dripped all over my cleavage. Hey, at least they got a smile out of it.

In a few more minutes, my father-in-law showed up to keep me calm and assess the damage. I was glad for the company, that's for sure. We were both glad that my partner wasn't home just yet because he would have seriously strangled the upstairs neighbor. Let's just say, they are not the sharpest tools in the shed. If they are not leaving the doors open for cracked out bums to squat in our building, they are playing their loud art-rock crap to keep us up at night. An unnoticed water tank leak doesn't surprise me in the least. About ten or fifteen minutes into the domestic waterfall, one neighbor came home to see her door busted down and probably a lake in her apartment. Her first reaction – a hearty laugh. A hearty laugh? Jesus Christ! Who finds this funny? When our water heater busted earlier this year, I didn't bust a gut. I think it took her a good hour and change before she realized her vinyl was ruined to which she bellowed a hearty "like, oh my god?"

And then my partner came home, earlier than we expected. I wanted him to come home to de-stress from being on the road. I wanted to make him some tea, have a nice dinner, and have a long hot shower. Nope, he came home to this – firemen walking through our house, the electricity shut off, a lake in our hallway, and the dumb laughter of our idiotic neighbors. He was obviously instantly irritated, to say the least.

Eventually, the landlord and his minion, the "handyman", arrived at the scene. I wanted to punch the landlord in the neck because he walked up the stairs with this shit eating grin on his smug little face. Hell, what does he care? They have never cared about the concerns of their tenants in the first place, whether it is a shit load of water pouring from our ceiling or waist deep rotting garbage filling up our fire escape. They simply do not give a shit. There was a slightly heated argument between the boys. I avoided that scene; I was already stressed out as it was. The handyman looked at our apartment because he was apparently there to fix something – which he didn't. He was trying to turn on the breaker in our apartment but we barked at him to stop. The firemen told me specifically to not turn on the electricity for a good day so that the ceiling and what have you can dry out. But no, the half-wit handyman is pawing at our breakers and saying it should be no problem. There was so much dumbassery from our landlord, the "handyman", and neighbors – it wasn't even funny. And then they were asking me, why didn't I call them? Why didn't I let them know before the firemen came to knock down their door? Fuck you! I have water pouring from MY ceiling and out of a light fixture, no less. And you want me to sit there and wait for them to pick up their phone? Yeah, like that's going to happen. These are the same people that told us that there were no hot water tank repairmen to fix our water tank when it sprung a leak. In the entire city, no one was available. You know, except for the one we called ourselves. Lazy bastards.

Needless to say, we are living in chaos at the moment. I'm glad that we didn't have too many of our precious possessions ruined. And I am truly glad that we have finally have the keys to our new place and we can get out of this shit hole at last.

My Halloween Costume - An Insecure Girl

2006-10-28T18:29:00.000-05:00

I used to love Halloween. I still love it. I feel as though my level of enthusiasm is dwindling though. I feel my level of enthusiasm is dwindling on a lot of little things recently. I suppose you can say that I am in a bit of a funk to say the least. I am not going out this Halloween. I didn’t go out last year either. This, I admit, saddens me.

Back home, it’s always “back home…”, I used to do it up right. Sure, I never had a concrete plan for my costume. I rushed around just like everyone else, putting my costume together at the last minute. I always came up with something, whether it was good or not. The last costume I wore for Halloween back home was Rosie the Riveter – the “You can do it!” poster girl. Some thought I was a mechanic. One customer at work thought I was a farmer. The frustrated but dirty minded business men, the majority of my customers at the store, thought I was plain ol’ sexy. My last costume here was Vampira. Basically, I looked like myself with more extreme eyebrows and a little more pale than normal. Still, it was all in good fun.

Now, my costume is a pair of pajamas on a Saturday night and bed-head hair. Oh, and a little patch of stress induced acne on my face. I am alone and I can’t shake this stupid sense of blue.

I have been feeling so far from sexy lately. I don’t have the greatest skin and I thought it was something that I worked through. I thought I accepted it. I know I did back home. Regardless of the scars on my face and the few nasty break outs, I still had people complimenting me and appreciating my beauty. I know I shouldn’t rely on the observations of strangers. It shouldn’t constitute my mood. If I am simply not happy with myself, no amount of compliments and sly glances will make me be that constant and happy person. But here in this city, I don’t see it. Have I built a wall so thick that no one can see me at my best? My partner does and that’s what truly matters. He sees me for my beauty. He loves me. He doesn’t care if my face looks like hell. He doesn’t care if I lounge around a little too long in my clothing that eventually looks like pajamas on my body. The others, those random strangers, see nothing. I have lived here for two and a half years and only caught two strangers checking me out. It’s not like I want people to ogle me every moment of the day. I don’t. I get the other side of the stick. Call me paranoid, but I see the way a lot of people look at me when I am on the subway or walking down the street. They look at me like I am ugly. They look at my short painted nails. They see how tired I look. They notice the quality of my skin. They see my skin. I know they do this. I have been laughed at on the subway in the past. Sure, they were kids and kids will always be jerks. Once, I heard someone say that it isn’t my fault that I am so ugly and I was paralyzed. I couldn’t turn around like I wanted to and say fuck you. Fuck you in your stretch jeans and fuck you in your retro 80’s look and fuck you with your boyfriend in his saggy assed jeans. Fuck you. I got off at my stop and shut down. I walked to work with tears in my eyes. What feels worse – to be called ugly practically to your face or to be silenced by the ignorance of teenagers?

It’s been a long time since I completely dolled myself up. It’s been a much longer time since I dolled myself up in new clothes. I haven’t been shopping in ages. I am very reserved with money because I don’t make much. I don’t know how long my job will last and we have to eat. I have to pay my bills. I can’t be carefree with my money like before – have I ever been carefree with it anyway? If something happens with my work situation, I can’t rely on anyone else. My partner is a musician. I’m glad he is doing what he loves but I worry. Overall, I am glad he is doing what he loves rather than making tons of cash while being absolutely miserable. I’m envious of that, I admit.

I want to be taken out and I want to wear that dress. You know that dress that stops you dead in your tracks as a mumbled “wow” spills from your mouth. I want to be lusted after. I want to walk into a room with that dress and have my partner drop his jaw. I want to beam and light up that room. It just seems that I don’t have that in me lately. I feel plain and invisible. My skin looks like hell. My options of doing my hair consists of wearing it in a pony tail or not (at least my bangs look good still). My clothing is all old. I am uptight. I can’t be comfortable and tell me when I had my last true belly laugh with a friend here? Tell me when I laughed so hard I had tears coming out of my eyes with a friend here? Tell me when I talked so comfortably with a near stranger with that certain openness? Let’s just say, it’s been a hell of a long time.

I want flowers.

I know all of this probably sounds pretty awful of me. I have a great partner who makes me feel loved and beautiful no matter what. God, he even puts up with all my wacko emotions. I’m very grateful for him. He thinks the world of me. I’m just not happy with myself and I’ve always been like this. For the life of me, I don’t know how to get over this mountain of insecurity I build for myself.

I have distanced myself from a lot of things here. I know it’s my own fault. I know I should have learned French by now. Knowing French would probably make things a lot less uncomfortable and awkward for me. It’s been two years and who can I call a true friend here? It seems like whenever I meet another women that I feel I connect with, something stupid and dramatic happens and I am just back to being acquaintances with them. I’m lonely. It sounds pathetic but it’s true.

I feel like it has been a long time since I could say I had an amazing night. I can’t seem to let loose here. I’m so bloody reserved, it makes me sick. I feel a tug of envy when I go to these shows and see everyone having a blast. Everyone is drunk and everyone is laughing and here I am – stuck in the middle of it all, trying to smile naturally. I hear about how great nights were, how much fun was had by all. When was my last great night, surrounded by friends and laughs and drinks and smartassery? I can’t let loose here. Back home, I was on fire. I went dancing and I had a circle of friends. I ogled women with my guy friends. I got ready with my girlfriends for a night of painting the town red. I had my set of private jokes with close friends. I had a sister nearby to console me if my world was falling apart or if I needed someone to annoy like only a little sister can do. We recently had a friend stay here from a far away city. I found myself talking to her and saw her zone out. Am I this boring? Do people no longer get serious conversation? I felt awkward yet again. I felt I still had nothing interesting to say. I feel so one dimensional lately. I make small talk and jokes at work and no one gets it (except my “team leader”).

Is this the difference between the English and French in humourous conversation? You don’t realize how lonely it is actually is when you live in a place that is difficult to make the simplest of small talk and passing jokes. Some days, I just want to make a random comment or compliment to a stranger and I hold back. City folk are different here, busy and rushed. And it is the language barrier. I used to loathe small talk and all those hellos from strangers downtown. Now, I long for it. I sit on the same subway car every morning, with the same people. There are no smiles of recognition. Back home, we’d call each other intimate strangers by now. I remember the first time a stranger here made small talk with me in the grocery store. I could have given him the biggest hug for those brief words. It was about soup and tofu but it made my week. I existed in this random city, this random grocery store. He took a minute out of his day to be friendly to another stranger. I truly appreciate his gesture. It made me very happy and his soup suggestion was a fantastic one at that!

Everything is layering up on me yet I am still so cold.

Tags:
Depression,Halloween,Insecurity,Loneliness,

Sadness,Strangers,Ugliness

The Great Mouse Breakdown

2006-10-28T14:02:00.000-05:00

I should be writing about something fun and sexy. I should be confessing a juicy bit or two about that time I drunkenly made out with one of my girlfriends or describing to you that panty shopping extravaganza. You know something giggly and girly - something flirty and foxy. But no...I'm still dealing with Mr. Jingles here and it's honestly putting my mood off. I must admit, however, my mood was put off days ago. Maybe it is the arrival of shorter days and the winter. The mouse in my house just gives me that last straw, that reason to have a big ol' messy breakdown in the middle of my kitchen.

If you read my last post, I wrote about the discovery of a mouse in my apartment. Clearly, this mouse is taunting me. The mouse only seems to grace my presence. It never comes out when my boyfriend is home. And this, I fear, makes me look crazy! Oh no, it stays wherever he set up camp. The boyfriend leaves the room and I enter that same room - and there it is. Taunting me, laughing its mousy laugh. Of course, it somewhat behaves itself when my partner is home and that's fine. He goes away for the weekend and let the fun and games begin. Great.

Last night, I was talking on the phone to a friend and saw it skedaddle across the counter, jump behind the fridge, and run under the washing machine. I let out this stupidly girly squeal on the phone. I can handle it running across the floor for dropped crumbs or what have you. I can almost handle that. Once it starts crawling on the counter...that's another story. I stood there and thought what the fuck am I doing wrong here? I clean up, I keep the counters clean, and all food is kept well packed and away. It's still running across my fucking counter and I have absolutely no heart to go out and buy a mouse trap. Oh, I can buy the mouse trap but I don't want to see or deal with a dead mouse carcass. That is NOT in my job description.

I clean up the kitchen again. I wipe the counters down again. I sit down to smoke a cigarette. I decide to touch up my nail polish. I walk into the kitchen to grab the bottle of polish and look! The fucker is on the counter again and disappears INTO THE STOVE ELEMENT! And then I had my mental breakdown.

Like I said, I can handle if it was just running across the floor. No, it's not my idea of fun but I don't prepare food on the floor. Now, this little rodent is not only running across my counter but is pooping in my oven. Pooping my oven! My eyes fill with stupid tears. I call my mom.

I love my mom but sometimes she can be a little morbid. I whine to her about my mouse problem and how it went into the stove and all I want is her to say that everything is going to be okay. I want to be coddled. Just for once, coddle me. Anyone, please. I am surrounded by realists. Tell me that I'm good and everything will be okay and that I'm loved and I have not much to worry about. Nope, I don't get that - well...only from my sister - thank God for her. Mom tells me to hit it. Kill it with a pan, she says. Chase it out the house with a broom and kill it. Poison cheese with bleach. She goes on and on about the different ways to kill this pest while my dad is piping in the background with a hearty "kill it with a flyswatter! kill it with a fly swatter!” And to make matters worse, she tells me that mice can chew wires and I should watch out. This very mouse can set my apartment on fire. Thanks, mom. She tells me I should do this and that, clean out the stove as well. And then it dawned on me, I'm turning 30 soon and I don't even know how to clean out my oven - let alone deal with mice on my own.

And then I called my sister and cried like a baby. Not only am I getting old; I'm living in an apartment with a mouse problem that only is a visible problem when I am home alone, I don't even know how to clean my oven, and I'm going to wake up to a blazing fire in my apartment. And worst of all? I have been feeling very lonely these last few days. I don't have anyone to call up and vent to in this city. And it's probably my own damned fault.

I suppose this entire mouse thing is the last straw. I know this funk I am in is not all about the mouse. Bah, crying while I write a blog makes me feel fifteen years old.

I haven't taken care of the mouse. I put bowls and pot lids over the elements. Mom suggested sprinkling laundry detergent around the place it always seems to hide away to. I haven't seen it since. Yeah, I know it's avoiding the problem. I don't want to use the oven or the stove. I don't want to even use the toaster. Was it lounging around in there too? Have I been cooking and baking my food with mouse dropping nearby? I'm sorry, but that's fucking gross. I guess I should be a bit grateful - I haven't seen multiple mice, the droppings on the floor/counter have been very minimal, and my apartment hasn't started on fire yet.

Thank GOD we are moving out soon. Thank GOD we are getting a new stove that doesn't have the standard elements. Thank GOD that our new place isn't surrounded by idiots - landlords and tenants, who think it is okay to pile waist deep garbage in the fire escape and leave the doors open for mice and cracked out squatters. I can't wait to get out of here.

I just need a little help. Help with packing. Help with the mouse. I feel I am doing all of this on my own. I'm tired of being alone.

Tags:
Domestic,Loneliness,Mice,Mouse,Sad

Mouse in the House

2006-10-22T16:48:00.000-05:00

Why does all the stupid stuff happen when my partner is on the road? I suppose I shouldn't fret. I shouldn't be so nervous. Nothing broke down like that one time he went on the road in the middle of the winter and the washing machine backfired ice cold water all over the kitchen floor. The only thing that happened this summer was the discovery of fucking maggots in the garbage can and I swear - that traumatized me.

This morning I awoke to the sounds of something eating something. Nothing loud and that concerning. I have a tendancy to worry about every single thing so I brushed it off and labeled it as sleepy paranoia. I got up, went into the living room, and heard another slight gnawing noise. Shit. And then I grabbed the baseball bat. I'd hate to see how I'd react if a person broke into the apartment if I am arming myself with a bat when I fear the presense of a damned mouse.

I stood there in my pajamas and armed with a wooden bat. No, I wasn't going to kill the creature. I don't have that in me. Hell, I haven't even cooked meat since junior high home-ec class. I stood there and listened to the noise. Is it coming from under the stove? I poked the stove with my bat. Silence. What would I do with a home intruder? Tickle him with a knife? From under the stove wandered a little but replusive moisture bug. Nope, no fan of bugs. I took my partner's boot and killed him. I can kill bugs if need be. So I walked away and heard the gnawing noise again. Once again, I stood there and listened. We have this space where a dishwasher would go. There we have this plastic storage containers, beer bottles to be returned, and some flattened cardboard packaging. I poked the bat at the plastic containers and something ran past my feet. I like to imagine that I was dressed like some sassy 50's housewife in heels and a saucy house dress and I jumped on the table like a defenseless female. Instead, I slammed the bat down onto the floor ten times and squished the mouse into a bloody pulp as I screamed in my best Samuel L. Jackson voice, "I will have no motherfucking mouse in my motherfucking house!".

Actually, no. I stood there in my wrinkled pajamas and weakly held the bat in my hands. And then I mumbled something about this not being in my domestic job description - this is HIS job, not mine. And then I felt sick to my stomach.

No, I'm not scared of the mouse. I know it's scared of me. I feel I have some sort of domestic reputation to uphold. Does having a mouse guest mean your house is a complete mess? I think my worst enemy in cases like this is my vivid imagination. I don't picture one little hungry mouse. I picture mouse babies and hundreds of them. I picture this disgruntled rat the size of a small dog, living behind my fridge and picking food out of his teeth with a toothpick. Talking like a mobster in a New York accent. Smoking a cigar, after attacking my jugular vein in the middle of night. Why does this affect me more than the raccoon that decided to visit our kitchen in the summer?

Only a few more weeks and we'll be out of this place. Only a few more hours and he will be home. He can get reacquainted with Mr. Jingles when I'm at work tomorrow.

Tags:
House, Mice, Mouse, Rats, Rodents

Reading in Bed

2006-10-18T22:17:00.000-05:00

I read to you in bed,
the sheets pulled over our shivering bodies
that were otherwise naked.
Serenity in your smile and
peace in your eyes,
you taught me how to say superfluous
and I discovered just how beautiful you truly are.

As I read those words
my hungry voice wanted to confess -
Your beauty is something else,
something valued in my amazement
and something I have never witnessed.
The distance between us revealing
that I never wish to take for granted
your breath on my skin.
It warms me more than you will ever know.

I placed the book gently on your bedroom floor
amongst our scattered clothing
that fell from nights before.
I fell into you once again,
I fell into something that moves me.
Your face that shines before me
tells me I will never grow tired of discovering
Just how beautiful you truly are.

Death of a Childhood Pet

2006-10-14T20:17:00.000-05:00

A few weekends ago, my big handsome orange cat passed away. He was my grandmother's cat and he was 21 years of age. I knew my beautiful orange beast would have to leave eventually. Afterall, 21 years is a long time for a cat to live.

What I did not want to experience, perhaps selfishly, was that part of childhood departing along with him. The moment I heard he passed away, I felt just a little bit older. I cried.

I'm a cat person. I used to idolize Winnipeg's infamous "cat lady" when I was a child. When I got a little bit older, I laughed about looking forward to becoming a bingo playing baba with too much lipstick (running into my lip wrinkles) and rouge, a chain smoking habit, and living with thirty cats in lieu of a hubby. And then I fell in love with an allergic-to-cats man.

I lost my own childhood cat a few years back. She was sixteen and I grew up with her. She was my fiesty little calico angel, who adored to torment the majority of my friends with frightening growls and vicious claws. Often, we would share a good laugh and high five together after my friends went home. Once upon a time, I thought the end of a relationship was tragically difficult. And then I lost my childhood pet. Now that is true heartbreak - to say goodbye to someone who never honestly done you harm, someone who made you smile by simply curling up on warm laundry or chasing a toy, someone who loved you unconditionally. True heartbreak, I tell you, when you come home after a long day of work and there is no furry little face looking up at your with sheer innocence.

I had a special bond with my big handsome orange cat, I like to believe. He was born in my backyard when I was 8 or 9 years old. He was the calmest of the four kittens. A small bundle of orange fur. The other kittens, they eventually found their own homes. This fluffy orange kitten ended up at my grandmother's and became somewhat of a barn cat.

Maybe I didn't have a connection with him. Maybe I just like to think we did. He trusted me enough to cradle him like a baby - even though he was a macho and masculine cat, a fierce hunter of birds and chipmunks. He would wait for me in the yard. In his older years and in the winter, he would remain in his little barn but poke his head out of his small cardboard box house which was stuffed full of woolen blankets. His coat was massive, covered with a thick mat of clumped fur which would eventually be trimmed off by my uncle come spring. No matter what, my big handsome orange cat would greet me with a happy meow. In the summer, he would come out and hop on this old school desk outside that was weathered with age. I would sit beside him and give him his well deserved affectionate petting.

When I was about eleven or twelve years old, he went missing for a good year or so. He wasn't one to stray, considering he had a large yard to explore. We had our suspicions to why and how he would go missing. One afternoon and quite the distance from my grandmother's house, my sister and I took my younger cousins from out of town to the park to play. Lo and behold, there was my big handsome orange cat sitting contently in the grass. It was him! I was so happy to hold him again. I was convinced it was him and we promptly took him back to my grandmother's yard, his home. Sometimes I wonder if it was really him or perhaps I simply abducted another cat. Ah, I do not regret my actions. I was convinced it was him and I found him. He never left home again.

Like most cats before they pass on, they don't feel well and barely eat. According to my family, he took one last walk around the yard and was later found in the bushes. He may not have been the prettiest cat, with a luxurious coat. He may have walked with hobble and had ragged ears from the winter's frost. He may have had a drooling problem. But to me, he was the most handsome big orange cat in the world.

Though I was sick my entire visit back home this summer, I got to say goodbye to him. I sat in the grass beside him, as he played with my sister with a long piece of grass. He meowed. I gave him a big hug and rubbed his kitty cat tummy. I called him my big handsome man cat and said goodbye. I knew it could be our last cuddle, our last exchange of adoring words and kitty cat purrs.

I'm gonna miss you, handsome one!

Tags:
Animals, Cats, Childhood Pet, Childhood, Death, Death of a Childhood Pet, Pets

Life

2006-10-11T19:51:00.000-05:00

You could say I've been on hiatus, just like your favourite television shows during the summer. There seems to be a lot of little news these days. A lot of little events. I should have been a lot less lazy but in all honesty - I just don't feel like sitting in front of the computer. Don't y'all worry now, I've been reasonably happy and life is good. Rest assured.

In a nutshell and a quick blurb about the last little while -
I went home for a two week visit in August. During said visit, I got a nasty headcold and it kicked my ass. It lingered and turned into a bleeding ear infection. And when I say "bleeding", I mean actual blood. I didn't see as many people as I would have liked to but I saw the light on a particular matter. I came back here, only to stress out about money. When I stress out, I become paralyzed and accomplish very little. Once that calmed down, I got a job. It's only temporary, it's full of team spirit, and I have to wake up at six in the morning. I may live most days as a character of Dawn of the Dead as I stumble to the metro, but it's paying my bills. As well, we have found a new place to live. We will be finally moving out of this little apartment in a few weeks. The building is nice and clean, there's plenty of room, and it's in the same neighbourhood but on a better side. It is very much a home. I anticipate decorating. I dread packing. In this very same nutshell, my grandmother's cat died. I will write a longer blog about this because I literally grew up with this beast of a cat. He was 21 years of age and I called him "my handsome cat". Sigh. I had a friend of a friend come to visit - it was nice talking with someone from home. Another friend from the south came to visit us this past weekend. Yeah, this nutshell doesn't sound like much. In lieu of sitting in front of the computer and wasting time, I have been busy in the kitchen with the cooking and the baking. Talking lots to friends, feeling the weight of money stress come off my lovely shoulders, and simply looking forward.

There is a reason I wanted to write tonight, however.

I found out the other morning that someone I knew of passed away in his sleep. Now, I'm not going to be an asshole and say I knew him, that we were buddies. Too many people do that when someone passes away and I cringe at the thought of being that brand of phony. Simply, he was my body piercer from years ago. He was my friend on myspace and we exchanged a few short comments a while back. Though I did not know him very well whatsoever, it came as a saddened surprise to hear this. What I did know of him was that he was kind and friendly. He put you at ease when you were in his presense and getting pierced. He was the definition of professional. He seemed truly genuine and I am certain that he will be missed by many.

Forgive me if I sound preachy. It is sad that these kind of stupid life occurances (that don't seem fair) solidly remind us that we should never go to bed angry at our partner or our parents - or hold silly grudges over silly issues with friends or family. Man, life is too short as it is. Let go of all those small things that line our breathe with petty bitterness or catty jealousies. Let go of that late night squabble about something unbelievably forgetable. Walk away from those that pull you down in their shitty little world and be there for yourself, be there for the people that truly appreciate you.

And never forget to tell that person that you love them. Or that you appreciate them. Or a thank you for being such a wonderful mother or father or sister or brother-in-law or friend.

...more blogs to come, promise!...




Tags:
Death, Life, Love, Relationships

Hot Pink Panty Auction, anyone????

2006-08-12T23:48:00.000-05:00

A not-so-deep question for all you dirty late night male readers:

You know how they have vending machines in Japan that sell used panties? I wonder if there is a market for that in North America? Would men line up to buy my used panties? Would men in Japan find it a kick to buy the used panties of a tall girl from the midwest who likes to wear bright red lipstick and has Bettie Page bangs?

If so, I'm more than happy to sell 'em to you. Call me cheap, but I'm kind of poor at the moment.

Has anyone out there bought or sold anything off of ebanned.com? Do you think it is degrading to sell your own used panties for a profit? Are there any sort of guidelines to selling your panties to people?

I'm curious. Leave a comment.

Tags: Panties, Pink Panties, Sex

Boobs, Breasts, Titties, Tits, Melons...

2006-08-12T19:41:00.000-05:00

Currently, I'm going through boob envy. I don't know at what point this envy has reared it's ugly head, but it's here. Like a good paranoid and overanalytical girl I am, I am dissecting every possible reason for this feeling. Ah, I can never let feelings easily pass.

The thing is, I am feeling incredibly sexy lately. Sexy thoughts are running through my head. I'm sexually curious these past few days (or rather, the thoughts that have always been there are coming alive). My body feels good. I feel fun and sexy. Fun and sexy like sassy, put your hair up in pigtails and wear your best schoolgirl outfit and have an ass-slappin' good time fun and sexy. Fun and sexy like pull those pigtails and show me who's boss, teach this bad girl a lesson that's hard to swallow. Heh....I'm even working myself up just by writing this blog. Whew.

*insert greasy smile here*

My partner recently returned home from being on the road for two and a half weeks. Seems like nothing when you have 52 weeks to fuck with in a year, but believe me - it's tough. Especially when you overload on porn to kick off the time alone. He's gone tonight but returns tomorrow. I leave on Wednesday for two weeks. Time is running out! All I want is my hair pulled, my skin bitten, and my ass slapped. Show me that you love me - leave a playful mark!

Anyway, back to the boob envy. I'm feeling sexy and naughty lately. I'm liking my body, despite being a little fleshy in the middle section. My skin is clear. The days are bright and there's this very loving, honeymoon vibe that has surrounded us since my partner got home. I feel loved, I feel beautiful.

But what about my boobs? Is bigger better? Would I actually feel better mentally if they were bigger and bouncier? Would the attention I would garner be legit? After playing with them for a while, will I become bored?! Is this a symbol of my own insecurity?

Yes, of course it is. Life wouldn't be better with bigger titties. Sure, some guys (and hopefully some ladies) would selfishly agree. I'd probably get more stupid attention and a little less eye contact. I'd have to buy a new wardrobe. Am I falling into the ridiculous assumption that I would be more confident with bigger tits? Who knows, maybe I would be bizarrely more confident.

I'm a tall girl. I'm slender but not a walking stick figure. I have hips, I have a nice ass. I wouldn't complain at a little more boobage. Other than the obvious brains and nice smile bit, my best feature would be my long legs. Gams, or walking sticks, don't get enough credit. It's always the boobs that get objectified and maybe I'm in need of a little objectifying lately. Don't get me wrong, I'm very content with my legs. They're classy and no one can accuse them of being implants or plastic. I can pull off trashy garters and I can pull of fishnets with great success. But still...my boobs ain't tumbling out of my shirt as I like them to! Tumble, dammit, tumble!

My boobs are a big insecurity. Not because they are small - because they are quite uneven. Yeah, yeah...I know it's completely normal. Many girls are uneven. None of my former partners nor my present (and very hot) partner have complained. However, I live with them. I contain them in a bra (almost) everyday. I see them attempt to jiggle in all those appropriate (and sometimes inappropriate!) moments. I'm the one who has to find an expensive bra to conceal this insecurity and try to create some harmony (AKA, even cleavage) between my breasts. I feel like I'm not all there, as far as my boobs are concerned. I'd be satisfied if they were both the same size - even though I'm sure this insecurity is simply obsessed on and personally exaggerated. I'm sure my boobies are just fine the way they are.

My partner is in a band. The singer loves to drunkenly coax the ladies into flashing their boobies for free swag. He takes pics of all the boobies on tour and proudly displays them on his MySpace and cellphone. Yes, I have my stupidly jealous-for-no-reason moments. I am learning to brush them aside. As I dissected my jealousy, I realized that secretly I want to be that wild girl who actually has the nerve to flash her titties. The only thing that holds me back has been this damned insecurity about my somewhat uneven boobs. I want to be objectified!!! I live in a city where NO ONE objectifies me! Well, no one under 60 and beyond my slum neighborhood. I want to catch someone looking at my small but reasonably proud amount of cleavage! I want someone to notice me cross my legs and find the subtly in that sexually appealing!

Even though it's the guys who are eyeing up the boobies, the women have always been worse in pointing out these kinds of natural flaws such as having uneven boobies. When I got my nipple pierced a long time ago, I had one of the most unnecessary embarrassing moments of my life. If you've ever had your nipple pierced, you know that you don't really feel like putting on a bra afterwards. I walked out of the piercing room, content at my new piercing and a little dizzy with my extra sensitive nipples. This woman was sitting in the waiting room, along with a few other people. She pointed at me and loudly barked, "I bet you got that one pierced". She pointed at the slightly bigger boob. I declined to tell her what I got pierced. Oh, but she went on and on and on. It was like a terrible Saturday Night Live sketch, where five minutes seems like eternity. The other people in the waiting room shuffled around nervously. I became uncomfortable and irritated as this chick was obsessed with my boobs! She kept calling out the fact that my breasts aren't "perfect". I felt smaller and smaller. The woman that pierced me finally shut her up by saying that it was none of her business and that no woman has perfect real breasts. All that embarrassment for a simple piercing. Dumb bitch.

Yeah, that was just one very obvious incident that added to the insecurity that has always been there. I used to be so insecure whenever a partner first saw me naked. Now, I'm comfortable. They may be a small handful but I have delicious looking nipples. Sure, I can't necessarily fill out a shirt to the point of button popping, but I won't have back problems when I grow up. I won't worry about saggage. I'm stuck with them - I have to learn to be happy because being miserable with yourself isn't sexy and doesn't help you out in the bedroom.

Besides, I got me some long gams to wrap around my man.

Tags:Boobs, Breasts, Insecurities, Sex, Tits, Women

Friday's Ferocious Female - Marlene Dietrich

2006-08-04T14:07:00.000-05:00

I love Marlene Dietrich for many reasons. I think what struck me most about her was her fantastic sense of style and her marvellous eyebrows. Being a fan of makeup artistry and striking eyebrows, she completely appealed to me. Once upon a time, I worked at a hair salon. One of my co-workers was a fantastically gay man named Gerard. He used to say to his clients, "I am an artist and this is the way I chose to express myself!" He loved Marlene and gave me a cassette of her music. I never heard her before and I was blown away. Yes, it was a bit kitschy but I loved how luscious and glamourous it felt to listen to it. It brought me back to another time. A time of smoky cabarets and lush sexuality.

Here's a long blurb from Wikipedia about the fabulous life of Marlene Dietrich.

Born Marie Magdalene Dietrich or Maria Magdalena Dietrich in Berlin-Schöneberg, Germany to Louis Erich Otto Dietrich and Wilhelmina Elisabeth Josephine Felsing, she was after her adoption by her father-in-law named Maria Magdalena von Losch. She changed her first name to Marlene when she was 11. Marlene played the violin before joining Max Reinhardt's acting school in 1921, making her official film debut two years later (although historians insist that Dietrich actually appeared as an extra in a 1919 German film).

After acting in only German movies at first (while also dancing as a chorus girl in cabarets and in stage plays), she got her first role in the first European talking picture, The Blue Angel (1930), directed by Josef von Sternberg.

She then moved to Hollywood to make Morocco, for which she received her only Oscar nomination. Her most lasting contribution to film history was as the star in several films directed by von Sternberg in the pre-Code early 1930s, such as The Scarlet Empress and Shanghai Express, in which she played "femmes fatales". She gradually broadened her repertoire in Destry Rides Again, The Spoilers, A Foreign Affair, Witness for the Prosecution, Touch of Evil and Judgment at Nuremberg.

Dietrich sang in several of her films (most famously in von Sternberg's The Blue Angel, in which she sings "Falling In Love Again"("Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuss auf Liebe eingestellt"), having made records in Germany in the 1920s. Following a slowdown in her film career, she made a number of records first for Decca, Elektrola, EMI, and for Columbia. Her distinctive voice was later satirized, along with that of Lotte Lenya, in the song Lieder by cult British trio Fascinating Aïda. Madeline Kahn did the same in the Mel Brooks classic Blazing Saddles.

In 1937, while her film career stalled in Hollywood, she made a film in London, and became an American citizen. In later interviews, she claimed that while in London to film Knight Without Armour (1937) she was approached by representatives of the Nazi party to return to Germany, but turned them down flat. Her US film career was revived with the Western Destry Rides Again (1939) costarring James Stewart, and featuring a famous fistfight with the character played by actress Una Merkel.

In 1941 the U.S. entered the Second World War and Dietrich became one of the first celebrities to raise war bonds. She entertained troops on the front lines in a USO revue that included future TV pioneer Danny Thomas as her opening act. Dietrich was known to have strong political convictions and the mind to speak them. Like many Weimar era German entertainers, she was a staunch anti-Nazi who despised anti-Semitic policies of National Socialism.
Her singing helped on the homefront of the U.S.A too, as she recorded a number of anti-Nazi records in German for the OSS, including Lili Marleen, a curious example of a song transcending the hatreds of war. She also played the musical saw to entertain troops. She sang for the Allied troops on the front lines in Algiers, France and into Germany with Generals James M. Gavin and George S. Patton. When asked why she had done this, in spite of the obvious danger of being within a few kilometers of German lines, she famously replied "aus Anstand" – "it was the decent thing to do".

Unlike her professional celebrity, which was carefully crafted and maintained, Dietrich's personal life was kept out of public view. She married once, to director's assistant Rudolf Sieber, a Roman Catholic who later became a director at Paramount Pictures in France.

Her only child, Maria Elizabeth Sieber (married name Maria Riva), was born on December 13, 1924. When Maria Riva gave birth to a son in 1948, Dietrich was dubbed "the world's most glamorous grandmother". The great love of the actress's life, however, was the French actor and military hero Jean Gabin. As for her husband, he had a tragically unstable longterm mistress who looked a bit like and eventually believed herself to be Dietrich.

Despite all of this, she was reportedly offered a king's ransom to return to Germany, due to her immense popularity as well as Hitler's ardour, which she declined. It is true that she quipped that she would return only when one of her Jewish friends (possibly Max Reinhardt) could accompany her.

Her return to Germany in 1960 was met with protests, (including a pelting with tomatoes and eggs) by some Germans, many feeling betrayed by her actions during WWII, but was on the other hand also warmly welcomed by many Germans. When hearing the chants, "Marlene go home", Dietrich was quoted as saying, "I guess they have a love-hate feeling for me." She also undertook a tour of Israel around the same time, which was well-received; she sang some songs in German during her concerts, thus breaking the unofficial taboo against the use of German in Israel.

In later years it has also been indicated that she was bisexual, and involved in romantic affairs with actresses Greta Garbo, Joan Crawford, Claudette Colbert and Ona Munson, among others. Dietrich was also involved with Joseph P. Kennedy and future President John F. Kennedy.

From the 1950s to the mid-1970s Dietrich toured internationally as a successful cabaret performer. Her repertoire included songs from her films as well as popular songs of the day. Until the mid-1960s her musical director was famed composer Burt Bacharach.

His arrangements helped to disguise Dietrich's limited vocal range and allowed her to perform her songs to maximum dramatic effect. Spectacular costumes (by Jean Louis), body-sculpting rubber undergarments, careful stage lighting, tight dresses into which she was sewn standing up, and, reportedly, gruesome mini-facelifts (achieved by weaving her hair into tight braids, pinning them tightly to her scalp with surgical needles, and then topping it all with sexy wigs) helped to preserve Dietrich's glamorous image well into old age.

In 1968, she received a Tony Award for her stage show. In 1973, her stage show was broadcast on television.

Her show business career largely ended on September 29, 1975, when she broke her leg during a stage performance. She appeared briefly in the film, Just a Gigolo, in 1979, and wrote and contributed to several books during the 1980s.

She spent her last decade mostly bed-ridden, in her apartment on the avenue Montaigne in Paris, during which time she was not seen in public but was a prolific letter-writer and phone-caller. Maximilian Schell persuaded Dietrich to be interviewed for his 1984 documentary Marlene, but she did not appear on screen. She was somewhat estranged from her daughter, but got on well with her grandson, Peter Riva. Her own husband, Rudolf Sieber, had died of cancer on June 24, 1976.

In an interview with the German magazine Der Spiegel in November 2005, her daughter and grandson claim that Marlene Dietrich was politically "active" during these years. She would keep contact with world leaders by telephone, running up a monthly bill of over 3,000 (USD). Her contacts included Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev, though whether she had any influence on them is unknown.

Dietrich died peacefully of natural causes May 6, 1992, at the age of 90 in Paris, France. A service was conducted at La Madeleine in Paris before 3,500 mourners and a crowd of well-wishers outside. Her body, covered with an American flag, was then returned to Berlin where she was interred at the Städtischer Friedhof III, Berlin-Schöneberg, Stubenrauchstraße 43-45, in Friedenau Cemetery, not far from the house where she was born.

In 1994 her memorabilia were sold to the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek (after US institutions showed no interest) where it became the core of the exhibition(see [1]) at the Sony Center on Potsdamer Platz, Berlin, Germany, which is not far away from the square named Marlene-Dietrich-Platz in her honour on November 8, 1997.

Dietrich never integrated into the Hollywood entertainment industry, being always an outsider for mainstream America. Her heavy German accent gave an extra touch to her performance but made her look "foreign" in the eyes of Americans.

Dietrich was a fashion icon to the top designers as well as a screen icon whom later stars would follow. Her public image and some of her movies included strong sexual undertones, including bisexuality.

Intriguingly, as the writer Tony Barrell has pointed out (London Sunday Times, January 1, 2006), Dietrich was born on exactly the same day as another famous actress, Irene Handl. Though they played very different parts, both were educated at all-girls schools and had connections with Noël Coward.

Five Reasons to Like Marlene Dietrich:
1) She was a strong German woman who went against her country - she was very anti-Nazi. This caused the majority of her country to backlash against her.
2) She was one of the first Hollywood celebrities to raise war bonds.
3) Okay, she had absolutely stunning eyebrows and a beautiful sense of style.
4) Her smoky songs sang in a thick German accent make any woman and/or gay man swoon!
5) If she was truly bisexual and I was there back in those days, I would love to be romanced by the one and only Marlene Dietrich - who would pass up that offer!

Tags: Marlene Dietrich

In Love, At Home

2006-08-03T13:43:00.000-05:00

Late Monday night, my partner returned home! Good grief, what a lengthy time apart! Needless to say, I am glad that he is around again.

I was on pins and needles all night. It felt like we were dating again and it was all shiny new. I got all prettied up, even though he was scheduled to arrive in the middle of the night. I didn't care. I just wanted him to see me again, looking fresh and dolled up even though the first thing he wanted to do was take a shower with me. So, at least he saw me dolled up for a good fifteen minutes!

He came home, tired and furry-faced. I kept staring at him, as though I have never seen him before. What a handsome man, he takes my breath away even after three years! We talked for a bit and got him settled in. It was nice to sit and talk with him - and not just over the telephone. Damn, did I ever miss him.

Clearly, he missed me too. We showered together and there were plenty of passionate kisses between us. Even though being apart sucks big time, time apart is often good. It helps you realize that all those little aggravations that come with living with someone are just little meaningless things. You appreciate your partner, with a little time off and space. You are more grateful to have that person in your life. I think it benefited me to have a long distance relationship with him. I like to think that I never take him forgranted, though I'm certain that we all do in some way and at some time or another. I remember how much it sucked to live in two different cities. It wasn't easy but it taught us to value one another and enjoy each other. Even with the simple things, like holding your lover's hand. We certainly enjoyed one another the night he came back from tour. Wink, wink. Knudge, knudge.

I'm glad to say that he won. Aunt Flow lost the race! Yippee! For once, my body worked with me and not against me! We got in some time to get "reacquainted" and the next day I got my period. At least I got a little action before I was stricken with "the curse". Speaking of action, last night we put on some doowop and kissed. I find that kind of music especially fun to make out to. It makes me feel all fuzzy romantic inside. It makes me dizzy and want to kiss and be kissed. Drunk with love - Le sigh!

Yes, everything feels great and back to normal. We've been talking a lot and enjoying each other's company. We have been eating bowls of ice cream between kisses. I mentioned how one day I would like to be called his wife and he didn't run away with sheer terror. Okay, actually I asked to be called his Wife-o. Haha...I love words with an O at the end of them.

The Race is On!

2006-07-30T23:26:00.000-05:00

I told myself no blogging until I get my shit together today. And finally, said shit is together. Here I am, at 11:42pm. It's a little later than I expected and I'm a little less full of piss and vinegar. Hopefully, I will entertain someone out there.

I heard from my partner early in the afternoon. He was calling from a small city about 2 hours west of my hometown. This means the easy part is done. Now comes the hard part - driving through Ontario. It would have been incredibly easier to simply drive through the States but they do not have any proof that they are NOT doing shows there. Otherwise, they would technically need a work permit to cross the border. Instead, they painfully cross the large province of Ontario. I wish them luck but what I really wish is for them to be home...NOW.

You see, the race is on. Yes, they all want to be home. Yes, they all want to see their significant others. However, I am full-on PMS monster. The race is on, bitches! I'm going to get my period anyday and, sweet baby Jesus, I want me some dirty sex. Damned period. I'm not what you call a regular girl. The only thing regular about my cycle is how it always seems to come whenever something relatively special is going on. Fuck you, Aunt Flow, fuck you! *shakes fists to heavens*

I wish I knew exactly when they were arriving, because I'm neurotic that way. The house is tidy. There's food in the house to eat. I will shortly finish watching the "things" I've downloaded and I'm too embarrassed to watch in front of my partner (it may or may not be Big Brother 7 live feeds). Also, I can just see him coming home when I'm taking out the garbage in my pajamas - while, not to mention, being incredibly bloated from PMS. I want him to come home and see the pretty me. Not the bloated whale in unsexy pajamas handling a bag of garbage, haha.

All in all, I am so very happy that he will be home very soon! It's exciting actually. It brings me back to a time when we were doing the whole long distance relationship thing. I feel like that girl of two years ago, getting off the airplane to see her lover again! I'm all giddy inside and elated! My knees are weak! I want to look extra pretty for him (even though I'm sure he thinks I'm always pretty, even in bloated pajama pants)! I just want to give him that long-at-last kiss! My best guess is that he will be home either VERY late Monday night or anytime Tuesday. Sigh...kisses!

The rest of the day flew by. I spent the majority of the day completing my last lesson on my online French course. I need a break. There is too much to remember about past and future tenses, too many verbs. My head is toast. I'm surprised I can write in English here tonight because the French honestly kicked my ass tonight. I don't think I have learned too much but I'm proud that I stuck to it nonetheless. I wasn't too pleased with the Barnes and Noble class anyway.

Other than the French, the rest of my day was great. I lingered at the bookstore, caressing the spines of gently used books. I picked up some groceries in a, believe it or not, relaxing environment. I talked to my plants. I talked to an old friend. I may or may not have done a short and spontanious robot dance to Gnarls Barkley. The sun was shining, the temperature was very comfortable, and old men ogled me in my neighbourhood. I feel sassy! Maybe a little bloated, but definitely sassy!

Perhaps it was the wine and estrogen - I had a couple of girls over last night for a soirée. It's nice to be surrounded by girls, as strange as that sounds. Our apartment is usually full of boys, which would probably appeal to my single girl friends. I'm usually swimming in testosterone and band sweat. It was my first time buying white wine and I ended up with a bottle that had a drawing of a monkey (not a member of the 60s band) eating a banana on the label. It screamed quirky, even though I dislike monkeys. It was also my first time buying a bagette. Does that mean I am now officially a true resident of this city?! Anyway, it was a lovely evening of drinking on the patio and girlish gossip. I look forward to more nights like that before summer is over.

Tags: French, French Lessons, Menstruation, Period, Women

Power Cleaning - A Romance with Mr. Clean

2006-07-29T00:07:00.000-05:00

One of the great things about having the house to myself is that I can freely dance like an idiot and not feel ashamed. Tonight, I slapped on my track pants (or something close to being track pants, I'm just trying to make myself sound gangsta) and threw on a Kanye West cd...and power cleaned. Holla! Usually, I listen to heady depressing music when I'm alone but I figured I'd "raise the roof" *insert Arsenio Hall dog calls and hand motions here* and kick it up a notch. Actually, I just wanted to make sure my power cleaning went quickly instead of listening to mopey music while tragically scrubbing the bathtub.

Yeah. Power cleaned. Everything is sparkly shiny. I think Mr. Clean loves spending Friday night with me. He reassures me that I am not a loser for staying in on a Friday night. So there.

I'm afraid I do not have any witty and captivating cleaning stories, unless you get off on girls who clean in low-cut shirts. Cleavage heaving away, with each and every scrub. Meow! Actually, I guess I got some more lipstick on the bathroom floor somehow. No big surprise, I get lipstick on everything. When I mopped - cleavage heaving, by the way - lipstick was smeared everywhere. Oh, Mr. Clean! Our love affair continues!

The guys are playing in a small city out west tonight. I wish I was there. There have only been two venues that I have been jealous about. Obviously, back home was one of them. Party with my friends, get drunk with my sister. Then, there was tonight. The only reason I want to be there is to meet my close online friend. No fair. I want to drink out of sour cream containers with her. Le sigh. Regardless, I hope they have a fantastic send off to the road home. They are missed and I hope they can return to the city in good spirits. And not wanting to kill one another.

Soon, soon, soon!

Friday's Ferocious Female - Mabel Stark

2006-07-28T15:18:00.000-05:00

I came across Mabel Stark through reading what I thought was a fiction novel. It was called the Final Confessions of Mabel Stark by Robert Hough - you can find it listed on the right hand side of my blog. Though it is written as a faux memoir, a lot of the facts were actually true! Being intrigued by the circuses and sideshows of yesteryear, this book left me pleasantly surprised.

Here's a blurb from Wi kipedia:
Mabel Stark (real name Mary Haynie) was the worlds premier tiger trainer of the 1920, specializing in highly sexualized circus acts. Born in Kentucky, a single child, Stark led an isolated and difficult childhood including corporal punishment from her mother. At the age of 13, both her parents died leaving her an orphan. She spent the rest of her youth with an aunt inLouisville, Kentucky; at the age of 18 she ran away to become a nurse, but ended up working as a stripper at the Great Parker Carnival instead taking the name Mary Aganosticus and later Mabel Stark.

When the manager of the Carnival's menagerie left to form his own circus, he invited Stark, who had shown an interest in the animals, to join him. She was originally slated to teach a troupe of performing goats- but failing that went on to replace the recently-killed cat-trainer Marguerite Haupt.

Choosing to work with the more difficult breed of tigers, rather than the more docile lions, it has been surmised that the solitary Stark preferred the company of one of the few solitary creatures in nature. There she met her new companion Rajah who would become her trademark tamed tiger.

She would later reveal in her writing that when she appeared to be tussling with Rajah, it was actually Rajah trying to copulate with her - which was her reason from changing from an all-black leather ensemble to an all-white bodysuit, to hide the resultant semen.

She was approached by, and joined the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus, though in 1925 they announced they were discarding the large cat portion of their travelling circus and terminated her employment, instead introducing Clyde Beatty as their stand-in tamer for the occasional act. The following year, working for a much smaller circus, Stark was mauled by unfed tigers - an event some claimed was an attempt at suicide on her part since she'd previously displayed her desire to die at the claws of tigers; she spent the next two years in hospital recovering from the event.

Stark appeared occasionally on television in the 1960. For example, she did a stint as one of the guests with an unusual occupation on What's my Line, the popular Sunday Night CBS-TV program.

Her final job was as a menagerie-trainer with JungleLand in Thousand Oaks, California - but in 1968 the park was sold to a new owner who disliked Stark and promptly fired her. Three months later she killed herself by a combination of an overdose of barbiturates and carbon monoxide poisoning.

Five Reasons to Like Mabel Stark:
1) Her acts were highly sexual and daring. Yes, it was the circus - but she was the cream of the crop!
2) She found passion in her career and would not give up on working at something she truly loved.
3) She successfully worked in a very male dominated industry.
4) She worked that white leather jumpsuit. Men used to go to her shows to see her! And clearly, her tiger liked her as well.
5) She worked with tigers. I can't even think about working with people without groaning!

Tags:Circus, Mabel Stark, Sideshows, Tigers, Women

Boobs!

2006-07-27T17:49:00.000-05:00

So, I think I've had enough of this Tour Widow business. It was fun while it lasted; those sweaty girly sleepovers where we all lounged around in our panties and cooled each other down with ice cubes, those strip poker nights with all my oh so lonely female friends....

(Okay, so that didn't actually happen. I just wanted to impress any male readers. Hey, I can dream!)

But seriously, I've had enough. I want my partner home already. I'm sick of eating for one. I'm annoyed at going to bed alone. I hate having no one to talk to in bed. I haven't had any dreams since he left, probably because I only dream to amuse him in the morning. I loathe this whole having no one to rant to when I have PMS thing. I think this is the first time I have had no one really to lash out on while having PMS! Maybe that is why I feel so ill lately.

Yeah, once again, I am not feeling well. I don't know what it is. It feels like how I felt after drinking that Corona a while back. It just so happens that I drank red wine on Saturday night and felt this a day after - just like the beer. Except, this time I drank more wine and this time the feeling is sticking around a few extra days. I don't know what it is and it bothers me. It feels like heartburn combined with the physical feeling of having a panic attack - you know, that weighty feeling on your chest. Plus, I feel kind of tired. Being my own worst enemy, when it's late at night I go online and investigate my possible ailments. It's not really healthy to sit in front of the computer at two in the morning and question, "what if I'm having a heart attack?". Of course, thinking that way ends up making me feel panicky for real which doesn't help how I physically feel. And if anyone makes a "maybe you're pregnant joke", you'll win a free punch in the throat. Tong!

The good thing is, it feels better when I'm in bed and after I eat. At least my sleep isn't robbed from me.

It doesn't help when you feel sick and exhausted. I'm now picking apart everything I haven't done while my partner has been away. Maybe I'm not doing enough...maybe I have failed...See, I completely need someone to check in on me and supervise me! I always seem to choose to dwell on all the things I haven't done rather than focus on what I have done. I've faithfully done these online French courses. I have something to be proud of. Dammit.

So yeah. Sick of being a Tour Widow. I want him home. I want to make a bookcase with him or maybe even lay down some new hardwood flooring, if you know what I mean. I'm tired of overestimating my dinner portions for myself. My boobs are in dire need of fondling.

The only good thing about him gone is the fact that the mornings have been so quiet. It is as though those construction workers and the neighbour's poodle were up to something - a plan to disrupt his each and every morning! It's strange. Ever since he left, it's been very quiet. No poodle barking at 8am. No construction work. If there is a bit of construction work, they are extremely quiet. I'm convinced they knew he was gone. MwaHA!

You know what I'm also tired of? Portly cross-eyed groupies trying to pick up my boyfriend just because he plays a guitar on stage. That's all. Also, I'm happy to report that so far on tour - the Boobs of the Prairies have been the nicest, according to him. I should write some sort of Farley Mowat-esque illustrated novel called that. Hahaha...ah, I think my humour is deteriorating since he has been gone!

Instead of more complaining, I'll leave with some good news: I'm coming home August 16th for two weeks. Yay! Gin! Friends! Prairie boobs! Air conditioning! I'll-be-broke-so-buy-me-a-coffee-and/or-gin! Mom food! My cat! Oglin' with my buddies! Yippee!

Groupies

2006-07-25T11:24:00.000-05:00

What is it with girls and musicians? If someone has an answer to that, I'd really like to know.

I understand that when you settle down with a guy in a band, you have to learn to deal with the "fans". There's no way around it. Yeah, it's not fun to have flashes of secret jealousy but it comes with the package deal - and it doesn't help when the band's lyrics praise naked boobies and anal sex. Though it's all in good fun for the boys, I'm certain there are fans who naturally assume that these four guys are swinging playboys and mansluts who are just waiting to take a groupie back to the van and then it's on their way to the next gig.

That is the concept that creeps me out, only because I know the band personally. I'm aware of their personal lives and I know who they are when they aren't plucking guitar strings or singing into a microphone. They are far from playboys and mansluts - heh, maybe only for their patiently waiting partners at home!

I know I didn't lead the life of angel in my single days. I know I got myself into some pretty messes. Like most girls, I can be attracted to musicians. I can also be attracted to postmen or waiters or athletes. Heh, I don't discriminate! Maybe I am just a shy person, but it never really crossed my mind to set my drunken eyes on a musician with the goal of fucking him. Well, maybe young Leonard Cohen...but that's another story.

The other night, a cross-eyed hefty gal tried to pick up my man. She was cool at the beginning of the night. She had a boyfriend and he was to stay with them, as the others were at another house that was full of cats. Fine. She ends up dipping into the sauce and suggests that they "screw in the van". Don't worry...her boyfriend was only in the house with her four year old child. Yeah. The night before that, two girls tried to pick up him and another guy from the band. At least they backed away when they said they were in relationships.

Screw in the van? Jesus H. Christ. That irked me. I keep reminding myself...this is what happens when you're with a band guy...this is what happens when you're with a band guy. I threw it back at him. What if a man said that at the party I went to on Saturday night? Would he be pissed off? He said he wouldn't be, especially if the guy was that drunk. I know the truth, however. He would be very pissed off. I'm not into these games that make other people jealous but it will never happen here. I'm invisible to the eyes of Quebecois men. Back home, I was on fire. On fire!

This is the bottom line. These girls are only after them because of the fact that they're on stage and playing music. Would they be approached if they were simply that guy in the crowd enjoying the band? Probably not. Place an instrument in their hands, add some hair grease, and show your tattoos - and they're Gods. Take away the instruments and they are just any other guy with styled hair and tattoos. Dime a dozen. If you overanalyze that to death, there's not much compliment to be had there. Like I mentioned before, I know I've been through some pretty lil messes in my past. Now, I would hate to know the only reason why someone wanted to fuck me was because I was on stage. I would hate to know that I am just another girl that was unfuckable beyond the stage. There is so much in between to discover that goes unnoticed - and I think it's kind of insulting that all the in between stuff is completely disregarded.

Of course, I'm not a man in a band. I'm sure they probably get off on simply knowing that these girls are stupid enough to put out - and that's how these guys usually think, my dears.

It used to really make me crunchy when they coaxed girls into showing them their breasts. I've threatened to do that myself but I'm a little uneven, if you will. Then it hit me. Not my boobs, haha. I would be way more hurt and jealous if my partner actually sat down with one of these fans and had an intense conversation about those little but significant details. I would be hurt if he deeply asked her what her favourite book was.

So anyone, please tell me - what is it with girls and musicians? Why is it that they can say they are in a relationship or married, but these girls still try to weaken them into "screwing in the van"?

I would really like to know.

Tags: Groupies, Musicians, Relationships,Sex

By the Power of the Prairies

2006-07-22T15:19:00.000-05:00

Day nine...and I'm trying to be a busy lil bee. Well, I'm probably doing a horrible job at it! I slept in and I woke up feeling at peace. I find that I am sleeping on my partner's side of the bed now, with my back facing the wall. I wonder if it's a territorial thing? I usually sleep facing the wall, with a body behind me. I have yet to spoon with my baseball bat, haha.

This afternoon has been all about tidying up, while fitting in my pathetic attempt at exercising - HAHA. I must laugh in all-caps. Basically, I've ate a lot of pasta while he's been gone. The carbs are all going to my thighs! Well, not really. I'm doing situps and some other type of exercise that is probably not even considered an exercise. I'm also lifting 10 lbs weights. HAHA. It's getting a little easier. Maybe by the time he comes back, I will look like Arnold and challenge him to an arm wrestle...heehee. Oh yeah, I'll tell you which way is the beach!

Everytime I go to the store, I forget to buy Mr.Clean. Or M.Net, if you live in Quebec. My floors are kinda grubby and it doesn't help that our hardwood floors are all scratched up - at least it hides the grub. Now, I'm paranoid if my tour widow friend sleeps over. I don't what to be known as the girl with the dirty floors...and I don't want her socks or bare feets to look like she's been running through a field of dirt...

Tonight, I am conquering my fear of parties...HAHA. Another loud laugh in all-caps. I should go as it will be good for me. I need to start being more out there. I'm sure it won't be as bad as I dream it will be. It should go smoothly and it will probably be fun. Maybe I'll surprise myself with some witty banter! Maybe I'll be on fire!!!!

By the power of the prairies, I will be on fire!!!

Learning French and (almost) Breaking Things

2006-07-21T19:55:00.000-05:00

Being the sassy broad that I am, I decided to stir up the proverbial pot and use my French at the grocery store. Instead of saying a mumbled "merci" - I added a semi-loud "beaucoup" to the end of it. Heh...it's something. As well, when I asked for cigarettes (yes, yes...smoking again) I proudly said "aussi" out loud. The cashier looked at me blankly. They're not super friendly at my local grocery store. Whenever I hear people ask for cigarettes, they never say "Players, aussi!". Ah well, it's something.

Actually, I don't care for this Barnes and Noble French course too much. I think it's truly meant for people who just want to order food in France and get by with random sentences. It bothers me that I am reading over these lessons and not getting the full explanation of proper verb uses. I know my verbs in present tense but I can't talk about the future or my past. Who does anyway?! I'd really appreciate a lesson or two on that, even though it would simply be there to refresh my rusty ol' memory. And don't get me started on their message board - it's so difficult to navigate.

When I got home from the grocery store, I decided to shut off the computer for a while. It wouldn't. I silently freaked out and became glad I bought those cigarettes. I hate the computer. If it was mine, I wouldn't care as much. It is not my computer, however, so I have to be extra careful. The last thing I need is my partner returning home to lost files and blood curdling screams as I curl up on the couch crying. That's not a good way to say hello after three weeks on the road.

Anyway, I called my father-in-law and he talked me through shutting it done properly. I'm not a dummy - I know how to do this. I just wanted him to guide me so that my partner doesn't think I just did what I thought was best (and then having it fuck up). Everything is okay. Whew.

The only issue is that when I am shutting down the computer via that window that says shut off, restart, etc - the screen goes black and white. When I hit cancel, it returns to color. I'm gonna keep my fingers crossed and hope that something tragic does not happen. According to my astrology loving friend, we are in a mercury retrogade and we should back up our computer files.

I'm with headache tonight. I feel better from my little breakdown this morning, but I am feeling a little lonely. I'll survive. A party tomorrow night will probably change that fairly quickly.

Tags
Barnes and Noble, Computer, French

My Zit and Mr. Cohen

2006-07-20T11:24:00.000-05:00

Today, is my partner's birthday. He is now officially half-way to 40! Like Willie Nelson, he is on the road again. No birthday blowjob for him, nor cake - and I love to decorate me a mean cake. I am without cake and cock!

Regardless, I am enjoying the place to myself. I must admit the first couple of days, I may have overdid on the porn. When I get into something while I'm alone - be it smoking cigarettes or listening to a particular song or watching a dvd box set - I completely over-endulge. Perhaps, it's the mild obsessive/compulsive disorder that runs in my family.

The most interesting pieces of news have been freely flowing towards me. My favourite singer and poet, Leonard Cohen, has been spotted in my city. Not just once. I have heard this from tons of people. Even from people that I thought despised me - well, I'm only on their slight shit-list - wrote me to say that he is floating around town. I like this thought.

If you do not know me, you will shortly discover my tremendous love for this man. I love him. I love his voice. I love his words. I love his poetry. I love how he can put together a simple sentence. I bet he could casually say he was going to get some bread at the corner store and make it sound luscious and seductive, make my heart beat a little faster. I love this man. He has stuck by me since high school and watched me blossom into that complicated woman he wrote poems about. Okay, not really...haha. I only wish. Le sigh. I'm such a girl when it comes to him. I imagine myself walking down a snowy street on a winter evening, a scarf wrapped around my neck and wearing a classy peacoat. My red lipstick staining the end of my cigarette. And walking towards me is a man...that man is Leonard Cohen. He would say something simple to me. Maybe ask me to walk alongside him or to go for a quiet glass of red wine. And then we would fall in love and he would write songs about me and we'll live happily ever after.

*insert stupid smile here*

I must admit here that I don't particularly enjoy his newer stuff. The words are still powerful but the plethora of synth keyboards cheapen it, in my humble opinion. It was okay in the 80s but it's not acceptable in this day and age. I would like to see him do something like he did in the 60s - just him and a guitar or at least a string band. I think that could reach a whole new audience. And I also know that it's probably not normal for a 29 year old to have a crush on a 72 year old. Unless you are Anna Nicole Smith.

So Mr. Leonard Cohen is in town. Walking about. Enjoying the city. I am tempted to seek him out, as crazy at that sounds, just for a simple glance at this man I so admire. Of course, I am here at home. There's a very good reason for me being here.

Due to my own physical circumstances, I am positive that I would run into him. My first reason not to seek him out is because it is too hot. These past few days I have been heat stroke queezy. I sit still and I'm sweating like I ran 5o miles. The last thing I would want is to stand before L.Cohen and sweat. I wouldn't know what to say in the first place due to nervousness. And when I am nervous, I pick apart every single motion my body makes. That makes me break a little sweat which makes me pick apart why I am sweating. I have ruined perfectly fine conversations just by holding another one in my head, obsessing about the line of sweat on my brow. Hi, Mr Leonard Cohen, I'm Elle and I have a sweating problem.

The second reason is truly obvious. I have the biggest and reddest zit....on my fucking nose! Jesus Christ, it's awful. I know I don't have the best skin but I can deal with it. This is embarrassing. It's the brand of junior high embarrassment that is really hard to take! All of a sudden I feel fourteen again, for all the wrong reasons! Hi, Mr Leonard Cohen...I'd like to introduce you to my friend, the monsterous and reddest mountain of a zit. I literally look like I am growing a beak. It's on the bridge of my nose and accurately in the middle. It's bright red and I am a pale gal. Just a little higher up on my nose and I would like a bindi. The only good thing about it is if I do choose to go out - my dark framed glasses will hide it, to a certain degree.

My zit, I've called him Rudolph, and I will go on to finish this hot cup of coffee before conquering the day. Who knows, maybe one day soon I will be writing about my saucy love affair with a certain Leonard! (not Nimoy.)

Francais, s'il vous plait!

2006-07-18T20:31:00.000-05:00

The break from the heat has given me a better opportunity to take full advantage of the day. Sure, the bedroom looks like a shopping mall vomited all over the floor again but I think I have made a good effort at my time off.

I entered the virtual class room. I am taken an online course at Barnes and Noble University. It is French for Beginners. I have gone through lesson one all afternoon and it stretched into the early evening. I'm proud of myself! I still have to complete to writing exercises and perhaps I should practise on here. Thankfully, a lot of it makes sense. Those two damned years of French in junior high paid off. I still regret not using my paid - gulp - course to the full extent. That was a good waste of $300. Ah well. It's never too late.

The biggest hurdle with learning French is becoming more confident. It's hard to just strike up a conversation at this point. Everyone knows me as English. What would they think if I, all of a sudden, started parlez vous-ing at them. It makes me laugh, because in my head I can see my brilliant expertise. Ah, that is only a dream. One day, I'll show them. I'll be mais oui-ing and s'il vous plait-ing until the cows come home. You'll see.

Another thing is, with a lot of these beginner French courses, is that it is Parisian French. It is far from the Quebecois French they speak out here. It's more chewed up and spat in your face. That's not an insult to the Quebecois. I'm just calling it like it is.

On a side note, I am completely and utterly jealous that my partner's band is playing in my hometown tonight. I want to be there! I told a few friends to grab my man's ass and tell him I send my regards. I hope that happens. I hope my hometown proves them wrong, oh yes. Often, it is a city that is at ease with complaining. People complain there are not enough good shows or events to attend. When there is something finally great in the city, no one shows. They are much more content to sit on their couch and complain until winter-time. I hope for a fun show and lots of people. If the city disappoints them - I will take it personally!

I just want to be that girl surrounded by friends and loved ones, enjoying the music. Bah!

Speaking of my love, he is stressed out. I don't like to hear him in this state. I sincerely hope that it is just the lack of sleep that is talking. I just want to rescue him and be along side him. He is a typical Cancer. He loves being at home. He loves his space. He gets cranky when that is denied. And boy, does he ever love his own bed. Meow!

I will, hopefully, hear from him tonight. I lined up a place for them to stay. There will be beds and a hearty breakfast in the morning. Selfishly, I hope there are a lot of good wishes for me from my old friends that I miss so dearly.

A Less Overheated Update

2006-07-18T13:37:00.000-05:00

Who's kidding who, the last few days have not be fun. I'm missing my very own musician, but I'm dealing with it. It is humidity/heat that I have the problem with. If humidity was a person, I would punch him or her right in the neck. Ha-zah! I

t's still very warm and sunny out. The humidex reads 32C (89.6F) but compared to the last few days, this is like the damned arctic. If it's one thing I hate, it's sweating like a marathon runner when the only active thing I am doing is simply sitting still. Not hot. I think I have suffered from bouts of heat stroke over the last few days in my sweat-box of an apartment. I have been very lethargic for no other reason. I set out to have a very enthusiastic and active day. By mid-afternoon, I am done. My sinuses get blocked, my head aches, and my stomach becomes very unsettled. I am normally the type of person who does not get nausea so it causes me to become very whiny and needy. Heh, it's easier to control when you have no one to complain to! Anyway, whenever I get a bout of nausea, I end up becoming paranoia. Did he plant a seed? Did I drink bad milk from the fridge? Do I have worms? Nope, it's just the damned heat. I guess I should be happy that it's not a case of the worms.

My in-laws brought over two fans. Unfortunately, they did not want my autograph (Hey-o! I'm here all week!). I have three fans in total. My living room is like an 80's model photography shoot - my hair blowing around in the wind, while I wear my Jordache jeans and neon tube top to the sounds of Michael Sambello's Maniac. Ah, paints a lovely picture for y'all!

Seriously though, this heat is causing me to become a great sloth. I can't think. I can't do anything with such an uneasy stomach. I can't focus, even on the most easy tasks. At least I cleaned up the apartment yesterday, before my fellow Tour Widow came by for dinner. After my surprise in the garbage though, I had to retire from everything. I was done for the day. Blarg!

It was lovely having my girl friend over last night. She brought over a bottle of chilled white wine and strawberries - she claimed she was not going to seduce me, haha. I don't think a guy has even done that for me before (I do recall, however, trying that out on a man in the past. He was more interested in the television. At least, I didn't have to share my damned strawberries)! We sat outside on my patio and talked for a few hours. It was really nice and I appreciate her company. I'm no master chef, but I like making dinner for friends. I made a cold pasta and bean salad - which doesn't sound like much. Originally, I was supposed to make chili but after sitting in my apartment, otherwise known as the fiery depths of hell - I imagined the both of us spontaniously combusting due to being overheated.

I'm such a cheap drunk, it's not even funny. Half a bottle of wine and I'm fuzzy headed. This is the reason I care not to drink in public anymore. When feeling the booze, I get warm and loving and social for a good half hour. After that, I just want to sleep. I've always wanted to be that wild and crazy drunk. Well, it wasn't my life ambition - I just wish it didn't hit me in such a sleepy way.

After my tour widow company left, I went online and chatted with a friend I haven't talked to in YEARS. This was a girl that lived back home. We used to go to this particular bar together and dance our asses off. We used to have a blast together. She's a very kind-hearted girl and I always wished the best for her. When she moved back to her reserve in Ontario, I was very sad. She ended up falling in love with a French man and now she is "with seed". It was nice catching up. The only stupid thing is that I found out her partner's family is from here and they were out here last summer! If only I knew, we would have hooked up for a coffee!

Tonight, the band plays in my hometown. It's the only stop on their tour that I am rather bitter about. I know my old crew will be there. I would have been in MY environment if I was there. I would have been the one dancing and getting my boobs grabbed by my friends! I would have felt a lot more comfortable and into the music. I hope my town treats them well. I know, sometimes, there is a lack of spirit and participation. I want to prove the band wrong! I want them to love playing there. They better put on a good show for my friends...or else! I'm certain I will get the full update later on tonight or tomorrow. I really wish I could be there.

Le Sigh.

Too Hot

2006-07-18T10:30:00.000-05:00

Forgive me and my pink panties, I know I have been a stranger around these parts lately.

Recently, my partner-in-crime left on a musical tour of duty. The weekend before he left was a stressful one. A bunch of us went to a show about eight hours away and the first half of the trip went just fine. I was having fun and I was being chatty. Everything was smooth and fun. Then the combination of heat, sun, and social anxiety kicked in. I was a bit on edge, if you will. A passing comment made me irritated and the swarm of invited people to our hotel room made me even more irritated. I do not function well without sleep. The second half of the trip was quite uncomfortable, but mostly due to my own prior mistakes. Not a single person talked to me and I built up an even bigger wall around myself. I shut down. It happens when you are surrounded by people who are more comfortable to speak a language that you are not familiar with.

We came home to a monster blowout. I heard a lot of words that were very bitter to swallow. I am with someone who is very much into tough love. It hurts at the time but in the long run I appreciate his ways. You see, cuddling and sweetness only goes so far. It's the tough words that cause a reaction - hopefully towards change. He's looking out for me.

He has left and I feel alright. Actually, I enjoy this time alone. Before he left, I made a list of things to accomplish. I admit that I am failing. Like the great Steven Tyler of Aerosmith once said, my get up and go must have got up and left! It's only day five though, I suppose I shouldn't worry. It's not like I am being a lazy television watching sloth anyway.

What's holding me back is the heat. There is a big block of humidity hanging over this city and by the middle of the day, I am messed up. I wouldn't know how it feels to get heat stroke but I think I have suffered it! Currently, I am okay. I have just got out of bed - a little late, at that - so it has yet to hit me. In my little sweat-box of an apartment, the last few days have been a stunted hell. My sinuses get blocked up. My head begins to pound. I get very queesy. I'm never queesy so the first thing my paranoid mind assumes is - what if I'm "with seed"?!

I sincerely hope this heat passes because I find all I want to do is sit in front of my very small fan and close my weary eyes. I want to have something to show for being alone after all these days. I have convinced my partner that I will write, goddamn it! So far, the most creative thing I have come up with is a short tale about taking a bath that is full of ice cubes!

I have requested more fans. I hear they are on their way. Maybe I'll actually be able to get things done!

Thoughts on Porn - After the Fact

2006-07-15T23:56:00.000-05:00

You know what I should be doing? Something productive. That's what happens when you download a handful o' porn and have an inviting pack of cigarettes. I indulge. If I had a chocolate cheese cake before me, I'd probably eat the whole damn thing while I'm at it. Perhaps, all at once for comic value.

I watched my plethora of Rachel Rotten porn. I can see how people think she looks like me and I am certainly not complaining about that (minus the fact that I am more fleshy but with less boobage and have a big ol' Eastern European head). She's a very pretty girl - and there are not too many girls in porn I can freely label as pretty. Of course, I'm no porn expert either. I don't know much about her but what I do know makes me like her "work" (is that the proper term?) even more so. The porn she shot was with her boyfriend Rob Rotten. They look cool - these are the kind of couples I long for in porn. She has a nice hair style, complete with bluntly cut bangs. He's covered in tattoos (and not crappy tribal ones) and has a big mohawk. She's got real boobs. He's got, um, a tattoo on his penis. It's different and I appreciate that. They look hot together and you can sense their attraction to one another. And that is what makes watching this enjoyable. Though, you know they are aware of the cameras - you can tell that he actually likes going down on her and it's not just for show. You can tell he was being careful to not mess up her bangs or ruin her makeup - I found that genuinely sweet. I wasn't utterly repelled when I saw him naked either. That's always a good sign.

The only thing I found a little unsettling was how thin she look when she was spread out this way and that. I'm going to say that it's the camera angles, but I almost wanted them to take a break so she could eat a sandwich.

I wonder how she manages to give head without messing up her cherry colored lipstick? I wonder how her hair stays so perfect? Good God, if ever I leave my lipstick on...I end up looking like a clown with rocker hair. Kudos.

I watched another one that I had to turn off shortly after. It was three girls enjoying one another. I could deal with this, even though one of them had strange looking fake breasts. Two of the girls were fine. The other one moaned as though she was undergoing an exorcism. It, quite frankly, disturbed me. I kept thinking about that movie, The Exorcism of Emily Rose. She kept moaning and inserting a few, "Do you fucking like that?" grunts. It scared me. Not only did it seem like she was undergoing an exorcism, but she had this look on her face that most men would be afraid of. The face of a crazy, drunken, and obsessive ex-girlfriend. Not hot.

Ah, at least the phone didn't interrupt me this time! I win!

Thoughts on Porn

2006-07-15T15:18:00.000-05:00

So I'm downloading porn. Oddly enough, this is the first time I have ever downloaded porn in this apartment. A first!

I love the cock, don't get me wrong. I just don't think the majority of men out there have lovely ones. I don't think there is much to admire about that part of the male. Yes, it sounds horrible to say. It's there, I like it, but in the long run what I find sexy about the male isn't just that. It's more of how their body responds to mine. The way they look at me with their eyes. The way they move. You know, the subtle gestures of nakedness and two bodies entwined.

I like girl-on-girl stuff. I have never ventured to that possibility myself, so perhaps it's a curiosity of mine that is hidden deep down. I don't question my sexuality. I just find the female body much more appealing. There are curves and delicate features. Much more of a handful, if I do say so myself.

The problem with porn is that I am far too picky. I like realistic footage, but I find that amateur porn is way too realistic. I don't need to see hair on a man's back. I like women to look real - I don't need to see a good boob job and glossy pink lipstick. I don't even like ultra thin women. I like real women with curves, with a raunchier look. I don't like blondes, unless they look real. And boy, that's hard to find.

What bugs me the most is seeing two women together who look exactly the same. It's far too strange. I can't seem to let go when I am watching two blondes go at it with the same pornstar makeup and the same color eyes. It's weird and like watching two drunk chicks from North Dakota or Minnesota at a party. Not my scene.

Yet, I am guilty of it. I am downloading something starring Rachel Rotten - someone once said that I look like her. I find that kind of hot. We'll see how I feel after seeing it.

Yep, not a deep post here. I thought I would last a little longer, being apart from partner. He's only gone a little over a day and I'm already getting my own hands dirty!

Inner Complications

2006-07-14T23:21:00.000-05:00

It's always hard to hear from someone you admire that you are fucked up. The worst thing about it is actually knowing it.

There's a good reason why I do not go along with the boys, when there is room for me in the van. I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb and I feel social anxiety kick in full throttle. I'm not one for team sports.

Last weekend was no exception. In fact, it was a rough one. Well...only half the time.

The first part of the voyage was great. I felt very positive and I pumped myself up for the outing. It's not like I'm some sort of recluse or wack-job in the first place. I just have to encourage myself to not fall into a pile of anxious messiness. I try so very hard but my inner demons always seem to win!

I know it's probably not healthy but I tend to stick to the people I am most comfortable with. Being in Quebec and not French, I lean towards the English people. It's a comfort zone, though I realize I should try a little bit harder with the French. The only reason the first half of the band trip went smoothly was because I had another girl friend there. An English girl friend and one that I understand when she speaks French. It calms me and, besides, I honestly enjoy her company. We chatted, we laughed - it was a good time on the road. Eventually, everyone fell asleep in the van with the exception of the driver and myself. I felt at a loss for words, but there's so much you can say when you are in the backseat.

The show went just as well. I chatted up a storm. I was friendly. I felt good inside. It was a hot summer day and I felt my skin getting redder and redder. I tried to revive myself with my good friend, Beer. I drank a quarter of a can and felt uneasy. It was one of those days where I couldn't hold down alcohol. I shouldn't be drinking in the first place, given the heat and the lack of food in my tummy. Sometimes it is either drink and be a part of the crowd until I black out (low blood sugar) or stay sober and healthy. At least I know better to not listen to the Beer Demon, that lurks inside each and everyone of us. I floated around here and there, but mainly stuck to the people I drove in with. I made a couple of rounds, talking to a girl from back home (what a pleasant surprise!) and another girl I met off Myspace. Everyone was having a good old time.

Enter inner demon.

At the end of the night, I was tired and sunburnt. I just wanted to chill out and relax. Take it easy, if you will. I should have known better because before I knew it, people from the outdoor show were being invited to our hotel room left and right. Insert the beginnings of social anxiety here. I fell into a less than pleasant mood to say the least. It took forever for everyone to pack up their vans and I got stuck manning the merch booth. I have no problem with that. A local approached me and we talked about the town we were in and I casually mentioned how I would love to see Niagara Falls as it was only 15 minutes away. I figured that while we were this close, we may as well see one of the world's biggest tourist spots.

He replied, "It's only fucking water!"

That was almost the straw that broke the camel's back! It's only fucking water? What the hell? It's freaking Niagara Falls! I tried with clumsy words to explain myself. I proudly stated that I was from the prairies and you don't, obviously, see landmarks such as that. He looked utterly bored. He turned his attention to the French girls and they all began to rave about Quebec. It's the best, it's the greatest, the woman are the best women. Yeah. I felt like a big ol' prairies reject! After that moment, this guy did not speak another word to me nor did he acknowledge my presense - even when saying goodbye the next day! I have to say, it kind of kicked off that mood and offended me.

We all piled into the van and it's drunken French people everywhere. And it's also drunken French people singing drunken French songs. People are laughing. They understand. I sit there, clued out as usual. Frustration is beginning to rear it's ugly head.

We get to the hotel room and there's a good number of people. I am instantly cranky. Cranky like a little child who has been stuck in a mall or out in the sun all day long. I just want to crash. I don't want to socialize with a bunch of drunken strangers. They sensed that, I assume, as no one approached me.

There's always a kind of awkwardness when you are the only sober person in a room full of drunks. I was glad that they were all having a good time. I just felt a little disassociated, a little disconnected from that brand of fun. I know it was my choice to come along and not drink, I know it's not my say to what the band wants to do. I tried to swallow my seemingly selfish feelings but it was next to impossible. I know I showed a look of irritation on my face. I felt isolated and in my own nervousness - all I wanted to do was flee. I seem to always want to flee when I am far away from my own shelter.

You know, I don't like this about myself. It's a side I have always known but it seems to have come into bloom upon arriving to this city. I'm the sober one. I sit back and watch people being asses. I see them having fun and taking silly photographs and grabbing boobs and doing stupid dances. I sit back and what kicks in is a longing to return home. I used to be like this, I recall as I sit back. Now, I am stuffy and stiff and awkward. I cannot seem to let loose. I know I'm fun. I know I am interesting. And I certainly know I am downright silly! However, with the majority of the people in this city, I cannot seem to break out of this very tough shell I have built around me. I feel left out and I know I have made myself feel left out all on my own.

I go for a walk. I would prefer to go on my own but I do not know the city well. I long for a visit to a trusted 711. They don't have any here. I settle for a lacklustre convenience store. I curse the postcard situation. My partner is not impressed. I can almost tell that he wants to keep away from me.

As we return, I latch onto two younger girls who are very nice and sweet. They are sober and tired - they, too, are waiting on their boyfriends to quit partying and head back to their hotel. I sit there, smoking endless cigarettes, and outright complain. I vent and vent and vent. They feel bad for me. Not only can they see the tired expression on my face but they can see the irked expression that comes with the other kind of younger girls who think it's so fun and cool to flash their titties to a band in front of a camera. Ah, the sweet icing on the cake. These girls I sat with felt so bad for me that they took it upon themselves to take me to Niagara Falls. I tell them how appreciative I am for their gesture and thank them for listening. I bond with these girls, even though one of them said she was age five in 1990. Upon hearing that, I imagined myself as a complaining old hag! I get to see Niagara Falls. Just my luck, there were no lights on. Still, something amazing before my prairie eyes!

We return to my party and the token completely fucked up girl was awake (again). She had this shrill voice that made you want to spontaniously do roundhouse punches to the neck region, to anyone in your path. A lot of people were gone, but they were still in and out of our room to rescue beer. I clenched my fists, tried not to storm into my room(but probably did), and went directly to bed to the sweet sounds of shrill voiced completely fucked up girl yapping away about something to gain any kind of attention.

Sleep. Sleep is always a beloved companion.

In the morning, I was full of rise and shine. I had another one of those sympathy hangovers. My head was killing me but I was happy to get out and enjoy the drive back. It was a waiting game. Hungry and anxious, I paced about but was in a calmer mood. It was morning. And then we went for breakfast.

I'm all over breakfast. Nothing makes me happier than a greasy breakfast and that first cup of coffee. A group of 12, we were. We get two seperate tables. I, of course, get stuck at the French table. Usually, I enjoy listening in (though it has taken me a long time) and I sit back. Eventually, the words are translated. I sit there in silence and gobble down my grub. I think only a few words are spoken to me. I get pissy at the rude comments they say about the waitress in French.

We drive for eight hours, plus rest stops along the way. All French, once again. No one says a word to me. Once again, I shut my doors. I feel a sad storm brewing inside. No one talks to me and I barely understand (only insults and dirty comments about women, I seem to get). I just sit there. I sit through the long drive and nothing. I come to the point where I pretend to read and sleep because what's the point, I figure. I know I cannot speak French and I know it's my own damned fault. I could have tried harder. I know it's easy for them all to fall into it. But I just sit there. I feel unimportant, left out, cast aside. It's an incredible lonely feeling that I have only tasted since moving here. It's bad enough when someone is involved in a fun conversation without you, but it's worse when you barely understand a single word being said. It's incredibly lonely and I do not think anyone in this circle of acquaintances can relate. I come off as a grumpy snob when all I feel is tremendously left out. After eight hours of that, I fell into another round of sad.

Not only did I mope around with a little angry cloud over my head on Saturday night, but I stared off in my own silent world for hours upon hours. I know it's mostly my doing, my own odd feelings. What was I suppose to do? How was I suppose to act after that many hours of non-stop language that I just did not understand? How was I suppose to react when the only English spoken was in regards to the young attention whores displaying their naked boobs? The only thing I could think of was a good swig of homeopathic anxiety remedies.

I know I was a bit of a pain in the ass, this past weekend.

When we got home, we both exploded. And when I say exploded, it's honestly not that bad. Perhaps, the proverbial pot bubbled over. It was long and messy and full of tears. Sigh.

I reacted to the whole weekend and chose to bring it up by turning into a wingnut. I brought up the naked boob attention whores. Not cool. Just insecure. Whenever I try to verbally explain myself, sludge flows out of my mouth. Nothing works. I sound like an insecure idiot. I tried to explain that I just couldn't fit in and I felt left out, so I reacted harshly. I told him that I felt lonely. That I used to be cool and fun and wacky. I told him that eight hours in a van and not being spoken to once drove me crazy. I told him that I do not know what to say to new people, especially when they are not sober. He told me next time to stay home.

He told me that it is not normal for me to be here for two years and not have a set of friends. He's right. He told me that it's not normal that I have been here for two years and haven't tried to learn a stitch of French. He's right. He told me that I haven't tried hard enough and that I sit to watch the world go by. He's right. He's right. He's right. He told me that I am not well adjusted. He's right again. He told me that I have a lot of potential and he wants to see me use my talents. He's right - problem is, I have no idea what this potential or talent is. He told me that I am not a very happy person. He's right. He told me that he is afraid to go away for three weeks, in fear of me going insane. That hurt.

(Of course, being the paranoid person that I am...I actually wondered "what if I do go insane!?")

He compared me to his friend the schitozphrenic. Yep, and that hurt too.

The thing is, I know he is right on a lot of levels. Maybe I just don't like hearing it spoken so bluntly.

Sometimes, I am so afraid of letting loose here and getting close to people. I feel like I am on a constant first date with a lot of people. You know, those wonky gaps of silence and that small talk. I'm fine with that, only until I start thinking about home and I get very lonely. I recognize that change within me and I am not sure it's a good change. I just want that old set of friends like I had back home, like people have here. Sometimes, I am afraid of letting those old friends go in order to accommodate the new ones - yet I know there's no reason to why I can't have both. Sometimes, I am so very afraid of losing my own identity here in the sea of French. I want to be that prairies girl for a long time. I want to be proud of where I come from. I never want to forget my home, my background.

And that is the reason why the Tour Widow doesn't go on tours. I complicate things. I complicate things there and in my own damn head. I make a molehill into a mountain. I panic. I want to be at home or in private. I desire my own schedule. I don' t want to socialize with girls who are barely legal who have no shame to piss in a parkade or flash their tits at every guy who holds a musical instrument. I'm better off left at home. I may go insane but at least I'm not miserable.

20 Questions Meme

2006-07-11T15:41:00.000-05:00

I recently read this on the great Sexeteria blog. It only took me four days to finish it.

1.You are in the Witness Protection Program and must invent a new first, last, and middle name. What is it?

Vivienna L'Amour. Sounds mysterious, if I do say so myself. Wouldn't you wonder about that new stranger in town, in a sleek black dress and painted red lips who calls herself Vivienna L'Amour? I know I would.

2.You are in a threesome with two famous people, alive or dead. Who are they?

Personally, I would like to have Leonard Cohen all to myself. Otherwise, I would not complain about having some sort of delicious romance with a couple of silent movie starlets. My headache is not allowing me to come up with actual names. Oh, perhaps Rachel Rotten who is a porn star. People have said she looks like me. That would be kinky. Oh, for a jock type of kick - I wouldn't say no to Vince Vaughn (Swingers era) and Billy Zane (without hair).

3.You are in charge of naming your new band. What's the name of the band?

The Tour Widows, in honor of dating someone in a band, or The Misfettes - an all-girl tribute to the Misfits.

4. You are going to get a free tattoo. What would it be?

Honestly, what I would get is a combination of Maneki Neko cat and snowflakes - but done in a very specific old school type style. I've been hankering for a snowflake or two for a while now.

5. You are being forced to listen to one song over and over, ad infinitum, as a form of torture. What song is it?

Oh, there are so many songs that cause me to become very crunchy. Oh, so many songs. If anyone was to torture me at this very moment, the soundtrack would be be all French sing-a-long songs. I don't know the names of them, but believe me - when they are sung by drunken French people, it's enough to make your ears bleed. I'd rather work in a daycare than listen to that. Oh, and non-stop Celtic music.

6. You are leaving your state/province. What state do you move to?

There are too many places I would adore to try on for size. London, England. A lone villa somewhere in Europe. Vancouver, only for the school I dream about attending. Back home, for the honest comfort and love. The French Quarter in New Orleans, but chances are that idea would wear a little thin. A city that has a great wax museum.

7. You are leaving your country, where would you move?

Though a lot of people here cannot admit it, I have to say that I love Canada. I can't see myself moving. However, there are many places I would spend time in. I would love to see the homes of my ancestors in Poland and the Ukraine. I would love to see Russia (and I would have a translator!). I would love to see Japan. London, England. Even Spain. Ole!

8. You get to choose one book as the best ever written. What book do you choose?

The Stone Angel by Margaret Laurence. I realize it is not a worldwide classic, but it is a book that I will never forget. It has stayed with me for many, many years. Nothing beats the companion of the written word.

9. You get to choose one movie as the best ever made. What movie do you choose?

Sigh, quite difficult to answer! I don't even think I can answer this. I'll suggest old B-movies and Japanese monster movies. The first monster movies to come out. And Cinema Paradiso.

10. You get to spend one day each as a bird, an insect, and a mammal. What bird would you be? What insect? What mammal?

Although it would be tempting to lounge around in a coat of pink feathers and stand on one leg like the flamingo does, I think I will choose to be a Great Horned Owl. Hopefully, I will still have the mindset of a human and I will know exactly who I would like to randomly attack. Actually, owls are quite interesting creatures. Unfortunately, they have a tendancy to fly into wire fences and die that way. Hopefully, that wouldn't happen to me as an owl.

As for the insect, I think I would like to be a dragonfly. I don't know much about them, other than the fact that they eat all the annoying insects. They look very pretty and peaceful. One sat on my finger once, while in a rural cemetary. It was a very calm moment.

And the mammal. I want to be some sort of cat. A domestic housecat or a wilderness cat, I don't care. I just want to be a cat, even though that answer sounds like what a 10 year old girl with a bedroom painted pink would say. Meow. I'd also like to be a sloth. There's no denying it, I like moving slow and sleeping in.

11. You must relive one year of your life. Which would you like to relive?

Though it turned messy, I would like to relive July 2001 to March 2002. I felt very alive then and, sometimes, I miss that feeling.

12. Which year(s) would you least like to relive?

There are no whole years I would like to erase. Just moments, I'm afraid. Perhaps, those awkward junior high/high school years when I was teased a lot because of acne and had an obsessive and jealous boyfriend. I could have done just fine without all his guilt tripping suicide notes.

13. You have a time machine that will take you backwards anywhere from 1800 to the present. What decade do you most want to visit?

Ah...I would love to visit any decade from the 20's to the 50's. Of course, I wouldn't necessarily want to live in those decades, but would love to get a taste of it. The 20's seem so alive and raw, sexually. One of my favourite things to observe and create is vintage looks with makeup (I'd do the hair if I wasn't so hair-stupid). I love the looks from the 20's to 50's - my favourite era being the 40's. I wouldn't want to live with the war, the depression, or the hidden sins but I would love to take a stroll through those decades. Or go shopping!

14. You must choose to go skydiving or very-deep-sea diving.

Though I do not know how to swim very well, the thought of skydiving and bursting like an overdone Pizza Pop on cement sounds frightening. Deep sea diving, please.

15. You get to return to the past (using that handy dandy time machine we were talking about before) and have a sexual encounter with a rock star who is no longer alive. Who do you pick?

I think I would opt for Jeff Buckley, even though it would prove complicated. I would just love him to sing to me and then I would melt all over the place.

16. You get to be a contestant on any game show, airing today or in the past. What show do you want to be on?

I think if it was the 70's or 80's and I had big boobs stuffed into a tube top, I would totally go on the Price Is Right... just so I could jump up and down and knock over the dashing Bob Barker with my gigantic boobies. Preferably, during Plinko. Or else, I would go on that lame Canadian game show called Supermarket Sweep.

17. You are given $1 million dollars but you must give it all to one charity. What charity do you choose?

Oh, there would be so many to choose from. I think I would like it to go to something back home however. I'm really too tired to think right now.

18. You must ban one word from the dictionary and all usage, to be no longer uttered or written. What word do you ban?

Can I ban a phrase? Because I really hate the term "Getting your dinky stinky".

19. You can have 100 million dollars tax-free but if you take it, you'll die at the age of fifty. Do you take it?

No, because 50 ain't that far off! I'd rather be happy and healthy and poor.

20. There is no number.
And how!

Book of the Week - Subversive Cross Stitch!

2006-07-07T14:11:00.000-05:00

I love Subversive Cross Stitch. I cannot express this enough!

One day while searching for fun things to do that leviate the boredom of domesticity, I did a search for kinky, offensive-to-the-masses crafts. I came across an impressive site for dirty latch hook rugs called Made With Sweet Love. I advise you to go there - you will be amused! In the section for links, I came across Subversive Cross Stitch. It's a completely fun site that sells kits, a newly released book, and note cards all with the naughty and surly sayings. Not only did coming across Julie Jackson's Subversive Cross Stitch website inspire me to learn how to cross stitch, she showed me that cross stitching craftwork is not just for grandmothers. All this time, I thought cross stitching was all about cutesy teddy bears and positively quirky sayings. It honestly never crossed my mind that you can do something wickedly cool and humourously offensive with this form of needlework. I ran across her website and even wrote her a quick email, thanking her for showing me that there is more to cross stitch than teddy bears and home-sweet-home type of sayings. If I didn't run into her site, I would not have found such a relaxing hobby that appeals to my comical side! Learning how to cross stitch has successfully helped me stop biting my fingernails, I might add!

I ordered a pattern off her website, in support of what she does. As well, I acquired her new book called Subversive Cross Stitch - 33 Designs for Your Surly Side. The book is great - inspiring, amusing, humourous, and simply perfect for a beginner at sassy cross stitch. It has many sayings like "Babies Suck", "Happy Fucking Holidays", and "Homo Sweet Homo". And I have to say, I think the coolest thing about her book is that she honestly encourages you to go out and try something new on your own instead of following her patterns. I just love Subversive Cross Stitch!

Therefore, highly recommended! Not only is this an amazing book that is guarenteed to inspire your inner surliness to succulently bloom, the author and creator seems like such a great gal to deal with. Get yours today!

Five Years

2006-07-02T15:37:00.000-05:00

I read over the past poetry with a curious heart and a hungry eye. It’s been over four years. Times are different now. People move on. Ideas formerly titled perfect are viewed conflictingly. Your spirits alter. Feelings change. That’s it, feelings change. The world is in constant change actually; constant motion, whether it is on a grand and worldly scale or within your own little life. As they say, change is inevitable. I wonder about the strength and power of my old words today.

It’s been over four years now, I remind myself, since we said goodbye. I was the one with the tears in my eyes and you; you were the one looking helpless in your Bill Cosby sweater. We made a lovely couple at the airport that day, I’m sure. Saying goodbye gave him the permission to live in the forest as he unrealistically wished for. For me, it gave me something to get over for a good year or so, with the assistance of a stack of outdated self help books from my small town library. I’m sure the librarian thought I was a certified crazy person.

I was in the right town for it anyway.

Walking Self-Help Book

2006-07-01T14:27:00.000-05:00

Call me a victim of the self-help section at a bookstore - I dare ya!

At the end of every day, I write down one thing that I am grateful for. It could be that explosive session of late afternoon sex or it could be that long nap I took on the couch with a book on my chest or if could be a simple exchange of smiles with a passing stranger in the grocery store. At the end of every day, I write down one thing I have felt grateful for.

I realize it sounds like a suggestion Dr. Phil would make, while being the guest star on Oprah. As silly as it may seem, this little task has encouraged me to see the next day differently even if I have that little angry storm cloud over my head to taunt me. I go through each day with the reminder to appreciate all those small things that make each day fantastic. It helps, especially when you find yourself in those dark blues as I do at times.

Today, I began a new routine. At the beginning of every day, I will write out an open invitation. Yep, I'm sounding cornier by the minute. Everyone has wishes and hopes. Usually, the genuine and pure ones are kept hidden away. I'm not ashamed to admit out loud that I wish for a fantastic digital camera or the discovery of a plentitude of cash while walking down the street. Yet, I'm slightly embarrassed to invite personal wealth into my life or wish that all those seemingly lost friends of mine are doing well, wherever they are. Today, I invite those lost friends back into my life. It doesn't matter if it happens (though I would welcome them back with open arms). What matters is that I am putting something positive out there to start my day, instead of burrowing it away in my heart.

Like daily flossing, I hope I actually stick to this routine!

Email from an Ex

2006-06-27T16:01:00.000-05:00

Earlier this week, my ex-boyfriend admitted (via email) that he was previously aggravated with me. I bit my tongue and have yet to respond, as I have recently and officially transformed into a raging PMS Monster. I am fine with letting bygones be bygones - it's been too long to hold on to anger. The PMS Monster disagrees.

It's been years since we parted. He'll always mean something to me, for good and bad reasons. He was my first sexual partner and I was a late bloomer. He taught me a lot about relationships - especially in understanding what I expect and want out of a partner. Meaning, the very opposite. He was a good lesson, even though at the time I was left with a very spoiled heart and a crushed sense of self. I had to go through that. To him, I was always something. I was too young. I was too thin. I was not intelligent enough. I was not well read enough. I was too emotional. I was not strong enough. I even remember him saying that maybe in ten years I will be the one for him. Combine that with losing your virginity with the dude - I was a mental wreck. He wanted to bring in other girls to our bedroom, other boys. I was new at sex! It intimidated me. He compared me to his ex-wife. Their wedding photo hung on his fridge. Yes, I should have viewed it as a disaster waiting to happen.

At least the sex was good.

He gracefully ended it by cheating on me, with two girls at once. It was a messy situation and one that he denied. I found out after he confessed his true love for me. He was the first man to tell me he loved me. A week later, a friend's boyfriend called him out. My friend's boyfriend was watching the threesome. Busted. I felt like an ass for believing in his words and being as high as the sky during that week.

We tried to remain friends and, thinking back on it, I knew it was a mistake. He was one of those figures of the past that should remain in the past. Being from a smaller city and digging the same music, it was hard not to run into him (sometimes, it would be like an ex-boyfriend reunion - scary stuff!). One Friday, he ran into my group of friends and me. He chatted up a storm with one of my best friends. At that time, she was freshly single. Her boyfriend left her for another woman.

He calls me up the next morning. He's very charming and witty and I can see through it. He wants something, and not a booty call for me. It's my Saturday morning. I was in the middle of making an amazing greasy breakfast and didn't even take one sip of my sacred coffee. He brings up my friend, in a stoic manner. With flowery and poetic words (that never suited him), he asks for my "permission" to "fuck around" with my friend (that is where his poetic words typically crash land). Though I was in my present relationship, I strongly state that I am certainly not cool with that. I barked at him on the phone. He could not understand why I wouldn't "allow" him to play my friend. He could not understand why I would tell my best friend nasty things about him. He thought I was being ignorant, immature, and childish.

Do you think I was? It's funny how it's always the ones who tell you that you need to stand up for yourself and gain a voice - when you finally do, they are shocked and would rather see you as that shy, timid, and silent girl again, who is still not enough.

My goal wasn't a selfish one. I wanted to protect my girl friend. She knew our history and knew better not to mess around with someone who left such a mark on my life. I simply didn't want her to be screwed over again. Girls have their own "bros before hoes" rule too. He could not get this. The only selfish feeling I had during that phone call was his tragic sympathy towards my girl friend's situation. Poor girl, he sobbed. Poor girl? Poor girl!? He screwed me over in nearly the exact same way as my friend's partner. Of course, he could not see this. In his mind, he is perfect. Perhaps, it's because he is an existantialist as he always claimed. Methinks, he does not know what that truly means.

Which brings us up to now. He confessed being aggravated by yours truly. He would refuse to even nod hello in public (I kept on nodding, for the sake of being annoying to him - sometimes, it is more annoying to appear nice and clueless than to be visibly pissy). All because I denied him access to my friend's pussy.

Once again, I feel like he is trying to crush me down. I know it was only a sentence, only an email. I am trying hard not to release that inner PMS monster and viciously lash out.

If you were in my stiletto heels, what would you do?

Learning to Love - Dealing With Jealousy

2006-06-23T19:20:00.000-05:00

We are in a constant learning process, as we go about life. Whether we go through the levels of formal education or the motions to toughen up our street smarts - we are constantly in a learning process. I think a lot of people forget that we are, as well, constantly in a learning process about ourselves.

I am learning about myself everyday. Often, I wonder why I react in certain ways or how to be free of harboring such envious thoughts. I know I am a good person. I know I have a good heart. I'm strong, in my own quiet way. I'm fierce when I truly believe in something. But at the end of the day and with Aunt Flow just around the corner, I do not believe in myself. I do not love myself enough.

How do you learn how to love yourself? How do you believe? I've never been much of a go-getter. Where do I begin?

I know I have issues with envy and jealously. Honestly, they have only occured upon moving to a new city. It was as though I had nothing else to distract myself with, so I might as well cause some inner torment. I became envious that my partner had exciting happenings all about him and because of his long-time circle of friends, when I had to leave mine back home (we were in a long distance relationship). I became envious that he had something to be proud of, when I felt like a loser who holds a telesurvey job. I have learned to control this and express it - eventually, understanding it. I know it's more of a passing, selfish reaction than anything. I have learned to support and accept my partner. He has given me heartbreaking lectures that were full of severe "tough love". Sure, they make me cry and bruise my ego - but his words make sense. I value the fact that he can harshly tell it like it is, rather than treat me like a little girl. He is the first person to tell me I need to love myself.

Currently, I feel very spiteful towards another person. Though I think it is a simple matter of personalities clashing, I can't help but pick apart why I am feeling this way when I pride myself on being not as catty as most girls I know. Here I am, hoping for a spell of utter failure to rain upon this person. I'm sitting here, hopefully this person will understand that life is not perfect when it crushes all their tea party dreams. I'm not proud to admit that, but I'm being completely honest.

Note: I am currently suffering from lack of sleep and P.M.S.

Has this person wronged me? It's a long story. Personalities clashed, from every possible side. I walked on eggshells. I was put in the middle of too many dramas, caused by this person. This person has led a very sheltered life, from matters of sexuality to dealing with people on the street. This person is naive and has never gone through the shit and piss and heartbreak to toughen you up to face life. I accept people for who they are, experienced or not. This person, however, maintains a list of proper manners that everybody should abide to. It is not ideal. When this action is not properly followed, they hold it against you. In my case, they thought I was lying about my broken toe. I could not attend their soiree and they thought it was just another excuse. It snowballed from there, into something unnecessarily dramatic. From then on, I kept my distance but still socialized. Once again, they have gotten out of control. I don't have it in me to grovel and make sure they are not wounded. I'm too old for this brand of drama.

One would assume, since I have discovered it's just a clash of personalities and don't care for their company as of recent, that I would simply cast them out of my mind and life. I can't shake their presense, I can't help but be torturously curious. It must have been a hell of a lot easier to live and let go decades ago when there was no internet to check up on the actions of others! I walk on eggshells again when I view their myspace blogs or bulletins. I teeter on thinking something mean and convincing myself to ignore. I want to just delete their friend profile but I don't want to offend. I wish this person would just delete me already. I don't have the intiative.

Right now, I am envious. I am envious that this person is out there trying to succeed. I have an issue with comparing myself to others and it is truly evident here. I feel like I am the loser just writing a blog for one person to read (and not comment on) while everyone else is being acknowledged. Why do I want acknowledgement? For once, I just want to feel proud of myself...for doing something very cool. I want people to be proud of me. I want to be envied, for once.

I want to fully understand that you cannot compare successes. I want to understand that I should be proud of all that I have done. I want to understand that it's okay to let go of people, regardless if they get their panties in a knot or if they act like nothing happened. I want to remain strong and see all the good sides to me. I want to create. I want positive reaction. I want to not feel second best. I want to be happy, solely for me.

I want to learn to love myself.

My Cousin, Karaoke, and Good Times

2006-06-23T16:19:00.000-05:00

**written by a sleepy female, don't hold that against me!**

This afternoon, I was swept away with good memories. Who's kidding who, I love to linger in my past. I like to dance with memory - with all the fun times, through the miserable tears, and with every sweaty moment when bodies were pressed together. I like taking a good ol' dance with the past every so often. I think we all should.

I made a good point to start writing early, so I can make the full use of the day. Instead, I get distracted with moving pictures. I was a little disappointed at how easy I was giving into the art of distraction, at first. I shouldn't be so hard on myself, as a simple browse through a collection of hilarious 80's music videos sparked up some great memories of when I was 18. No, I wasn't 18 in the 80's. One memory sparked into another one - and it has put me in an incredibly happy mood.

I browsed through the list of videos and took a peek at a few. I came across Elvira by The Oak Ridge Boys.

Seriously, if you cannot smile at the happy face of the moustachioed man - you need help. And the deep voiced guy in the suit! You know he had to have used that voice to bed the ladies! Nowadays, a quartet of singing males are usually talentless Justin Timberlake types with flowing white shirts and no substance. Ah, those were the days. Actually, this song reminds me of being a kid. Simple as that.

Another memory led to another. The Statler Brothers. Now, I couldn't find any videos related to the song that crossed my path today. You'll have to remain satisfied with the moustachioed man video and my story.

When I first turned 18, there were only a few others I could go to clubs and bars with. There was the friend I grew up with, but she was busy hating her folks and making babies. Her parents were religious nuts who called me a witch, but that's another story. *cackles* Then, there was my cousin and my sister. We were much more sheltered and submissive than our wild cousin, but we never failed to have a major pissing-your-pants laugh with her. It's been like that since we were small children (except when she pushed me off a motorbike while we were going down a hill).

We used to go on Sunday night cruises. It is a generally tacky gathering of sports cars, hotrods, and jalopies that simply cruise up and down the main strips of the city I am from. You go up Main Street. You turn on Portage Avenue. You go back down Portage to Main. Park your car in some random grocery store parking lot to pick up guys or drool over cars/car stereos(I was never into the car or stereo, by the way). Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Over ten years later, it still happens and I can't believe that I used to take part in such a thing.

Back then, though, Sunday night cruises were fun. We never met anyone or had any thrilling adventures. Driving around for a few hours gave us a laugh, gave us room to talk about this or that, and gave us plenty of sing-a-longs. We drove around. We smoked cigarettes. We made fun of guys who would flex their muscles outside their car windows to get our attention. It was an all around good time. My cousin used to bring binders and binders of cds and cassettes with her. She was, and still is, the kind of consumer that just loves the hits. The only reason she had so many cds was because she liked so many individual songs. Once in a while, an entire album would appeal to her. That is the reason why I still know the lyrics to Snoop Dog and Coolio - I blame her for playing those damned cds over and over again. Yet, I ran into this video today and had to smile! I had to sing along and dance in my living room one more time to this song!

Now, in the middle of all the hip-hop and rap and pop songs she was playing, she pulled out a disc that we least expected her to own. Without warning, she put it in. It was The Statler Brothers hit, "Flowers on the Wall". Of course, we knew this song from childhood so we didn't struggle to sing along. With the power of the three of us, we laughed so bloody hard until we cried. It wasn't only the song and it's lyrics. It was the reaction of all the cookie cutter people driving souped up Hondas and what have you. Blasting this on my cousin's super powerful stereo, didn't really make us cool. However, it became our traditional song to cruise to.

A few months later, my cousin convinced us to go to this small tavern in the middle of nowhere, but somewhat near our town. The kind of place that only consists of locals, that is located in the country near the general store, and the kind of place that hosts the most bored looking strippers every Wednesday (there's nothing more sad than seeing a stripper yawn while "dancing", while a man applauds by using both his flip flops). My cousin wants to sing karaoke and she can convince us to do almost anything!

Before you know it, I am falling off my chair drunk. My sister is drunk, but maintains her composure. I'm talking to old class mates, like I was the most popular kid in school. I slur to my cousin that I love her. My cousin convinces us to sing karaoke - something I vowed to never do. She surprises us with our Statler Brothers staple. One minute I am guzzling gin and the next, I am singing about counting flowers on the wall. Truth be told, within moments I was stricken with a terrible case of the giggles. I am reduced to only singing one part. The word "kangaroo", because I have the deepest voice and the least amount of courage to perform in front of people. Mascara ran down my face, in all that laughter. It wasn't very pretty!

I don't know what the hell my sister was thinking, but liquid courage caused her to do an emotional version of American Pie next. You can't really go from super happy drunken Statler Bros to the super long and slightly depressing American Pie. She insisted on it and there was no more singing I could possibly work up the nerve to do.

I hate to say it, but my sister can't sing that well. And it didn't sound any better when I was hearing with beer muffs on either. I kept my mouth shut. At least she had the balls to do that. I don't know if it was her singing or wounded egos because as soon as she was a few bars into the song - a chair throwing bar fight began! Poor sis, she stood there and continued to sing even though she wore a look of hesistation. An old drunk put her arm around her and started to sing with her. She kept pushing him away, chairs were being tossed this way and that - and we sat there, watching it all! My cousin and I were frozen in our laughter and holding our stomachs because laughing was beginning to hurt. My sister is still the only person I know who started a chair throwing, hillbilly barroom brawl by the sheer power of her singing voice.

I tend to forget what I did after that moment, which was apparently curling up next to the porcelain in the washroom of the local donut shop. Classy!

I danced with many other memories this afternoon. I was reminded of many moments through the simple power of a song. I wear a smile at recollected laughs.

Good times.

Letting Go of a Friendship

2006-06-21T16:10:00.000-05:00

There comes a time when you just have to let go. It may not feel good and it certainly takes away that little sense of security you may have. Even though it's usually for the best, it selfishly screws up your daily routine. I don't like change, unless I have a lot of it and I'm buying a new pair of shoes with it.

I've have been chiseling away at myself this year - for all the right reasons. You see, when I fall into my dark side, I truly break down. I wallow. I dwell. I end up curled up in fetal position on the couch with tears in my eyes while making those around me utterly miserable. I have been working hard at being a better person. One who can see those dark moods on the horizon and understands that it is easier and more positive to do something about it. I'm far from perfect. I think through this personal mission of mine, I have somewhat alienated myself from certain people and I have done that for mostly positive reasons. People don't like change, I suppose, even when it's positive (or, maybe, I'm the only one who views it as positive change). I have to keep on keeping on, keep on being genuine to myself.

I have let go of a few people in my life recently - three of which are moving far, far away and two that I have simply lost contact with. Over all, it's a bit sad.

I'm not good with those tender moments. I'll either clam up or crack a bad joke. My heart is in the right place though. Socially awkward, but I mean well.

To my friend, who is starting a new life in Asia:
I can only wish you the best in your new life. Not only for you, but for your lovely wife and little one on the way. May the slow pace of life be your new high and the fresh fruit be plenty. I will miss your grungy gentleman ways and the way you say "stupidity things". I will borrow your phrase and I will say it in honor of you. You leave genuinely.

To the happily married couple, who are moving across country:
As well, I can only wish you two the best in your new life. I hope the Mrs. regains her sense of home and family once more. It's been a long time since you lived near them. To the hubby, I hope you feel that same sense of home and family in your new and somewhat unfamiliar territory. It will certainly be a big change for you and you are a good man to support the dreams of your woman. I truly wished we could have seen each other before you left. I can't help but think people played a role in that decision, sides chosen. Regardless, your dazzling spirit and witty charm will be awfully missed. Bon chance.

To the other:
To put it delicately, it is a shame that personalities conflicted. We've meant no harm and I doubt you have either - yet, there is an uncomfortable storm between us all. I will learn to embrace this storm and make peace with it. Sometimes, it is better to have people in our lives that truly make us happy rather than people to help us feel less lonely. I have my faults, I know, and maybe I didn't try hard enough. Deep within you, you harbor a great deal of negativity that you mask with polite manners and pleasantries. Deep within you, you are one of the mean girls. I was simply tired of walking on eggshells around you. I needed to heal myself into happiness. You should look into that before judging character.

I suppose you can say letting go is like that uncomfortable storm. You just have to embrace it, make peace with it, and learn from it.

Keytar!

2006-06-21T14:41:00.000-05:00

Enough said.

Biotherm Acnopur & Source Therapie - Product of the Week!

2006-06-20T14:46:00.000-05:00

I’ve always had not so nice skin. I’ve tried many different cleansers, products, and dermatologist recommended medications. In my late teens, I drew the line at committing to be on birth control and Accutane. I figured I would rather suffer with bad skin than mess something up within me on a larger scale. That’s not to say I am content with my skin, by any means. In fact, it is the one physical feature about me that I am most self conscious of. I’m close to thirty years old and still suffer from scarring acne – I’m not proud to state that. While the rest of me is quite adult, my skin chooses to stay in the state of self esteem deflating junior high school days. Fun!

I decided to bite the bullet and shop behind the counter for once. Instead of shopping for face soap, I went in search of facial products. It’s about time I tried something new, after too many unsatisfied experiences with skincare products that hurt my sensitive skin rather than heal.

I’m pretty skeptical when it comes to my skin. Not only is it acne prone, but it is sensitive and normal to dry. It seems that most skincare companies have great products for acne prone skin but only if you experience oily skin. Those products are harsh and damaging to skin like mine and to most people with sensitive skin. They are strong and powerful, stripping all your oils from your skin and turning your face into one giant patch of sore and burning dry flakes. These companies make you believe that the only way to solve your bad skin is to use severely harsh cleansers and toners. O! The joys of having problematic skin!

I ended up going with Biotherm products. I heard the name and nothing negative attached to it. To be completely honest, the Biotherm skincare rep was the first person to approach me in the store and being completely confused about what I should purchase, I went with her best judgment.

Biotherm has a line of skincare products for acne prone skin called Acnopur. They have a pore unclogging purifying foam, a clarifying exfoliating lotion, moisturizer, and a blemish spot treatment. I went with the cleanser and toner from that line as well as a little something extra to help with my slight scarring.

Acnopur Pore Unclogging Purifying Foam was like a sigh of relief for my skin! It was a welcome change from all the powerful products that I have used in the past. It lathers into a rich foam, which I appreciate. The scent is clean, subtle, and pleasant. It does not smell like it’s full of chemicals, like some cleansers for acne prone skin. From the moment I began to lather in between my hands and massage it on my face, I knew there was a huge difference in this product compared to regular over the counter face soap. I was very glad I spent the money on this product. It removes makeup gently and left my skin feeling refreshed and smooth. I felt very confident about putting this product on my face and even more so when I discovered it did not make my face feel tight and dry afterwards.

Acnopur Clarifying Exfoliating Lotion is, apparently, a dual action formula that helps exfoliate the skin, unblock pores, and eliminates impurities. As with the foam, it contains a “tri-active complex” of salicylic acid, an anti-bacterial agent, and white clay. It also contains a pure extract of thermal plankton. What that means, I have no idea. My experience with toner lotions in the past were much the same as with cleansers. I had no faith in them and was convinced the only thing it will do is make my face red, burn, and even more dry. Once again, I was pleasantly surprised! It went on gentle and my skin did not protest afterwards. There was no burning sensation, it did not irritate it, and it left a soothing coolness to my skin. Like the cleanser, it smells subtle and clean.

Biotherm’s Source Therapie is a pure spa concentrate skin perfector. I must admit, I was highly skeptical of this product. I don’t typically fall for lines like, “you’ll feel the difference in 5 seconds!” and “see the difference in 5 days!”

The product itself is a very concentrated and creamy blue gel, with an extremely silky texture. It is pretty pricy but since you are only using it in very small doses, it’s well worth it. It contains regenerating oligo-mineral complex which combines “highly stimulating bicarbonate ions with seven minerals and essential trace elements” – according to the product info. There is more thermal plankton and moisturizing agents as well. First of all, it smells great. It smells a lot like this deep conditioning hair product line by Rusk - Deepshine. It is a fresh, natural, and softly rich scent that is honestly so hard to describe. Second of all, a little goes a long way. You don’t have to feel guilty for dropping $50 on a small bottle. Thirdly, it works so wonderfully! Like I said, I was skeptical. I didn’t really believe the rep when she said I’ll feel the difference in 5 seconds or see an improvement in 5 days. Just another sales pitch, I thought. I was terribly wrong. Within those seconds, my skin felt so incredibly smooth. I’ve had troubled skin for a long time and it’s been years since I felt such smoothness from my skin. And that was within those 5 seconds. After 5 days, my skin was ideally moisturized – as promised. I’ve always had problems with dry patches due to bad products and weather conditions. This product did wonders. My skin is now stable – it’s not dry anymore, nor is it oily from too much moisturizing. It feels perfect, thanks to this product. It’s a marvelous skincare must for people with dry skin and/or imperfections.

Since I live with my skin, I don’t really know if I can see the difference. It’s also only been a week of using these new products on my face. I can confidently confess that my skin has not broken out since using these products, the state of my skin feels much more stable, and my problem with dryness vs. acne prone skin problems have been solved!

I love these products and was well worth the money. Highly recommended.

Strong Women, Saying Goodbye, and a Little Bit Bored

2006-06-19T21:11:00.000-05:00

Well, another band practise is over and soon I will be a "tour widow". You would think me lucky to be in a room full of shirtless musicians, slapping the bass and twanging away. All in my own apartment, at that! Alas, the wee apartment smells like a drunken boys locker room on such a humid night like tonight - sweaty, stinky, and boozy.

My highlight of the night was receiving my first mosquito bite. That's how exciting I feel tonight! Has the big city softened me? Back home, you swim through clouds of buzzing mosquitoes and only casually complain (all the tourist-y items proudly display our provincial bird as the mosquito. Ha. Ha.). Here I sit, cursing this lonely mosquito and clapping my hands in the air in attempt to kill it. I wear a single bite mark on my naked thigh - for all the wrong reasons. Like that mosquito, I am lonely and need me a thigh to nibble on. Or a nice vegetarian meal.

I have been dreading my duty as tour widow. I don't mind being alone in the days or even in the evenings. It's just at night - I will suffer and whine the most. I have to put on my best female face and encourage away, in support of my partner's job. It's not all about me, anyway. Perhaps, only at night when every little night noise alarms me and those moments where I indulge in every one of my worst habits because no one is there to stop me (from eating junk food, drinking too much, smoking too many cigarettes, staying up ridiculously late, etc). Three weeks alone and many a weekend after that - I hope I don't get too cranky, all by my lonesome. I have challenged myself to either go home or write a book. I cannot make it home, so I will try my hand at scribbling away. It seemed like such a good idea at the time and now, it simply overwhelms me. I envision myself staring blankly at the computer screen, while tumbleweeds roll on by. I'm sure someone would chalk it up to a fear of success.

We are saying goodbye to another friend this week. He met the woman of his dreams in the Phillipines, while on a six month holiday. He got married to her and planted his seed (that term always gives me the no-feeling, but I can't resist saying it!). He has been in Montreal for a few months, tying up loose ends. We'll miss him dearly. This may sound cold of me but since he came back, he has never truly been here. I find talking to him is exhausting. One more story about the Phillipines and I will explode. I can't blame him for being happy and having a little one on the way. In reply to his words about his wife and child, I mentioned he must be very excited. To which he replied, "Yes! I miss the fruit!". Okay...how 'bout smoking another doobie...

There was a time that I would have felt invincible around a large group of male friends. The novelty has worn off - I am surrounded by many male acquantences. I long for that tight knit gaggle of gals. I never understood the importance of having strong women around me until I left home. I need to work on that, methinks.

Never take those great women in your life forgranted - believe me. Some days, I feel so overwhelmed with love (and PMS) and pride at these ferocious females I know back home. I have moments where I want to fall onto my bed and write them letters of gratitude, to tell them how proud I am of them and how much I truly love them for their very presence in my little life. I want to confess to my mother that I finally know that she's not just a mom - but a person. When I finally realized that, I broke down in tears for all the times I treated her like the spoiled brat that I probably was. It is an eye opening moment when you deeply understand that you have underestimated someone's skill at being a human being, a strong woman.

At times, I worry that these strong women that surrounded me once upon a time will forget me.

The Sorry State of My Bras

2006-06-18T21:03:00.000-05:00

It's funny - not ha-ha funny - how things always seem to run out when you are either painfully broke or shamefully unemployed. Such is my story.

I'm unemployed. It's not fun in Montreal, when you do not speak French. When you don't have a specific and higher-up job title, you are screwed and confined to the less tasteful of jobs. Such as, telemarketing jobs or the prestigious title of "webcam girl". Actually, I do have a job - we simply go on extended breaks for the summer. I am the sexy voice at the end of your telephone line, purring to convince you to take part in some important research on behalf of the government. Meeeow! I successfully make telephone surveys about fish sound seductively saucy.

Everything I use is either shortly running out or severely deconstructing. Can I justify buying that tube of MAC lipstick when I should be buying the unexciting rolls of toilet paper? Can I skimp on washing my hair, in order to save that last drop of shampoo? What ever will I do when my black eyeshadow that I artfully use to draw on my eyebrows crumbles into the last bits? Will I go au naturel? Ah, I'm too much of a girl for that!

What breaks my material heart is the sorry state of my bras. I have a small collection of bras. Three, to be exact. And all three are preparing themselves to become retired to the back of my lingerie drawer. It is, indeed, a tragic story.

The formerly saucy red bra, which once made me feel like a cheap whore, doesn't fit so well anymore. I bought it at discount, due to a flaw, at a somewhat pricy lingerie shop for the rock bottom price of $10. It used to provide cleavagy goodness, until the flaw became apparent. Now, it oddly rises and exposes only one breast. Pop! My boob fell out again! It's great at parties.

My super expensive gel bra. It has served me well and was certainly worth the money. My boobs looked huge in it. I'm talking poke someone's eyes out huge. This bra gave me cleavage to no end and was a hit when I managed the music store back home. So much so, I proposed the idea of having "Cleavage Wednesdays" just so us girls could bend over the counter and increase our sales. It never panned out but I proudly sold a lot of unnecessary cds on account of this trusted bra. I loved this bra, even though my boyfriend says "it weighs the equivalent of a small cat". Now, it's age has truly shown. It sadly hangs off of me. It no longer declares, "Boobs!". It just tiredly sighs. Boobs.

Last but not least, my seamless bra that is ideal for t-shirts and is of the push-up variety. There's not much of a story to go along with this one. It was simply tried and true. All American, if you will. Boobs looked great, without the clunky weight of gel. Sexy but practical. A bra every woman should own. The real story is in it's present state. The straps are loose, as though my shoulders have shrunk, and I'm constantly pushing the straps back up to where they belong. The elastic is delicately revealing itself along the back. Lint balls seem to become attached to the cups. Hot. The best part of it is the underwire, which enjoys to stab at my breast. Since this is the one bra that doesn't hang off of me or cause my boob to spontantiously pop out, I wear this one out a lot. The sharp underwire jabs at me, causes me pain, and makes me wince. And because I am shamefully unemployed, I have no choice but to do my own repairs. Far from being savvy with a needle and thread, I have repaired my bra with band-aids.

That's what I have been reduced to!

Actually, it works rather well. I've been stab-free for over a month. It's just looks truly godawful and far from sexy. No longer can I lean over store counters in pursuit of a discount (not like that ever worked in the first place!) without the salesperson getting an eyeful of boobs AND a big ol' "flesh" colored band-aid. Not very appealing, but it does the trick when you are edging towards poor and a sharp piece of metal seeks revenge on your breast.

And that, my friends, is the story of the sorry shape of my bras. I wonder if setting up a direct to PayPal "Donate Now!" button to my bra fund will work here? Heh, it's almost worth a try.

Social Anxiety on a Saturday Night

2006-06-18T20:12:00.000-05:00

I may or may not suffer from a dash of social anxiety.

Last night, I forced myself to go out. It was a hot summer night and I wasn't looking forward to being in a crowded room, surrounded by drunks and sweaty bodies (though it used to hold a certain charm). My partner-in-crime and his friend were playing a gig at a small cave of a place. It's been a long time since I saw my boyfriend play - I usually sit them out, giving myself the excuse that I wish to write. I figure that I usually see them practising in the living room and that's good enough to me. Ah, but the real truth is I simply feel nervous to socialize while he is on stage. Gosh, that makes me sound completely co-dependant. Err.

I moved here about two years ago and change. I came from a small, semi-rural community of about 9,000 people. I came from the heart of the prairies into the third largest city in Canada. Ah, the city of love and poutine (cheese curds, fries, and gravy for those who do not know) - Montreal. It's been two years, as I have mentioned, and I have yet to string together a solid set of friends. Sure, I have acquantences and that usually suits me just fine. But I miss that stable group of fun loving females and gregarious guys that used to surround me, back home. Yes, I'm sure it's my own damned fault for seeming so uptight. And it's certainly my own damned fault for not learning French yet - therefore adding to my discomfort when I attempt my hand at the fine art of being a social butterfly. At least I no longer feel utterly alienated as before. It's tough living somewhere new in the first place - try living somewhere new when you have no idea what people are laughing about around you. Needless to say, it can be incredibly lonely and frustrating.

My partner's friends like me and I feel no negative vibes around them - they are all good people. I should be comfortable around them and I should be able to crack out some amazingly vulgar and sarcastic jokes as I do with my friends back home. I don't - I clam up. I sit quiet and subtle. They think I am shy. They think I am "anglo-saxon" which is far from it, being NOT of English background. When they say "anglo-saxon", they mean uptight. They mean far from the so-called life of the party. They mean nice and polite, but reserved and serious. I wonder, at times, if this is how they truly define me. The French, on the other hand, are very crazy. They love to party and make out in the streets. They are in your face and love their beer and are not afraid to show how they are having a good time. I feel so square around them.

Sometimes, it's hard to believe that I used to be that wacky and wild gal. Rest assured, I am. I still enjoy a little boob grabbing from my good male friends out west and I still enjoy dancing in front of a stage during good live music. I can ogle women with my friends and I can cut the proverbial rug. Hell, I used to be the first one on the cheesiest dance floors to dance to Snoop Dog - not because I liked Snoop Dog but just so I can say that I danced to it, while drinking my gin and juice, biatch! Here, I'm just another "anglo-saxon" who is hiding in her shell. I do not know how to loosen up and make it interesting.

I read that the reason a lot of people, who are living in a new city, feel lonely is because they secretly feel that making new friends would betray the friendships that they have back home. I love my tight group of friends there, my wacky bag of all-sorts! They can never be replaced. Perhaps, this is the case with me.

I find myself at that sticky little club. My man sticks by my side but I encourage him to chatter with his buddies. He remains close. Soon, he leaves to set up on stage. Insert social anxiety here.

I find whenever I am feeling the pull of social anxiety, I analyze every little detail about myself. I feel every bead of sweat that drips off my forehead (it was truly a sauna last night). I take notice to my physical gestures, the tone of my voice. I feel my height, amongst all these short folks. Eventually, I label myself socially clumsy and clam up.

For a while, I chat with this girl. No matter where I am or how socially brave I feel, I always seem to attract the people who confess their own deep secrets and stresses. Sometimes, I feel honored. Most of the time, I simply do not know what to say. Before I know it, this girl is telling me about her possessive and stalker-like cokehead father who drives slowly past her house and how she suffered tremendous weight gain due to a stage diver breaking her back. I used to be skinnier than you, she says. I'm left without proper words to heal the moment.

Before, I used the proper social tools to fit in comfortably - a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It worked. Even if I was out alone, I felt like I somehow fit into the crowd. Times are different. No longer do I use these tools as much as I would like to. There are no more smoking in the clubs, as of a few weeks ago (which I'm very glad about, truth be told). There are no more beers to be had, as I believe I am allergic to it now. My limbs feel as though they need some sort of job instead of just awkwardly dangling there!

Before I know it, we are all up front in support of the boys. The heat is getting to me and I am cursing for stepping foot out of my equally cramped apartment. I don't know what to do with my limbs. I can't smoke, I can't drink. If I cross them, I will look like I am very uncomfortable. Where's a wall to lean against when you need one!? My slight nod to the music feels like I am a headbanger gone wild. I begin to wonder if these acquantences can sense my awkwardness. Then, I notice that I am surrounded by short people. Don't get me wrong. I love short people. It's just that when you feel socially awkward, you notice your surroundings and I was surrounded by short people which made me feel like I stood out like a sore thumb. Look at me! I'm the awkwardly tall sweaty girl!

Being the tall girl with hot red lipstick in a sea of short people, in turn, attracts the weird men. And I had me a catch on my hands! The unshaven, older, man-in-stinky-sweater who was absolutely drunk but thought he was hilarious. He kept trying to win my attention by swatting me across my chest (far from sexually appealing). He made these odd gestures with his hands that made no sense whatsoever but, man, was he pissing himself with giggles. He tried to invite me to dance (as it was country-ish and rockabilly) in a hoe-down type manner. I declined and directed him to the drunken girls in front of me. More swatting my chest to get attention. I kept leaning over the 19 year old girl next to me, what do I do? Why can't I just say fuck off!? She confesses that she can relate in that situation. Eventually, the drunken idiot asks me what I was drinking. I tell him I don't. He says something that makes no sense and laughs all the way to the bar - only to get cut off and kicked out of the bar. Thank goodness. Then, a drunken hippy female took his place and began to dance in circles (clearly, to her own inner beat). We narrowly avoid getting her drink splashed all over us and her stinky armpit in her face.

And people wonder why I don't go out very often. Give me a quiet bookstore anyday. I fit in better that way.

Simplicity

2006-06-16T15:48:00.000-05:00

I love finding quotations where I least expect to see one.

This morning as I was making Quaker instant oatmeal, I eagerly read the printed quote. Over the years, they have changed. Instead of the clever quote to start your day with a smile, I was greeted with a trendy health smart quip. A suggestion to take a walk with the family after supper and a goal to breathe deeply to reduce stress. Fuck health! Just give me a whimsical quotation to accompany my morning oatmeal experience.

A short while later, I prepared a bath. I grabbed a new bar of Ivory soap from underneath the bathroom sink. We have enough soap to last us well into the year 2010, thanks for my Russian mother-in-law who frequents bulk grocery stores. As I unwrapped the soap from it's papery package, I noticed a quote.

Simplicity is the essence of happiness.

It was as though some squeeky clean angel was looking over me! I grabbed a handful of bars and each one had a different quote. Not only was I getting clean, I was reminded of basic life facts! Simplicity is the essense of happiness!

At the beginning of this year- my last year in my twenties, I might add - I took on somewhat of a personal venture to become more grateful and essentially more happier. Years ago, a friend (who ended up turning into a bit of a stalker, but that's another story) gave me Sarah Ban Breathnach's Simple Abundance : A Daybook of Comfort and Joy. I am nearly half way through my journey.

Truth be told, my main reason for following this daybook was to push myself to write daily - whether it be good or bad. I figured, the more I write in my "real" journal will mean the more I will feel encouraged to write in general. It has helped greatly. Now, I look forward to writing everyday even if I am just recounting the more boring moments in my life.

Also, I followed this book to help me see the daily happiness a little clearer. You know, those moments that are often disregarded as normal. I know I will always be a work-in-progress but I think I am just a little more grateful, a little more aware of the beauty in simplicity, and a little more personally rich even though my bank account disagrees. Sure, I have bad days. Those bad days where I dislike people and myself but I feel I understand with more clarity. I try my best to see the simple beauty in every day and try my best to do what makes me happy. I try.

My only complaint about this book is that it seems to be designed for busy, career-minded married moms. There is nothing wrong with that, but that description simply isn't me. Often, her suggestions seem ridiculous. Of course, you can stretch them and mold them into what you are all about. I would like to see a daybook for the darker minded, slightly unemployed, unmarried, childless by choice woman because I cannot see myself getting very excited over distributing scented sachets of potpourri in my drawers or lining my kitchen cupboards with ornate lace or decorating my home for seasons. *shudders*

One of her suggestions that make sense is to find your own happy place. This may be reading in a bed covered in blankets or it may be taking a solitary stroll down on a riverwalk. Whatever it may be, this place is yours and no one can take it from you. This book has gently reminded me not to brood in my crap moods as I seem to love to do but rather do something that truly makes you happy.

My place is the used bookstore down the street.

Now, this bookstore isn't the greatest bookstore. I will never find retro pulp novels with seductive cover art and sassy exclaimations. I will never find an out of print, rare jem of a book. What I do find is a simple happiness and inner peace just by browsing rows of books and flipping through well-read pages. The couple that own it are sweet, friendly people who started this shop as a dream away from their day jobs. They have a little happy puppy to keep them company. They smile and ask you how you are doing. In the background, they play classical music quietly. I go there every so often to be reminded of how happy I can be when I slow down to let simple abundance into my life. Today, I did not come home with books but I always make a purchase. I bought myself an old deck of Aleister Crowley Thoth Tarot cards (which, by the way, is selling on eBay for $54 right now while I bought them for $2 - I love finding a deal!) and the Druid Animal Oracle cards/book ($4). I hear it's bad to read from Tarot cards you have purchased yourself, so perhaps these will make good gifts down the road.

We all have our simple, happy places. The key is to find that place and becoming a regular.

Frustration Rears It's Ugly Head!

2006-06-15T00:11:00.000-05:00

We're all allowed to have off days. The purpose of this journal is to celebrate. Simply, sometimes in the midst of celebrating and becoming sassy - you have crap days. I like to believe they are there to remind us to be grateful of all the good days. Well, at least thinking that makes me feel better.

I try my best to keep my blog entries casual, lighthearted, and far from personal (of course, I recently confessed a desire to be called a dirty slut! Hey, it's not hurting anyone!). I've been through unnecessary blog drama previously, albeit mostly on networking websites such as Myspace. I want to distance myself from that. I have learned that the world wide web can be very small. The last thing I need is for people to get their panties in a knot over slightly careless and mostly tired words that flow from my lazy mouth. Oh, I remember the days of carefree blogging and spontanious confessions!

Tonight, I'm tired and I'm frustrated. To chalk it up in a few words, there may be an argument waiting to happen in my humble abode. I have my own set of, perhaps, strange life guidelines. I know what makes me uncomfortable. I went through too many relationships by not standing up to what makes me feel uncomfortable. I shouldn't have to feel uncomfortable in my own home.

At times, I say things without thinking. Even when I design my sentances with fine and non-confrontational detail, I feel I am saying something insensitive and wrong. Though I am learning to stand up for myself, I seem to unsuccessfully get my point across. My words may be wrong, forgive me. My actions, however, are correct in my own mind and heart.

I am frustrated for the words that remain in my head and cannot escape past my fingertips. I have something inside my mind, waiting and waiting. Waiting to be born into something fantastic, as I listen to the fantastic Leonard Cohen. Yet, I sit here in my frustration and tumbleweeds roll. There are no words to be expressed tonight.

I am frustrated for feeling guilty. I feel guilty for living far from home. I feel guilty leaving home, to visit home. I felt guilty talking to my sister when I mentioned I might come visit in August, instead of July. Truth be told, nothing was ever set in stone. Since hearing that my friend will be in town from Asia - I thought it would be perfect timing. Regardless of what dates I choose, someone will give me guilt. I will feel guilt for not being there in July, when my sister takes her holidays. I will feel guilt for not being there to see my best friend after three years, if I do not go in August. I will feel guilt to leave the apartment empty. I will feel guilt to leave my partner. It is as though I have been raised Catholic. The only difference is that I am completely uneducated when it comes to religion. At least I own the uniform.

I am frustrated at my failing memory. I have been re-writing my uncensored blog of yesteryear and there are moments I cannot even remember. I regret not writing them out in great detail. Who knew I was going to leave my history behind to start a new? I remember Jamie saying something to me, in a late night confession. He told me that I was his _____. His angel? His heartbeat? His inspiration? His wind beneath his wings?!

Damn it all to hell!

I remember the moment I heard those words. I broke down in tears as it was such a beautiful thing to hear, such a wonderous compliment. Now, I can't remember a fucking thing. Sure, I know the general feeling he gave to me. That just doesn't cut the mustard. I am sure I have written it in an old journal, which is back home.

Tonight is one of those nights long to be home. Be somewhere - anywhere. My comfort zone. As long as it wasn't here and I wasn't alone. After all, I am my own worst enemy.