Goodbye 2008

This day is giving me a headache.

Whoever it is that said money doesn't buy happiness is wrong. Money buys security, and money often reduces stress. So to whoever that person was...screw off. It probably was a person who had enough money that they didn't need to worry about it at all.

It is frustrating to feel like I work all the freaking time, and when I'm not working, I'm looking for work, so it feels like one and the same, and yet somehow, I'm still fairly poor.

Part of me can't help but think back to ohhh six months ago when I had to make the big job decision. I felt like at the time I was taking the right one, but now, looking back on it...I just don't know. Part of me can't help but berate myself and just be like "what were you thinking???". And I have no answer for that. All I know is that at the time, I felt like I was making the proper choice, and now I feel that I've in some ways trapped myself. Very frustrating and confusing stuff. I dunno. Maybe I'm just getting myself all stressed out, and doubting my decisions for no reason. It's not like it matters anyway, I can't go back. No use belabouring the issue even more. But still....arg. That is generally how I feel about the situation.

I don't have a need to be rich or have excess amounts of anything. I just need to know that I won't one day end up living in a box under a bridge somewhere.

Spa day this friday is greatly, greatly needed.

Goodbye 2008, I sure won't miss ya.

Christmas

This time of year is so often just craziness. There are things to do, people to visit, stuff to buy. People are everywhere, the malls are packed, and it is generally an insane time of year. It is so easy to lose the reason for the season. When it comes down to it, we are celebrating the birth of a very extraordinary man, who changed the world entirely. As much as religion gets twisted and turned to fit people's agendas, Jesus was a man that was all about love and peace.

And I always try to remember that when I'm stuck in traffic at Christmas time, and people around me are honking, swerving around each other, flipping people off, etc. It's not about gifts, not the giving or the receiving, it's not about baked goods and chocolate and Santa and such. It's about love, and it's about making a contribution to the world that is worthwhile. It's about trying to be a better person. Being together with your family, and realizing that what you have right now, is wonderful.

Anyways, it's a sentimental time of year, and one can't help but think about these things. I mean, I"m not overly religious or anything, but you can't come upon the Christmas season without at least contemplating Jesus and what his birth meant to this world.

I was listening to Silent Night on the way to work this morning, and a sense of calm kind of washed over me. Whoa, that sounded dorky! But, I really love that song. Especially the Zack Gill version. It is sung just how it was meant to be...just with a guitar.

The history of Silent Night is interesting. It was originally sung in 1818 in Austria, written by a young priest named Joseph Mohr. It was written as a poem initially. For whatever reason, on December 24th, 1818, the organ at Joseph Mohr's church didn't work. So Silent Night was sung by a choir, two priests, backed up by a guitar with the music written by a man named Frank Gruber, who was a friend of Mr. Mohr's.

It would have been pretty great to have been there on that night. I do adore that song. It's so simple, and tells the story of Christmas wonderfully. Brings it all back to where it belongs.

Arg.

My internet has been down for a while now, and I'm finding it very frustrating. I can use my mother's computer, except it takes me twice as long to do anything because her keyboard is messed up.

why won't the router just work? cripes. i have stuff to do, and it's hard to do it on this computer. it was working fine for months, and now all of a sudden, it decided to crap out. nobody knows why.

i'm not feeling very christmasy this week. maybe i need to watch some christmas movies or something. all i know is..i'm not feeling it! i cannot even wait to be on vacation from job # 1. a whole week and a half off...it's going to be divine.

it is one of those days where everything I encountered was just irritating. the parking lot that i pay to park in...not plowed. that irritated me right off the bat. things just went downhill from there. i'm glad i'm home now. i'm going to curl up with some old school reading favourites, maybe watch some Prancer, and try and feel more christmasy.

i was going to write a big rant about marineland here, but i'll save that for another day. i sent a letter to the local paper, but apparently there were some issues with it, issues like "if we print this, you and the paper might get sued". oops! the idea of potentially being sued because you are writing the truth is disheartening. marineland to me, abuses their animals. anybody who has EVER been there and has eyes, must agree with me, at least to some extent. these are not animals that are living in an ideal environment. the dolphins are friggin blind due to the chlorine levels in the water. the whales live 30 to a tank. that is not normal!! and those deer. i think if a pack of deer would pick an ideal spot to make their home, it would not be on a slab of concrete. it doesn't surprise me though that the owner of marineland would sue. this is a man who ran over a protesters foot with his car. he's an ass. marineland does not deserve my objectivity.

anyway, apparently I am going to rant about marineland! i will post the letter that could have gotten me sued later. when I can GET ON MY COMPUTER. perhaps i'll try other niagara area publications. we shall see, we shall see.

Wow...

Holy crap, remember when an entire month almost passed and I didn't write anything. Where does the time go?

I honestly...I have been super busy. I thought I was busy before, but the last month has brought a whole new meaning to the word busy. Add to it the fact that it is the holidays, annnnnnd it's crazy!!

I got a freelance writing job for a little magazine, which is very exciting! I get paid and everything. And I get to attend editorial meetings. This excites me.

One day I will write something substantial. Hopefully one day soon. I'm sure any readers that I did have, have slowly left. Oops!

I recently discovered a hilarious new author Jen Lancaster. This girl cracks my shit up. Never, since reading Skinnybones, have I hysterically laughed several time while reading a book. I just read her book Such a Pretty Fat, and it is great. Read her books!

That's really all I've got at the moment. I can't wait for Christmas holidays...it's going to be great to have a whole week off. What will I do with myself?

Soon

One day I'll come back here. Just too much shit to do right now.

Blog Swap!

Todays guest post is brought to you by
Jaime from
Show and Tell.
This is all part of the 20 Something Bloggers "Blog Swap 3".
Don't forget to go check out my post over on her site.

In the wake of this month's rulings banning same-sex marriages in the US, I just want to say something to the internet...

While the government can ban your attempt at marriage to the person you love based on your gender, they can not tell you you aren't allowed to love them. It hurts to not be treated as equals in every respect of your life. The right to marry whom you wish in this country, the Land of the Free, can't be overlooked forever. Because it is a right. Just because the churches and the government ban you from it doesn't mean you don't have that right. Just because they amend the Constitution of the United States, a piece of paper they ignore and edit as they please, does not take away your rights.

What is freedom? It's making your own choices to determine the course of your life. It's having the option, by default of being human, to choose what is best for you barring any infringement on the rights of others to live freely.
Same-sex marriage is NOT an infringement upon anyone else's right to life. It does not hurt anyone but taking away someone's right to marry the love of their life based on their gender or any other quality is hurtful. It's demeaning and it infringes on your right to freedom.

Who does same-sex marriage hurt? Who does it kill or maim? You can't overcome your prejudice or your fear of two men or two women marrying each other and why, because it bothers you? You don't have to like it or accept it for it to be reality. It ALREADY IS reality. If you could ban everything you didn't like, the world would be a small place indeed. I'm not going to give up fighting for anyone to retain their rights as humans.

It's time to grow up. I'm talking to mothers and fathers, to politicians and priests, to everyone in the world. It's time to grow up and not just realize, but understand that you can't control all of life, only what's yours. It isn't up to you to take away someone else's rights - because rights are something you're born with. Not something you're given. Something you're given is called a privilege. It's an allowance. A right is something inherent in everyone. Saying you can take away someone's right to marriage is like saying you're allowed to take away their right to breathe air. You can physically take it away but that doesn't make what you're doing right, no matter who you are. Whether you're a restaurant clerk or the President of the United States, wrong is wrong.

...

Monday again. This time acceleration thing is not something I'm enjoying. Especially since it is plummeting me straight into the dead of winter. blech.

All I want to do right now is read the rest of Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer. How did I become so hooked on these freaking books meant for teenage girls? I must find out what happens. And it is hard to read them quickly because they are all 600 pages plus. Ack. I'll be finished the last one soon, then I can move along with my life.

Wednesday I am doing a blogger swap with another blogger from Twenty Something Bloggers, and I am very excited! It should be cool!!

Must. read. now.

Job Shark

I have had so many jobs in my life, that I sometimes feel like I’ve have lived a hundred times over. How have I possibly fit so many different, ridiculous jobs into my 25 years of life, of which I have only been working for 10? It seems kind of crazy. I know part of it is my absolute inability to stay at any given job for any longer than 1 year due to the fact that I just get bored and quit. Work has never seemed fun for me; it was always just something to do, so that I can do what I really want to do. Travel and write.

My first job was at a fast food restaurant, and I hated it. I had to wear an ugly ass purple uniform, complete with a hat, and I came home smelling of grease every day. I had to work the morning shift every Saturday and Sunday, so that job pretty much ate up my weekend. This job was my first real experience with people being absolute assholes for no apparent reason. I quit shortly after the day a guy yelled at me for putting a wrong ingredient on his hamburger. Honestly, if you get that worked up over a hamburger, something is not right in your head. That’s what I wanted to shout at the guy too, “It’s. Just. A. Hamburger!!” Of course I didn’t, because I was young and intimidated by the crazy guy yelling at me over mustard, but I think if it happened to me now, the guy would be getting a smack down. I lasted at this job for 10 months.

My next job was at Wal-Mart. It is probably unsurprising that I hated this one too. The uniform was equally as repulsive, maybe even more so. This job solidified a lifelong hatred of Wal-Mart for me.

The next job I had was working for the city. I spend my summer cutting grass, and painting doing other random odd jobs. I kind of loved it. I got to be outside, and everybody else that worked there was around my age (with the exception of the team leaders). We had a blast that summer. We would cut the grass, and then play baseball. Or we would fix the buoys in the lake, and then go boating for the rest of the day. To this day, tt was probably the greatest job I ever had. It only lasted for the summer though, and then I was back to school.

The next summer, I went back to work for the city, but I agreed to do a different job. Looking back on it now, it was clearly the wrong choice, but I agreed because it meant going in an hour later. My job this time was to count trees, and look for any potential signs of disease. This might seem interesting, but it wasn’t. We had to look at every city owned tree in the entire city. That’s a lotta trees. We got to type all the info into little palm pilots, and by the end of the summer, I was so bored with the whole thing, I would type stuff like “there’s a fungus among us” if I saw a diseased tree. Note to city: get students who actually know stuff about trees to perform tasks of this nature!

My next job was at a Sprout restaurant. I didn’t really mind this job at all. The people I worked with were great, and the food was amazing. This too eventually became boring though, despite the fact that we would routinely have dance parties at work. One day, I accidentally cut off part of my finger with some scissors, proving to myself that me and the restaurant business just weren’t meant to be.

Next job was a portrait studio. I had my moments with this job. Sometimes I loved it (like on pet day, or when the children were too young too speak). It is easy enough to make a baby smile…just play a little peek a boo behind the camera and you are good to go. Once they got older than two though, it was very trying. I am not the kind of person that is going to act all ridiculous just to get a child that doesn’t know me to smile. I usually left that up to the parents. Because a) I wasn’t getting paid nearly enough to make a complete ass of my self, and b) the child has no idea who I am, and would probably be more inclined to smile at their parents. This job lasted about eight months.

The next job after this was a front desk of a hotel. I almost forgot about this one. But I hated it. I realized after this job, that I usually ended up hating a job a whole lot more if I had to wear a uniform. It’s like, okay, not only am I taking crap from everybody that comes in here, but I have to do so while wearing an ugly ass uniform. NO THANKS. My best memory of this job was when someone else my age actually worked there, and there happened to be one shift where it was just the two of us working. Some guy gave us a bottle of wine he picked up at a local winery, and so we drank it, while cranking the radio and dancing. It is probably important to note that this hotel was not busy, and we spent most of our time sitting around doing nothing anyway. Wine and music just made the time past more quickly.

My next two jobs I loved, but they were contracts, so they eventually came to an end. I can’t dwell on them too long (it was for the same company and working with the same people, I just ended up getting two different contracts one after the other) as it still depresses me a bit that I don’t still work there.

So you see, the idea of a “career” in the traditional sense has always scared me. I think I would rather poke out my eye then spend 30ish years doing the same thing. I guess it’s possible though, that I just haven’t found the right job yet.

haha Universe

I just spent the night at a lovely literary event, one which served as the large kick in the ass that I needed. That I continually need really. Something about being surrounded by other writers just feels comforting. Like, okay, maybe I can do this.

At one point someone sitting at my table said to me,

"So, are you a writer?"

To which I replied, "Yes. Erm, well, I try"

I still haven't quite figured out what I have to do to define myself as a writer. I write things, but does that make me a writer? I don't know. I like to dance too, but that doesn't make me a dancer. You know. It's a hard question to answer. I would like TO BE a writer, but I don't know if merely wanting it really badly is enough to warrant me actually calling myself one. Jury is out on this question.

The last time I took a writing course, I had the most wonderful teacher. She was one of the speakers at tonights little function. I still find her quite wonderful, and I really wish she were my teacher again. I find her inspiring, and I suppose she makes me feel like maybe I am a writer. It is really nice to have someone who does what you want to do, someone you admire and look up to say they are proud of you. It made me feel warm and fuzzy and a little bit hopeful.

I got home and went to check my email. What is waiting in there but yet another rejection, from yet another literary magazine. At least they got back to me I guess. Honestly, the rejections don't bug me too much, they just kinda make me want to try harder. I just found it funny that on the same night I went and got a kick in the ass, and a warm fuzzy feeling, that showed up. En.

Daisy

Someone needs to adopt her, cause my heart cracks a little everytime I go in and she's still there:


She is 10 years old, and her owners left her when they moved out of their house. WHO DOES THAT? good lord. I hate people sometimes. The first time I saw this dog in the kennel, I actually started to cry. She just looked so sad. Then I took her outside, and we had a lovely game of fetch which she played forever. She kept going to get the ball, and then trotting back to me, slightly limping on one side, cause her hip was bugging her, something I imagine happens to all ladies when we reach that age. She wanted to take the ball into the cage with her, and I so badly wanted to let her. So I let her. Then I waited until she was sleeping, and then I snuck in and got the ball back. Can't have her ingesting the ball!

Her name is Daisy on her little form, but I really wasn't feeling that name. She was more of a "Lady" or a "Rosie". En. Daisy just seemed a little too young and fresh for me. She's still a spunky thing though, and oh so friggin nice. Someone please adopt this dog!

The End is Coming

Last night I went to see a Mr. Gwynne Dyer speak at Brock. He is an amazingly smart man...gah, I wish my brain worked like his. He is a journalist, filmmaker, author, freelancer...he does all kinds of stuff. And he was a very good speaker. He has a new book out which deals with the issue of climate change.

When I first heard that that was what his talk was going to be about, I remember thinking, "can we possibly beat this to death anymore"? The answer to the question being, yes, we can. And we have too. Mr. Dyer's talk was pretty grim. I mean, there were some small flashes of hope, but the general conclusion was that mankind has screwed the pooch on this one. Before global warming gets better, it's going to get a whole lot worse, killing people off, one natural disaster at a time. Our food belts are going to become deserts, entire cities are going to be wiped out by rising ocean levels. Shit is grim.

You can't help but feel a little hopeless when you listen to him. Hopeless and a little resentful. Hopeless because he was all doom and gloom, we're going to die, we've done it now, famine, famine, famine, and resentful, because, way to go people in the past, look what you've freaking done! I listened to the first half of his seminar with mixed feelings of fear and que sera sera, because hey, if we are all going to die, we're all going to die.

He did lighten it up a bit during the second half, and a little light of hope was lit inside me. He talked about politics and how the biggest issue is going to be getting through the political bullniz. And ain't that the truth! Also, our Prime Minister is Stephan Harper. I dislike him. He just seems like a slow moving man, literally and figuratively.

Anyway! Dyer was talking about these two new technologies that could delay the affects of global warming. Shows how proactive everybody plans on being about these things! Instead of trying to fix it while we still got a shot in hell of doing so, let's invent things to push it back, push it back, so we don't need to really deal with it. Seems backwards. But in any event, these two technologies included: (forgive my complete lack of knowledge of any kind of scientific terms. Science is not my friend). 1) Sulfur drops that go into the engine of the airplane (or some other part that blows air out). Once these drops of sulfur are released into the atmosphere, they form a protective layer over the earth which thus reflects some of the sunlight, keeping the earth at a cooler temperature. 2)Some kind of yacht thing goes out into the ocean and settles itself under some low clouds, it shoots stuff into the air, and the clouds change it into....good god, I don't know. The point is, why don't we do things that are actually understandable now, instead of waiting 20 years, when we'll apparently all be living in the Jetsons.

Gah. Stuff like this is frustrating, because what exactly can you do. You get the lightbulbs, you buy the car, and yet here we still are, sailing towards global destruction anyway. Mr. Dyer ended his talk by pointing out that in a mere 10,000 years, all of our civilization will be for naught anyway, as we are going to enter another ice age. Them's the breaks I guess.

Anyway, I have no conclusion on this other than to say, I"m a little bit fearful of where this is all going. I'm a lot fearful actually. And I can't do a whole lot about it.

Remembering

I remember.



A good man, a quiet man, a Canadian hero, my grandfather.

All those that came before and after him. That fought with him. That gave their lives. Past, present and future. As much as I love this country, I don't know if I would have the same courage.

Whether or not I support war, I will always support, honour, remember and be grateful to the men and women who gave their lives and made such tremendous sacrifices for the wonderful country that I now have the privilege of living in.

Monday, Monday

Ah, I went away this weekend, and it was kind of nice. Sometimes I feel very much like I must leave this city immediately, and I was feeling that way last week, so it was good. It wasn't a relaxing weekend per say, but I did enjoy the change in scenery.

I was looking forward especially to being in the US of A because I thought there might be some kind of noticeable excitement about Obama. Not where we were. Where we were, I was afraid to even say the word "Obama" for fear I would be shot. Weekends like this remind me just how different Canada and the United States really are. God, as much as I would have liked to be American last Tuesday to experience the election, I am so happy and thankful to be Canadian.

You see, my aunt has a place in Great Valley, New York. It's in the hills, and the locals well, they come from the hills. You know the type of people I am talking about. It's weird, because Great Valley is right by Ellicotville, which is this cute, posh little town. Although, I suppose most of the people that live there are actually rich Canadians or Americans.

Anyhoo. Beside my Aunt's place is a pub. The pub is about the size of a large living room. It smells like grease, there is a pool table, a dart board, and somebody would have to pay me a large sum of money to use the washroom there. This pub is literally a stone's throw away from my Aunt's place. Saturday night at the pub was karaoke night, which we practiced for all weekend leading up to the big night. We being me, and 9 other women. So Saturday night, we stroll over. The place is hopping, because well, it's the only place to go really. We all got a beer, and then proceeded to pull our chairs into a nice little semi circle facing the singing "stage". We grabbed a song book and began to ponder over which song we would sing first.

Before we picked a song, this girl I never met before, really nice, but straight from the 80s, came over to me and what like, "do you want to sing Friends in Low Places? Get all your girls, we'll sing it". "Okay!" I say. Really, Friends in Low Places was THE most appropriate song ever to sing, especially with this random girl. After we all went up and sang it, and did a hell of a job by the way, we all proceeded to go back to our semi circle. This is when this girl comes over to me and strikes up a conversation about Garth Brooks. I like me some Garth, who doesn't, but I can only talk about him for so long. The conversation went like this:

Her: "I love Garth!!"
Me: "Me too. Who doesn't really?"
Her: "But my favourite song is Unanswered Prayers"
Me:" "Yes (trying to remember how that song goes, or any other Garth Brooks song for that matter), that's a good one! I like Standing Outside the Fire"
Her: "oh yeah, that's one's awesome. I also like "some Garth Brooks song"
Me: "mmmmmhmmm" This is the point where I pretty much end the conversation by staring at her blankly. She goes to pick another song from the book.

While all this is going on, we sporadically get up and sing "Shoop Shoop Song" "Stop in the Name of Love", etc and so forth. At one point, I was sitting in my chair, when this bearded guy with the hugest gap in his tooth wanders over to me. He kind of puts out his hand, like he wanted a high five, so I slapped his hand. Then, he was like "Helllllo", and petted my hair for a good while. It should be noted that his pregnant girlfriend was over by the bar. It should also be noted that everybody in this bar knew each other. Also, two of the patrons of the bar are, a biker looking guy, and his slutty stripper girlfriend, who had the nastiest longest hair ever, which she kept flipping over her shoulders and in front of her eyes, like she was the sexiest thing on earth. She wasn't.

So this biker dude, who we find out is part Indian, gets up to sing. He's like "I don't want any music or words, I'm going to sing my own song." So he sings a song from an Indian pow-wow (I"m guessing). This song is interspersed with english lyrics such as "I want to walk with you in the moonlight". The song lasted forever. We clapped like maniacs when he was done, because, what else are you going to do? While this guy was singing, Slutty Hair came over and started dancing all up on him. And he continued to sing.

Perhaps half and hour passes.

He gets up to sing again. It sounded like the same song. After this song, the applause was slightly less. We got up to dance to Crocodile Rock and Mony, Mony. At some point during one of these songs, my aunt decided to run her fingers through Slutty's hair, because the girl kept flinging it, and it would hit us. The look of horror on my face when she did it was probably uncalled for, but EW!

So we all sit back down in our semi circle. Biker and Slutty start dancing in the middle. All of a sudden, Slutty does a high kick, which lands approximately 1 inch from the face one of the ladies I was with. We were all kind of like "what the hell is happening?" Then all of a sudden, one of the locals come over and was like "She's going to kick your ass!" We were all utterly confused, because...what?" Then the local lady is like "I'll be a distraction, so you guys can leave". So she takes up the entire dance floor (which really wasn't hard), and starts flailing her legs and arms, while we all got the hell out of dodge.

We left before we got to sing Dancing Queen, and it was sad, but it beats getting your ass kicked by a Slutty Stripper, her Biker Boyfriend, and their band of hill people. We tried to figure out what set her off, but nobody did anything worthy of a beat down. There was the hair run through...buuut she didn't throw the kick at my aunt, and she didn't even seem to notice when it happened. We concluded that perhaps her biker boyfriend was eyeing up S, Slutty didn't like that, and then tried to kick her.

It was so freaking weird. And although I have never encountered that anywhere else in the States, and lord knows there are crazy people in Canada too, it still made me mighty glad I was Canadian.

All in all, it was a pretty great weekend.

Yes We Can!

Wow, I'm not even American, and I'm ridiculously excited about Obama's win last night. It was so amazing to watch. I would have loved to be in Chicago last night, I can't even imagine how awesome that must have been.

I'm way more enthralled by this election then the election in my own country. Like always, everything America does just seems so much bigger, louder, and more impressive.

I love Canada, I really do, I think it's the best country in the world, but I also really enjoy Barack O'Boyfriend Obama. His speech was amazing last night, and I have never been quite so impressed with one person's ability to capture a nation and give them hope. Even I was shouting "yes we can!" at the TV screen.

My hat's off to you Obama! I cannot wait to see how you are going to change the world.

VOTE!

I can feel the excitement about today's election spilling over the border. I'm pretty jazzed, I must say. I don't think I have ever been this interested in an election in Canada. I mean, I'm always interested, but I've never been this...anticipatory.

I hope there is record voter turnout in the US of A today. I was thinking this morning that today is a day that could possibly change history, and hopefully it will be one of those things you can tell your children-"I remember where I was when Barack Obama got elected the President of the United States of America" (here's hoping).

As much as Canadians say that we are tired of hearing about the American election, and try to distance ourselves from all things American...let's face it, it affects us too. It affects the whole world! It's an exciting, exciting thing to see a country filled with such hope. It reminds me of...I don't even know, I have never experienced such excitement about a political candidate before, and it's great to see.

No more W. Hopefully no John McCain (seriously...he looks like he could possibly drop dead at any given moment...I don't think I would want him running my country. Especially considering who is his replacement. SCARY!). I'm so excited to see how America votes.

Barack Obama! (sung ala Saturday Night Live skit by Obama Girl)

Happy November!

Oh Halloween. Skanky costumes abounded. Slightly amusing and slightly appalling. What else was appalling, was the fact that we waited 1hr and 45 minutes for a taxi to bring us home at the end of the night. It was cold out. We kept calling and calling, but it was busy, and when I finally got through to a guy, and told him where we were, someone else ended up stealing that cab. The four of us were standing on the corner, shivering, when this van drives by, the guy calls out the window, "you guys want a speedy?".We all kind of looked at each other, and were like..."ummm, no thanks". It was little sketchy. Fast forward an hour, the SAME guy in the van drives by, and is like "now do you want a speedy?" Tails between our legs, we got in. Speedy guy mocked us all the way back to my friends house. He's like, "i can understand if I was in a shitty car, but I"m in a nice van!". Dude. Because nothing bad EVER happens in vans. Vans are like the poster car for abductions and rape. In any event, we eventually made it home. And that was Halloween. My costume sucked. I had big visions for it, but it really just sucked. Next year, I vow to be better.

Today, I partook in one of my favourite pastimes ever. Loitering around Chapters while drinking coffee from Starbucks. I could spend hours there. I usually end up buying at least one book too. It's never merely "just browing" process. Today I bought this book,and it's pretty damn good so far. I like her style.

While I was browsing the books, I came across one called "Old Dogs are the Best Dogs". For some reason I felt compelled to look in this book. Now, I will tell you, there are a couple things that ALWAYS make me cry: 1) old people eating alone in restaurants, 2)three legged dogs, 3)any story about a dog. I don't know why. I could be reading a story in the paper about Lucy the helper poodle, who visits people in old age homes, and I will cry. Forget about if I'm reading a "dog saves human" story. So this book had pictures of old dogs, and then a little story about the dog. "So and so is 13 years old, and his family took him in after he was found starving and chained to an outdoor dog house." I read that story and got misty eyed, and yet continued to read. I eventually had to stop myself, because who wants to be the crazy girl in Starbucks, crying while reading a book about dogs she has never and will never meet. I have issues. And clearly a small obsession with dogs. Anyway, I kinda want the book for Christmas, because, while it makes me cry, they are happy tears, because the dogs are old and loved, and very cute with their white scruffy faces. Sigh.

It's weird that it's November already. November has always been a very blah month for me. It seems to drag along,and nothing really happens. The days get darker and colder, and you get no three day weekends.

C'est Lalloween!

I have this song stuck in my head that goes: "ohh, c'est lalloween!". I"m assuming it is from the french educational program Telefrancais, but who even knows. Oh, telefrancais. Thanks to you, I will forever know how to say pineapple in French.

I LOVE Halloween. I don't love this week, but I LOVE Halloween. Last night, we had this movie night thing in market square, and one of the movies was Rocky Horror. That movie is so stupid, I can understand why people felt the need to make it interactive. Cause if you just watch the actual movie, all you can think throughout the whole thing, "what the hell is happening? and why is it happening?". Anyway, participation makes things fun. Getting to throw things is always great, especially when it's rock hard toast. Water guns also equal good times. There was one guy sitting by us who had a response to like every line in the movie. I think this is a sign that maybe, he watches the movie too much. Or has been to it every year of his life for the last 30 years. Although, that's kinda the same thing. He was balancing the fine line between amusing, and "whoa, you're a crazy nut!". So many things rest on that line!

Tonight, we are going dancing, which I am very excited about, because I don't get to dance nearly enough. Dancing while wearing a vampire dress and a venetian mask is even greater. I'm not a fan of the slutty costume part of halloween, but I am a fan of dancing to "ghostbusters" and candy, so it balances out.

And I got to sleep in today. It's going to be a good night.

When I Get Older...

So, my grandma is in a nursing home. She has been living in them for about...five years maybe? I probably don't visit nearly as much as I should, but I really do try. I find it utterly depressing to be in there, and it kind of breaks my heart to go there. Perhaps that is a selfish excuse not to visit more often, but I visit as much as my heart feels like it will allow.

It's not so much her that's depressing, although she does have her moments. It's the whole atmosphere. They try and make it happy, but it doesn't work so well. They have craft shows, and bake sales, and singalongs, but when it comes right down to it, it's still a hospital.

My least favourite part is walking down the long hallway to her room. It smells kinda funny, and there are always people in wheelchairs spread throughout the halls. Some of them say hello or just smile, and some of them call to you for help. "Get me out of here!!" "Why won't you help me!!" "HELP ME!!". Oh god. When they are all in the halls, I practically sprint to her door.

Anyways, yesterday was a visit Grandma day. My grandma has taken to never putting her teeth in anymore, so everything she says comes out in a slight lisp. She is also very hard of hearing, so everything that you say to her, you have to yell. She refuses to wear a hearing aid, but she did recently get this new gadget, that kind of looks like a ipod, but it's purpose it to amplify what everybody says. It makes the visits slightly more enjoyable.

My grandmother has had this obsession for a while about setting me up with the male nurse...Jason, I think his name is. I cringe to think of what she might say to him when I am not actually there. I picture her pointing to the photo of me she has on her dresser and saying something like, "that's her, that's the single one! What do you think?". I"m actually 90% sure that is what happens. I've never met this Jason, and really, I kinda hope I don't now!

Yesterday she was talking about this new tall guy that she saw.

Her: "He was like 6 foot 7."
Me: "wow, that's tall!"
Her: "He was handsome too. Very good looking boy."
Me: "Ummm who is this?"
Her: "The best man. From your cousin's wedding!"
My mother: "Ohhhh, you saw him in a picture"
Her: "Yeah, yup, the wedding pictures, I saw him"
My father: "Yeah, we brought them and showed them to you."
Her: "well, that's where I saw him then!"
My mother: "Yeah. He's already married"
Me: "Yes. How unfortunate".

This conversations tends to repeat itself in many variations during every visit.

My favourite part of the visit though (while simultaneously the most horrifying) was when we were leaving, and she was asking me about my job.

Her: "So, how's the job"
Me: "Oh it's good, it'll do for now. At least until I finish my novel."
Her: "You're what?"
Me: "My novel!"
Her: "Ohhhhh. Is it sexy???"
Me: horrified.

Also, "sexy" sounded more like "sesy" because she had no teeth in. I don't think I'll ever be able to erase that moment from my memory. No matter how hard I try.

Sports and TGIF

Wow, this day is eternal.

I just signed up for a dodgeball team, and it starts in January. Yup! Dodgeball! I hope this foray into sports goes better than the one in the summer. I will go in with exceptionally low expectations that way I won't be disappointed if it sucks! I tend to think that you can't go wrong with dodgeball, but people often seem to screw up the simplest of things in the largest of ways, so time will tell on that one.

I have been on a dodgeball team before, and I lasted approximately one game. This was during university when I lived in hell on earth Saugeen Maitland. Each floor was given the chance to sign up a team for indoor dodgeball, which we did. Or, two of us from our floor wanted to join, and no one else did, so we got stuck on some random team. En. The first game was like the storming the beach scene at the beginning of Saving Private Ryan. Shit was flying everywhere. It didn't help that the game was played with the hardest ball they possibly could have found, and that there were approximately 30 people per team. No, these things didn't help. Basically, the only rule of dodgeball is don't hit people in the head with the ball. It's almost common sense, but yet, people found it very hard to follow. During the first game, I got hit in the head with the hardest ball ever- twice. One of those two times, it hit my ear, partially ripping my earring, and making my ear bleed a little. It was very unpleasant as far as team sports go. So yeah, that was basically the end of that.

I however, am going to try again. I have faith that this time, a) teams will be structured appropriately so as not to have so many people on a team, that it is hard to identify who you should even be throwing the ball at, b) the ball in use won't be hard as a feckin rock, and c)People will actually try and not aim for others heads. Those are the only three expectations I am allowing myself to have, at least until I finish my first game.

All that being said...woooooot dodgeball!!

Poor Neglected Blog

Whoa, it sure has been forever since I wrote in here. Life is crazy, life is busy, and I kind of feel like right now is the first time I've sat down (except at work) in a while.

In between bouts of craziness though, I did enjoy a nice little vacation to Las Vegas, and while there I got to see the Grand Canyon. And ride a helicopter into it. The Grand Canyon ranks up there as one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life. The "Grand"ness of it just doesn't really show up in pictures, but I will post some anyway, only because they are still very pretty!




Nevada and Arizona are such pretty states, the landscape is gorgeous. Sparse, but gorgeous. I think the very fact that everything is so sparse, makes the scenes that do eventually appear, even more spectacular. It would be like, desert, desert, desert, cactus, holy shit a giant canyon. It was great. The Grand Canyon was for sure my favourite part of the vacation.

Vegas is...interesting. It felt like adult Disneyland. Yet, I think I would still prefer Disneyland. It was almost surreal. Some of the hotels are so impressive...The Venetian...it's ridiculous! Except it wasn't really like Venice at all, minus the fact that the buildings were similar. There seemed to be a general mentality that consisted of "well, we've been to the Venetian, now we never need to go to Venice!". Ummm no, people, there is no substitute. Yes, Venice is expensive, and far away, and sometimes smelly, and the chances of you getting crapped on by a bird are great, but it's real, and it's authentic, and those two things are qualities that Vegas almost never possesses. On the surface, it looks like all fun, games and drunken times, but when you look a little harder, all that falls away.

There were always these Mexicans on the street. They would be wearing shirts that said "Girls, available to you 24/7". They would have a pile of cards in their hands, and they would snaPPP them to try and get your attention as you walked by. They would line up on both sides of the sidewalk, and there would be seemingly endless rows of them, just snap snap snapping away. Men, women, both young and old, not speaking english, but doing their job. Every time I walked by them...which was often, because they are everywhere, I would just end up thinking, first of all, these people are obviously here illegally, and they can't possibly be making any money, because NO ONE EVER TAKES THE CARDS. They are littered all over the sidewalk.I just didn't get it. It was kind of sad. Here you have hoards of drunken tourists walking by you in a continuous stream, ignoring you, sometimes verbally abusing you, and you're just trying to feed your family. I dunno,the whole thing felt wrong.

Vegas was cool and all, and I had fun while I was there, but there was an undercurrent of sketchiness. Like it could so easily disappear. Vegas was amazing to me because here you have, in the middle of the friggin desert, this mecca, with glittering lights, constant noise and throngs of people...it is just such a contrast with the landscape. It seems almost impossible to find silence in Vegas yet you drive out for 20 minutes, and you are surrounded by emptiness.

It's not that I wouldn't go back, I would, but it's not high on my list of places to travel too now. So much glitz, so much glamour...it's easy to get caught up in the craziness. The whole time I was there though, I would randomly look at the desert and mountains in the distance, and just think "hmmmm".

Favourite Things

My new favourite thing is THIS WEBSITE. Oh, the hours of entertainment it can provide. I laugh, I laugh and I laugh some more.

My new not so favourite thing is when my computer goes like this "dkfjadlkfjdaklfjkd;fhdakf" and then erases all the songs in my itunes and off my ipod. Don't know where the hell they are, but they are gone, gone, gone. You know what takes a long, long time? Uploading cds onto a computer. It doesn't seem like it takes that long when you upload one cd at a time over the span of several years, but when you do several all at once, it eats up entire evenings. En.

Sports

This summer, I signed up for rec rowing. I was oh so excited when I heard about it, and oh so excited for it to start. I signed up with an ermm friend of mine, and together, we were excited. I should have known things would rapidly go downhill, when she also signed up her asshat boyfriend, but really, that was the least of my issues.

The very first get together was promising. I met my crew, they all seemed nice, albeit, at least 20 years older then me, but nice. My friend and her boyfriend were late to the first meeting, and this would be a reoccurring theme throughout the rest of my rowing days.

I rowed in grade school, and a little bit in high school, and I loved it. I especially loved it in grade school, because it was just a bunch of kids my age, and it was kinda like camp, except we rowed, and occasionally played capture the flag. It was good times. These were the rowing memories I was recalling when I enthusiastically signed up for rec rowing this summer.

It never crossed my mind that I would hate it. Everything I had heard about rec rowing sounded a little something like, "it's so fun!!" "You'll love it!!" "It's more about the drinking then the rowing!!". I believed all this hype. I went in with high hopes that I would hop in the boat with my crew, and we would row in perfect synchronicity off into the sunset, and when we were done, we would all sit together on an outdoor patio somewhere drinking beers, and talking about how funny it was when so and so's paddle accidentally hit a duck.

NO. What I failed to add to this vision was the fact that I apparently suck at rowing. And the coach was crazy. Sucking at rowing + crazy coach= getting yelled at for two hours at at time. And that it was precisely what it became. I would drag my ass out of the boat at the end of every practice, hoping that someone would at least drop me a little, "you did good today" or "you've improved". I don't need constant accolades, but holy shit, after getting the crap kicked out of me for two hours, I need someone to throw me a bone. Judging by the way our practices were run, everyone else in the boat was a great rower, except me, because the coach would spend the entire practice yelling at me. "You're shooting the seat" "Lower your hands!" "Lower your hands!" "LOWER YOUR HANDS!!". One practice, after he shouted, "I've said it fifty to a hundred times now, lower your hands! Why don't you get it!!!". I cried a little bit beneath my sunglasses. I'll lower my hands buddy, into your face! Gawd, I wanted to just jump off the boat, and swim on home to shore.

After one particular practice, I was so pissed off from having being yelled at for so long, I just glared at everybody. I was stewing inside, I payed money for this? How is this possibly rec rowing? Too intense I say, too intense!

So I quit. I am a huge, big quitter. I never went back, because holy crap, it was stressing me out a little too much. I wasn't trying to train to get into the Olympics, I just wanted to have some fun and row. In the end, I ended up not doing much of either.

As for my friend I joined with, well, she and her boyfriend basically missed every single practice and race. I saw them maybe once.

Honestly, part of me wants to feel bad for quitting, because I usually like to see things through, but a larger part of me was liberated with the knowledge that, I really don't need to put myself through this if I don't want to. I had a very Twisted Sister, We're Not Going to Take This, kinda moment, and I must say, I enjoyed it. Some may call it quitting, I call it saving my sanity.

Lesson learned though. I"m not cut out for competitive sports. I just don't really care that much. Come in last, come in first, I don't give a crap, as long as it's fun. And the fun, it was sorely lacking in rec rowing. On to the next adventure I suppose. Or back to the gym.

Books and Words

I recently decided to myself that I am going to read a lot of books, as many books as I possibly can. Not just any old books though, I am going to read iconic books, books that changed literature, books that caused a sensation, books that caused people to go "whhhhaaaa", you get the idea. I feel like it is a great idea to read them so that I can figure out for myself what makes them so great or popular. Why people respond to them so much. I think doing as much reading as one can, is a great way to try and make oneself a better writer.

My first attempt at this reading list I have in my head was Tom Robbins. I didn't have any particular book in mind, and perhaps this was the downfall of my plan to read Mr. Robbins, but I wanted to find out what the big deal about this guy was. He has achieved cult like status. So I start to read, Skinny Legs and All, and I HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS HAPPENING. I don't consider myself to be dumb, but for the whole time I was reading, I was just thinking to myself, "what the shit is this guy talking about?" So I have stopped reading the book as of now and I will try and continue at some later date. Perhaps if I were drunk while I was reading I would understand more. I really WANT to like Tom Robbins. So badly.

The next book on my list was Valley of the Dolls. This book was HUGE in the 60s, one of the best selling novels of all time. Good lord, I thought the book would never end. It was one of those books where you initially like the characters, but as it goes on, you just think, "nobody can be this dumb", and then you hate them all. It was a book I read really quickly, because I had to find out what was going to happen, but I was quite glad when I actually got to the end. I suppose there is something addictive about the book...perhaps it is the 60s equivalent of The Shopoholic series... but honestly the writing really isn't that great. I definitely don't think it is worthy of the acclaim that it has recieved. Good to say I've read it though.

Next on my list...On the Road. Why have I not read this book before now? I have no friggin idea. I have owned it for several years, but just have never managed to read it. I have a feeling I am going to find Jack Kerouac fascinating...and I may become a bit obsessed.

Other books on "my list":
You Can't Go Home Again
The English Patient
Grapes of Wrath
The Mosquito Coast
plus about 200 more...
and umm, I found a book that R.L Stine wrote for adults...so I think I might sneak that in.

Philosophies

My mother always says "if you throw enought shit against the wall, something is bound to stick". It doesn't make for the best visual, but I think it is basically true. Note to self: need to start throwing more shit at the wall.

Ahh, the pearls of wisdom from the women in my family, never cease to impress.

Hack

I recently read a book called Hack by Melissa Plaut. As soon as I saw this book on the shelf, and saw its full title "Hack: How I stopped worrying about what to do with my life and started driving a yellow cab", I knew I had to read it. I started reading it, and it was kind of creepy how similar I was to the author. Not necessarily in lifestyle, but the whole problem she faced. I think it's a problem quite common to people in their 20s, unless you are really quite lucky. It's the issue of, what exactly should I be doing with my life, why exactly was I put here on this earth, and all that jazz. It's something I have been struggling with for what seems like an eternity now, but in reality has just been...my 20s. My favourite quotes from the book happen right in the first chapter when she is talking about what exactly it was that led her to decide to start driving a New York City Cab.

"My problem was an existential one. Each thing seemed as good as the next. It was just an arbitrary decision that, in the end, had no meaning anyway, so why bother? I wasn't driven by some intense passion like my sister, and didn't have any innate talent like Allie. I wanted so badly to believe in the idea of a true calling, something a person could spend their days feeling passionate about and engaged by, but it just didn't exist for me....I was stuck in a pit of indecision and there was no place for me to put all this energy..."

I can SO identify with that. I have had so many jobs, and they all just allowed me to get by. Pay the rent, pay the bills, but I felt no passion for what I was doing, so I flitted from one job to another, simply leaving when it got boring. That has pretty much been the last three years of my life, but at least I'm slowly starting to sort it out now. I am always glad to read that other people go through the same sort of crisis. Not that I haven't enjoyed the last three years, I had a blast really, but it started to kind of feel like I was stuck in this rut and I was never ever going to get out. Right now, I feel like I have some more options. It is kind of intimidating to think, "what exactly am I going to do for the rest of my life?". The rest of a life is a long time (hopefully), and I really can't imagine doing any one thing for the whole of it. The thought actually makes me feel like barfing.

"I was no longer going to try and figure out this "rest of my life" bullshit. Instead, it was all about what was next. It was as simple as that. I was gonna treat life as the adventure I wanted it to be. I wanted to try to get as many experiences as possible under my belt before I was dead, and I didn't want to die in some office somewhere in the Financial District".

When I read that, I was just like "yes, exactly!!!". It's too much pressure, trying to pick just one thing that you think you are good at. At least it is for me. What if I want to do hundreds of different things? Is there anything wrong with that...? I have kind of tried to adopt the same philosophy that Melissa Plaut has....figure out what is next, and don't worry about 10 years, 20 years down the line. Life is too unpredictable for that anyway. It's very tiring to always be worrying about what to do with your life. Very tiring. So why let it be?

Waiting

The song "Waiting on the World To Change" came on the radio just now, and I just got to thinking about life and waiting.

It seems like I am always waiting for something to happen or to do things. It's like, "yeah, I"ll do that when I have money", "or I'll do that when the weather is nice again", "I'll do that after I do this". Waiting or procrastinating?

It's odd because a lot of the time I feel like I am waiting for things to happen, things that just never do happen. I wait, and I wait, and then it's just the same. Maybe I just need to find some way to stop waiting and get on with it already. But it's safe here, and it's friendly here (most of the time), and it's predictable here. Right here. Out there though? All of those things fly out of the window. I am opening myself up largely to the possibility of rejection. And I have to be alright with that, and just keep trying, not quit after one person says something like "this is not quite what we are looking for", and keep going. I don't know, it sounds so easy when I type it, but so much harder to just do it. I need to make myself do it.

A "friend" of mine recentely told me that I live in the moment in the future. At the time she said it, I was also all defensive because she was working herself up for an onslaught of insults. But that one thing that she said, I think I get it now. I think she probably meant it in an entirely different way then I've now interpreted, but to be honest, I don't really give a shit what she thinks. At least I'm trying not to.

Anyway, it is easy to make all these grandiose plans in your head, and be like "one day, one day I"m going to do that". Putting off things that you easily be doing right now. And maybe I shouldn't do that, maybe I should try, and I mean really try, to do some of those things. That is all I can take from her rampage.

That being said, who doesn't live in the moment in the future? It's called goals and it's called dreams. Not everyone is afforded the luxury of stopping what they are doing at this exact moment so that they "live in the moment". A lot of the timesit is just about getting by and living life, and that IS living in the moment. Part of me understands what she was saying, part of me doesn't.

The ironic thing about this statement was that it came from a girl, who as I see it, has no business saying it. At all. If anyone is stuck in a hellish circle of nothing ever changing, then it's her.

Anyway, perhaps this all seems like gibberish. But I have to have these little pep talk moments with myself every so often, so I be better at clearing the brush off the path.

Where does the time go....

I can honestly say that a good chunk of this past week has been eaten up by this:


This is a great show, it's a hilarious show, and it's a highly addictive show. "Little boxes, on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky"....oy, it NEVER will leave my head. Mary Louise Parker is a brilliant actress. Elizabeth Perkins cracks me up. Who knew...I mean, I only knew her from The Flintstones and Miracle on 34th Street. I'm excited about this show, because even thought I have no idea when it actually airs on television, I have a new show to watch...eventually when the new season comes out on dvd. I really can't say I enjoy that many television shows, so yay for Weeds.

I surely had something good to write when I initially started this post, but now all I can think of is random Weeds episodes, and the fact that Gunner the Wolfhound got adopted. WOOT! They also always get dogs from the Cayman Islands at the Humane Society. I find this so random. Maybe it's not at all, but it's really weird. The Cayman Dogs are almost a breed unto themselves, like I look at them from afar, and I can tell that it came from there. The Cayman Islands is a relatively small place, so why all the dogs? I can't seen to find the answer to that anywhere, oh google, you've failed me. I can't complain though, this morning, I wanted to find an updated picture of Mara Wilson...the little girl from Maltida, and Miracle on 34th Street (Elizabeth Perkins got me thinking of her), and google delivered, so I can't complain too much.

anyway, rambly much!?

Looking Better?

I've looked at this blog too long now to know if I have actually made any improvements to the way it looks. I think I like it. I like the colours anyhow. And I like the title.

I have been mulling over a more original title in my mind for a while now, and I kept thinking of variations of this one. It just seems to describe me pretty much to a tee, and with only four words. I am entirely girly in some ways, and I love getting dressed up, and I have a closet full of pretty dresses that I attempt to wear on any occasion that I can. I like makeup, I like flowers, I like fluffy puppies, and small cute things. You know....girly. But on the other hand, I'm a huge spaz, I'm constantly crashing into things (sometimes I realize it, sometimes I don't), and there is not a day in my life that my legs don't have at least one bruise on them. Half the time, I have no idea where they came from. I just walk into that many things I guess. My legs are now immune to the pain of everyday trips and falls.

My whole childhood, I was what one would call a bit of a tomboy (where does this term come from? note to self-look up.) I played with the boys down the street all the time, and we spent our days exploring the ravine, running in and out of mud puddles, setting up booby traps in the backyard for potential intruders, and generally running around like crazies outside. It was so awesome. I hated everything girly back then, I hated wearing dresses and getting dressed up, because what is the fun in that really? I much preferred my jeans and crappy t-shirts.

I'm still kind of like that now, I like random adventures, I don't care less if I end up all muddy, and I would love to spend a day rigging up some booby traps to catch possible intruders, or spend the day playing in a tree fort. I would be so down with that. BUT, I also love love love to shop, and I especially love pretty dresses. Especially ones that are never appropriate for the occasion, but I wear anyway.

So yeah. There it is.

One Last Tribute to the Old Neighbourhood...

I don't want to dwell on the past, and it is not like I am even sad anymore about not living downtown. Yes, I despise having to drive to work, and then pay for parking, but everything else I'm dealing with just fine. I do miss the characters of downtown though, they made for such good stories.

There used to be this guy, he always wore a red coat, jeans, and a winter hat. All he did all day was ride his bike, around and around the same route. ALL DAY. I"m not sure where this guy lived, or if he even lived anywhere really, but I found him extremely interesting.

This guy didn't just ride he bike, he swore and gave the finger to every car that passed him. Every single car. Up would go the hand, the finger would wave, and it would inevitably be accompanied by something along the lines of "screw you" or more likely "f*ck you!!". He would viciously wave his hand, the one with the finger raised, until either that car disappeared, or another one appeared, and he could start all over again. It happened to me several times. I often thought to myself, "what would happen if I shouted something back, or if I gave HIM the finger".I ultimately decided that it would upset the balance of things, and the situation could end up going horribly horribly wrong. Swearing and finger giving is his THING, and I sure didn't want to take that from him.

The strange part is, I walked by this man on several occasions. When I was walking, he never swore at me, and he never gave me the finger. One time, I even worked up my courage and said "hello", to which he simply replied like a normal person, "hello". So I don't know, I guess he just had some sort of inner rage towards cars. All cars. Perhaps he was bitter because he couldn't afford one himself, and his only mode of transportation was the bicycle. Or maybe he was really worried about the destruction to the environment caused by cars. Who knows! I'll sure as hell never know, because I never see him anymore. It kind of makes me a leeetle sad, because I really do want to know. I should have worked myself up into saying more than hello when I had the opportunity.

I haven't met anyone like that down in the North end yet.

7 Years.

I can't think of anything else to write about on September 11, then the fact that it is September 11th. I can't believe it has been seven entire years since 9/11. I remember exactly where I was so clearly, as I am sure most people do.

I remember thinking that day seven years ago, when I first heard what had happened and before anybody really knew what the hell was going on, I thought, "oh my god, that's so many people". and it was. 2750 approximately. And that was just in New York City.

The longer that day went on, and the more details that came out, the more horrified I obviously became. When everyone thought it was just an accident, it was horrible, but when all of a sudden, there was a war going on in our backyard, it was unbelievable. It is still unbelievable actually. Even after going to New York a couple of times and seeing that yes, indeed, those buildings are gone...looking back on that day, it still seems like some kind of movie. Everybody was so shell shocked. I wish it was a movie.

I never could, never will, understand the purpose of war. It makes absolutely no sense to me.

7 years ago today. shit.

Privileged with a capital P

So sometime during my big move the last couple of weeks, I misplaced something that was very dear to me, so dear to me in fact that it was practically a part of my body. An extra limb if you will.

I have no idea where it went, if I lost it, dropped it, or if someone just swiped it out of my car. Either way, all I know is that it is gone gone gone. I have been lamenting this for a couple of weeks now.

Goodbye dear friend:

I do heart you. Hopefully you are loved in your new home!

I was feeling very lost without old silver there, so today I broke down and bought a new one. I am quite cheap, and the new IPOD quite expensive. This doesn't make for the greatest combo, but I think in time I will come to love my new ipod as much as I loved my old one.

Meet pinky:

The whole situation of the lost ipod is kind of funny to me, because I am aware that it is just an ipod. A portable music player. It's just a thing, and not even THAT expensive of a thing, but I really really missed it when I didn't have it.

This got me thinking about how completely privileged I am. There I was complaining about the loss of this accessory, an unnecessary one at that, as if it was the most horrible thing. As if "oh, woe is me" is a reasonable response to a lost IPOD. I know it's not, it seems silly, almost selfish to be upset and complain about something that the majority of the people in the world have never seen or even know exists. I'm aware of that. Every time I told the story of my lost ipod, I annoyed myself even more. Why do I keep telling this story? I would think. Do I want people to feel bad that I lost it? Really, why should they even care? It's just a stinky IPOD. Truth is though, most people I told were like, yeah man, that sucks! That sucks so bad! Well, they probably didn't respond in that 12 year old boy voice I just typed in, but they sympathized just the same. And they felt it. I guess we are all just privileged in ways we most of the times don't even think about.

I'm not saying it's bad, I'm not saying it's good, I"m just saying that it is something that occured to me during my ipodlessness. And I met that thought with a kinda "hmmmmm".

Finally...

Ahhh, the feeling of my own familiar keyboard is quite lovely. It is very hard to write anything at all when you have to backspace after every word. I'm in the midst of getting my desk set up, and it is pretty damn great. It has been YEARS since I've had a desk to actually put my computer on, and honestly, I forgot how wonderful it is. Not to have the laptop actually on my lap, burning my legs. Not having it on the kitchen table, with papers and random office supplies scattered everywhere. Yes, I love my desk.

I am almost settled in my new living arrangements. I have a couple more pictures to hang, and a couple more boxes to unpack, but other than that, I'm pretty set. Living in a different area of town is really weird, especially after living right downtown for so many years. Life in the North end...well, it feels like a completely different city almost. Things are a little calmer, there are a LOT less crazies (as in, I haven't even seen one!), and people seem...nicer?

I've only lived here a short while, so it is hard to tell if these initial observations can be trusted with any amount of accuracy. Time will tell on those matters.

I must say though, it is quite lovely to leave my car parked here, and not worry that it is going to get a)broken into b)destroyed. Nothing ever happened to my car downtown, but I always went to bed with this sense of, "i sure hope Priscilla is okay when I get up!".

It is also nice walking to places without constantly looking over my shoulder. I developed a habit when I lived downtown of constantly checking over my shoulder and clutching my purse to my chest whenever I passed a sketchy looking individual. It's not like downtown st. kitts is downtown ghettoville, and I don't want to give it a bad rap, but I find it is better to be cautious then to have some druggie run away with my purse.

But I must say, as close as I am here to the water, and to cleaner air, I miss downtown. There is a certain kind of energy there, it's in most downtowns really, that just isn't present in other areas of the city. I miss walking to work (so very very much), and I miss being able to walk to the market on Saturday mornings. Driving to the market on a saturday morning just doesn't have the same appeal for some reason.

I'll learn to live with it though, it is just the way it has to be for now. Also I work downtown and spend a large portion of my day wandering around down there, so it is not like I am cut off completely from the hilarity and uniqueness that is often downtown life. "Maam, do you have change, I need to get the bus to Sarnia". "Dude, you need to make up your mind, last week you lived in London, this week you live in Sarnia...pick one! And no, I don't have change, sorry.".

Anyway, it is going to take some adjusting, that's for sure, but in the meantime, I am going to do my best to become a North end girl. There has to be something great here somewhere. And if anyone is going to find, I'm pretty sure I will. I have a nose for these sort of things. I'm going to hop on my pink sparkly bike and explore away.

Vacation

Whoa, I took quite the vacation from blogging there.

I will continue to take a break until I can get my Internet up and running. My mother's keyboard drives me insane. It takes me twice as long to do everything.

I just typed up something nice, and then the keyboard whacked out, moved the cursor somewhere random, and it erased everything. I will be creating no nice words on this keyboard for fear they will get erased.

I hope to get connected at my desk soon, then I can do the blog re haul I have been planning for oh so long. Just you wait readers reader. Just you wait.

Off to see my dog friends soon. Always one of the best parts of my week, hands down.

Let Me Count the Ways...

So, I'm sitting here in my spot downtown. I've realized today that it is not only my spot, there are regulars that come here. I am starting to recognize the faces by the fountains.

Two of these regulars are an elderly woman and a young girl. I like to assume they are grandmother and grandchild.

I have to say, every time I look at them, my heart kind of cracks, with a sense of oh my god, how do I still miss her so much, even after this much time has past?

Every time something good happens to me, I miss her, because I want to share it with her. Every time something bad happens, I want her to be there to say, "it's okay" and then braid my hair.

Her, my grandmother. The lady I will never until my dying day stop missing and admiring.

I guess that is a testament to what kind of lady she was. Beautiful, sassy, intelligent, tough, independent, patient, impatient, funny, loving, giving, classy..I could go on and on. I loved (love) her for being all those things. I miss her for the same reason.

I know, I know, that not everybody gets a grandma like I had. I was oh so lucky. If I turn into half the woman she was, I'll consider myself pretty blessed.

I really wish she knew me now. I really, really do. I wish she could have met the newest members of our family. She would have been so joyful about the whole thing.

Other family members have died, but none have left the ever present (at least somewhere in the back of my mind), gut wrenching, my heart hurts, kind of miss I still feel when I think about her.

It's a testament, I know it's a testament.

God, what a lady she was. My grandma.

But when I see other granddaughters and grandmothers, the ones I know are friends and have that special kind of relationship, I can't help but wallow, just a little bit.

I miss her, I miss her, oh my god, I miss her.

Photo-Op

Long time, no update, I know. Life has become slightly crazy during this month of August...but I hope it will return to normalcy come September. For now, I present...lovely photos. This post will seem random, but I am needing a venue for showing some of my photos, and this seemed just as good as any.

Niagara:





Western New York:






England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales:

The end! Why the weird spacing between some photos? I don't know Blogger.com, I just don't know.

North Country

Every year, a very good friend of mine invites moi, and two other very good friends of mine up to her cottage for a weekend. It is always lovely, and I appreciate her continued willingness to host us, despite our somewhat destructive tendencies (oops, sorry cooler).

This year though, I have come to realize that a little bit of crazy goes a long way. There's crazy, and then there is Crazy!, and when you are Crazy!(capital C, exclamation mark), you've crossed a line, and probably annoyed 3 people in the process.

So Crazy! might not be joining the rest of us at the cottage next year, and honestly, I'm a-ok with that.

Cause you see. The cottage is about relaxing and chillin. There is nothing else to do there! You have to go with the flow, and know that, for most people, cottage time=time to relax, destress, and to just do whatever they want to do. Making it any more complicated than that is just silly.

Life up there is just slower, people seem to enjoy it more. People wave at every car that passes, regardless if they know the passengers or not. People gather at the dump to watch families of bears scavenge through the garbage, because bears are cool. Wild bears (which I have yet to see at the cottage...maybe next year?) are amazing. And if some old guy with a pipe wants to sit in a lawn chair with his telephoto lens, in anticipation of bear action, then that's cool! It's chill man, it's chill.

Sometimes the cottage life really appeals to me. "I could stay here all summer", I think to myself, "I would just read, and float and swim, and read. Fanfreakingtastic". And it would be. Everything just seems 10 times simpler up there. Maybe it's because the air is crisper and cleaner, but I think it more has to do with every body's attitude-slow it down.

I only get up there one weekend a year, and every year, when the weekend is over, I find myself wishing I was still there. I get back here, and there are cars rushing everywhere, I can't see the stars, I can't hear the lake, and I just can't help but think, "oh, I'd give anything to be back there". It's never long enough, although at points this year it did seem like it was a little too long! I guess that is the way it is with any little vacation or getaway. While you are away, you miss home like crazy, but when you get back, you long for a change of scenery and adventure of some sort. I guess that is just the way it is...for me at least.

And without further adieu, the beauty of our lovely province:

Weekend of Fun

Last weekend was great. I know, it's Thursday, and I am only now writing about the weekend...but I try. Lord knows where the week goes.

Reason Number One the Weekend Was Great:



I do love Jack Johnson. I first discovered him approximately in....2005, whilst I was in Europe, and I have loved him ever since. Jack has the kind of music that just flows, flows, flows through you body, and gives you a nice, relaxed, mellow kinda feeling. It's lovely. I kind of feel that Jack Johnson's music has contributed somehow to my being very que sera sera about life. It just really mellows you out. Some of the songs are cheesy and simple, but some definitely make you ponder life. Jack Johnson's music IS summer to me. Sitting on a dock, drinking a beer, legs danging in the water. ohhhhh yeah.

Reason Number Two This Weekend Was Great:



Mason Jennings is my new music love. He was at the concert this weekend. Honestly, I didn't notice him at all while he was actually playing, mostly because I was concerned with waiting in the very long porta potty line, but he came back out to do a song with Jack later in the evening, and I thought "damn! I love this boy!". So I've since bought his album, In The Ever, and it is pretty damn great. Kinda Jack Johnsony, but a little more upbeat.

The concert was at Burls Creek Park in Oro, Ontario. It was a great place for a concert....big wide open field, lots of room to spread out blankets and chill. Finding the actual park proved to be slightly difficult, and what was supposed to be a 10 minute drive, turned into an hour drive. Damn you google maps!! Oro is quite possibly the most hilly city I have ever encountered. My new car was like 'ummm where the hellllll are we going?" She was having quite the time chug chug chugging up and down the GRAVEL road google maps had us travelling on. Turn left on Line 8 my ass!

Some of these hills were so steep, you would get to the top and be like "ummmm where did the road go?" Redonk. Even more redonk since we ended up having to go ALL THE WAY back the way we came, up and down those same roads. Initially when we were going the wrong way, (LINE 8 does not lead to Burls Creek Park if anybody was wondering), we ended up on a dead end road. A family was there taking a midday walk. I pulled up and was like "excuse me, but are we near Burls Creek Park?". They all looked completely confused, which is never a good sign, and then the dad was like "ummm you are nowhere near it, it's about 20km down this same road you just came up, then you have to get on the highway, quickly get off the highway, drive across the bridge, and yada yada". Then the teenage son piped up, and was like "damn, you are almost in Moonstone now!". Then they all laughed. So I turned around, and went back the way we came. Funnily enough, approximately 20 other people must have gotten their directions from google maps, because at some point during our trip back down Line 8, a convoy of Jack Johnson fans was driving down the road. People were stopping their cars, yelling out the window "where's Jack???" It was quite ridiculous. Kinda fun though.

When we left the concert and were heading back to the parking lot, we all got the feeling that it was going to take us a little while to leave. TWO AND A HALF HOURS later, we got out of the parking lot. Seriously. They had us trapped in there like cattle. We played many a game, some of which included "would you rather" and the ever popular "movies...fruits...food that start with a certain letter". It was the longest wait in a parking lot ever! If you ever go to a concert at Burls Creek...don't drive!

All in all, it was a pretty great weekend. It also involved zip lining and tree trekking, but that is another post for another day.

Mamma Mia!

I LOVED this movie. It was so ridiculous, that it made me laugh. I think the whole thing was meant to be a big joke. It got horrible reviews, but honestly, I thought it was brilliant! All the actors were pretty good singers (Meryl Streep...who knew? Go girl!), with the except of James Bond. He was unfortunate. But everyone else? Loved. Christine Baranski...I've loved you since the days of Cybil. Julie Walters/Mrs. Weasley, I want you to be my grandma just like Betty White. ABBA, I"m going to officially adopt your music as the soundtrack to my life.

I got home from the movie, and I was like must...listen...TO ABBA. So it went on my IPOD, and then I danced to ABBA for a long time. Then I got up this morning, danced to ABBA some more, and was then running late for work. More ABBA or shower? That was the question. I chose more ABBA.

I really hope from the bottom of my heart that there is a place, somewhere in the world, where people just sing their lives away. Instead of talking. Please lord, let somebody find this place and tell me about it, so I can move there. No, it would never get tiring. It would be all singing and dancing and skipping, and general happiness. I also really hope this place is on a beautiful island in Greece. That is randomly filled with an overpopulation of cute 20something boys who enjoy dancing and singing while wearing snorkeling equipment.

I love musicals. Always have. It started with Annie when I was younger and it has just snowballed from there. I know the words to an alarming number of show tunes. One day, my goal is to try out for a musical, and be cast as one of the chorus people. Not a main role, but one of those people that doesn't really get noticed, yet still gets to wear a cute costume and sing all the best songs.

I had to refrain myself from dancing down the street to work this morning (while listening to ABBA). I should have just done it. Maybe on my way home.

Another One Bites the Dust

Hi Megan

I’ve reviewed Ottawa, and unfortunately, it was not what I was hoping for.
I’ve re-written it all and can email the doc if you would like.

We’ve found that several writers have tried this format – some with success and others not so much.

Unfortunately, given the time it took to re-write I’ll have to pass on any other assignments.

Sorry Megan, but we tried.

Brutal. I would rather this person have said, this travel guide is a piece of shit, rewrite it. Or perhaps...offer any suggests at all as to what I did wrong. Like...well, what were you hoping for then? I think we skipped about one step in the middle of me sending it, and you telling me you had to rewrite the whole thing. Whatevs. I'll admit it was not my best writing. But still. To a Tee I followed the freaking....arg. Brutal.

It's Raining Dogs and Feckin Cats

I've always had an issue with cats. As in, they scare the crap out of me. I find them to be fairly unpredictable, and that makes me uneasy. They are cute and all, and I think kittens are hilarious, and I love watching them play at the shelter, but I am not a cat person.

I think this all stemmed from the days at my grandmas cottage. Her neighbour had 18000 cats and they were always underfoot. I was little and moved around a lot. This equated to me stepping on lots of cat tails, and subsequently getting the crap scratched out of my leg. I understand...getting your tail steps on hurt, and the clawing is just a natural reaction, but holy crap, I was small, and those cats scared me.

Every cat since then I've been leery of. I don't stare at them too long, for fear they will pounce on me, and I don't pet them too long for fear they will all of a sudden turn on me and claw my face to death.

The only cats I've really found that I can be around without fearing disfigurement, are my friend's cats Marley and Patches. I won't go as far to say I like them, but they don't scare me the way most cats too. Perhaps it is because they are my godkittens, and I MUST love them. Either way, they are relatively docile, and don't do that creepy "I"m randomly gonna jump behind your head now" thing that most cats are prone to doing.

Anyway, my other friend was away this week, so I agreed to go and feed her mother's cat. This is a cute cat people, with big green eyes. I went on Monday with no issue, and on Wednesday with no issue. On those days, the cat could really care less that I was there, she was just happy for me to fill her food dish and get the hell out.

So yesterday, I go to feed the cat for the last time. I don't know what happened between Wednesday and Friday, but cat darn gone crazy. She would not get out from around my feet. So much so that I could barely walk anywhere. Nonetheless, I feed her, I flush the toilet so she has fresh water. Then I am standing in the living room, doing various tasks, all the while talking to the cat so she hears some human voice, when all of a sudden, the cat rushes over, bites my leg, and starts hissing up a storm. ?? I have no idea what provoked this sudden attack, so I start thinking to myself, "has she gone crazy? Is she just warming up? Is my face next?". I know nothing about cat behaviour. I can read dog behaviour fairly well, but cat's...I got nothing. Because that biting and hissing fit came outta nowhere! So anyway, after this happens, I was pondering my options. "Maybe I can go out the back door, sneak in the front door, grab my purse and get out...but no, because then the back door will be unlocked". What resulted was me going out the back door, running to the front door, peeking in the window, only to see this demon cat staring me down. To the back door I go! But once I get there, there is the cat, staring at me..again. I repeat this pattern several times, with the cat stalking me all the while. After about 5ish minutes, I realize how RIDICULOUS this is, and decide to just go IN the back door. This is just a cat after all. A fairly tiny one at that. It's not a mountain lion, or a puma, or anything that could kill me.

So I open the back door, and there is this cat, hissing and staring away. "I must remain calm", I think. "Be rational. Animals sense fear". So I grabbed the bag of cat treats, and proceed to pour wayyyy too many on the ground. "This will stall her" I think, and I make my way for the front door. I grabbed my purse, the key to the house, my sunglasses, throw on my shoes and got the hell outta there.

I think my car made screechy noises as I peeled out of the driveway.

Over-reaction: most definitely.
Puffy bite marks on my legs: two.
Number of people I've ever cat watch for again: 0.

I'm sticking with the dogs.

Oh My God....Puppies

I spent the majority of my evening playing with puppies. Yes, it's that time of week again! It's quickly becoming my oh so favourite day.

Today there were puppies. 10 week old poodle mixes of some sort. I wanted to die. And I wanted to bring one of them home, really quite badly. It would have been so easy to sneak one under my shirt. Alas, my time is not now. They looked something like this:



Squeeze! There were two white ones, one black one, and one brownish one. I went in their cage with them, and they all just jumped on me. Tiny puppy teeth, everywhere! One of the white ones was crazy though, he just kept running and leaping onto me. Pet me! Love me! Oy. And they were just so tiny.

People kept coming in to see them, and I could not wait for the time when the humane society would close, so I could have them to myself. They put a picture of all the puppies in the paper yesterday, and they are letting people fill out applications today and tomorrow and then the owners will be chosen by a random draw. I dunno. Something about that...I don't like. Well, several things really.

1) These puppies are from a puppy mill. I mean, who knows, they could turn out fine, but if they were from a really bad puppy mill....who the hell knows how the mother was treated, and if their father is actually their uncle. Yes, they are no longer at the puppy mill now, but their mother lived there for her whole life. And, I just...don't think people totally get puppy mills and all the problems that could stem from getting a puppy from one. I mean, yes, these puppies need loving homes, but people see them in the paper, and think "ohhh puppy!", and don't really get informed about their pedigree in any way. En. Maybe I'm just super cautious about puppy mill puppies because of personal experience...

2) I really don't like that they put them in the paper...I feel like...if people were really looking for a dog, and were truly ready to have one in their lives, they would be looking at the humane society anyway. Now, because of a picture in the paper, all these people see it, and think, I want one of those puppies! Two days ago, bringing a new dog into their home never crossed their mind, until they saw the picture. If they hadn't been in the paper, they still would have gotten adopted...but a lot less people would have been disappointed when they didn't get a puppy. I suppose it IS a good way to get people to come into the humane society, and by default, they see all the other dogs in there and maybe will decide to take one of them home. But...why not put a picture of my friend Samson in the paper? Or one of the other dogs that has already been at the shelter for several months? Let's face it...it's because puppies are cuter. People want to see pictures of puppies!

3) I find it weird that whenever their is some sort of sad story about a dog in the paper, people rush in to adopt them (see Lady and the Tramp, etc). People feel sorry for them, and want to make a better life for them. I'm totally not knocking that! That's great! BUT. All of the dogs have some sort of sad story. Take my friend Sammy for example...he is basically growing up at the shelter. For the past...I dunno how many months...a long time...he has been there, only getting let out three times a day, and for the rest of the time in a tiny kennel. He's still only a puppy...but all he's known for pretty much his whole life, is this extremely stressful environment, with 20 other dogs, barking barking barking, all the time. That's sad! It's not, two ignorant assholes starved him to death sad, but sad in it's own way.

Anyway. I just hope the people that are adopting those little lovelies know what they are getting into, are in it for the long haul, and are not getting them simply because they looked cute in the paper.

Over n'out.