When you Furrow Your Brow You Get Wrinkles......

Once a cheater, always a cheater.....

2009-11-12T14:07:00.000-08:00

If there’s one thing I hate ( and belive me, there are actually many, many things I hate, it’s when someone creates a quip or a saying that isn’t really true but gains popularity because of it’s punch or cuteness. Like “let sleeping dogs lie” Why do you have to let a sleeping dog lie? What if it’s sleeping in the street? Supposedly you are not supposed to wake alseeping dog because it might bite you but dogs are cute when they are waking up not vicious unless it’s like some rabid animal to begin with and then why are you around it anyways?

Or what about the saying “There’s plenty of fish in the sea?” So does make me some kind of ocean predator? I should dump my so-so boyfriend because there are plenty of other fish in the sea? Well what if I don’t want a guppy or a minnow? What if I have like a west coast salmon and I want to know what other salmon are in the ocean? If the news and state of the environment are telling us anything it’s that there are not that many salmon in the sea. Stick with your slightly dwarfed salmon or risk having to settle for a tadpole as your date for the next 10 Saturday nights!

I could go on and on about this. Don’t even get me started on the phrase “at the drop of a hat?” You might as well say whenever mood strikes you. Nobody really wears hats and if they drop it they are certianly in no hurry to pick it up off the ground and put it back on their head. Floors are dirty! Hats are where our hair is… See, where I’m going with this?

But the whole reason I thought to write this rant, was because I herad the phrase “once a cheater, always a cheater”, on the radio. I thought arcaic thoughts like that went out with “the woman belongs in the kitchen.” Saying something like once a cheater always a cheater assumes that people never evolve and never learn anything from their previous relationships. That’s saying every partner is essentially the same person and you are basically re-acting every relationship with someone else over and over again.

The truth is some relationships are bad. Some relationships are good. Sometimes you or your partner do something stupid or mean or inconsiderate. And sometimes you don’t. You shouldn’t be branded with a Scarlet letter just because once you cheated on your ex when you were trying to dump him but didn’t have the guts. You shouldn’t be branded as a cheater because you met someone amazing when you happened to be dating someone not so amazing.

Cheating sucks definietly. It’s cowardly and shady and ultimately dangerous for both you and your partner. But there’s ususally a reason behind cheating and comes from two people, not just one cheater who will always be a cheater.

What about the type of person who always gets cheated on my her/his partner? How come there’s no catchy saying for the pushover that lets her man two-time her all the time and pretends to live in oblivion? Once a doormat, always a doormat? Does that work here?

I’m not a cheater and I never have been and I don’t think I ever will be. I’ve definitely been cheated on. It sucks and hurts not only your morale and your self-esteem but also your ability to trust. But it’s something you get through. It’s something that defines a part of you and you bring into your future relationships whether you are the cheater or the cheatee.

I guess I just find it kind of condescending that people throw out these little single ladies catch phrases like once a cheater always a cheater or there’s plenty of fish in the sea or like whatever is the chic lit catch phrase du jour. It totally minimizes the intelligence of single people and what we can learn from relationships. Relationships are complicated and messy and can’t be understood through bumper sticker slogan or colloquiums. Life is all about relationships and if you could compartmentalize them into these weird slogans then life would be very dull and generic.

I prefer to see relationships as indefinable. Some are easy, sure; some are hard. But like snowflakes each one is different with jagged and smooth surfaces. Each one can melt away in second or grow into something more substantial.

Must Have Monday: GAP 1969 Denim

2009-08-24T14:34:00.001-07:00

I’m not an especially big fan of the GAP. I like when their stuff goes on sale super cheap but I rarely covet anything from the GAP. The last time I was like OMG I love this stuff at the GAP was when they were shilling the chunky cable knit turtleneck sweaters of 2002.

But now I am totally under the GAP spell.

Patrick Robinson, the GAP’s creative director has outdone himself with the new line of premium denim 1969. This line brings the quality of $200 designer denim to the masses without sacrificing quality or design. When I went to try on the premium denim myself I was skeptical. I mean I am not interested in sorority or fraternity style denim. Boyfriend jeans? No thanks! Uh ripped jeans? No thanks!

But when I tried on a pair from the Long and Lean line I was smitten. I have never worn denim that was so soft! The last time I even tried on denim that came close to the smoothness and comfyness of the 1969 line was when I tried on a pair of Paper Denim &Cloth jeans. Those were soft but definitely did not have the same amount of stretch as the 1969 line.

And I love the cuts and colours. The one’s with the zippers down the sides are next on my hit list. But for now I’m rocking the light denim long and leans and feel like I am in my pjs. Then are dressy casual. Like today I am wearing them with my runners and a white button down Henley and a stripey cardigan but when I go home, I’ll put on my frye boots and my boyfriend blazer and be ready for a night of patio service and ginger mojitos.

I love my 1969 denim even though the ad is such a rip off of American Apparel.

Favourite Frenchie Friday... Marion Cotillard

2009-06-12T13:37:00.000-07:00

There are many reasons I love Marion Cotillard. She was a massive mess as Edith Plath in La Vie En Rose. She was such a crazy mess as Edith that she won a BAFTA, a Golden Globe and an Oscar, becoming the first person to win an Academy Award for a French Language film. She was such a crazy mess that I didn’t realize that she was pretty until awards season, when she stole the show in her Jean Paul Galliano fish tail dress. It was amazing.

Not only that but she is a spokesperson for Greenpeace and even lets them hold meetings in her Paris apartment. She and her director husband are dubbed the French Bradgelina. But somehow she still doesn’t seem annoying.

What really got her in my good books was when I heard that she appeared in two Hawksley Workman videos. Like WTF? Hawksley Workman, for those of you not in the now, is without a doubt, the most underrated songwriter in all of North America. He is Canadian and passionate and writes the most tragic and earnest love songs that make Rufus Wainwright sound like he is singing about chocolate cake and potato chips. Oh Wait that is what RW sings about! ZING!

If you are not familiar with Hawksley Workman, youtube or download Jealous of your Cigarette and you will see what I’m talking about.

Supposedly Marion and hawksley have worked on a bunch of songs for her upcoming album. AMAZING.

She’s also going to be in the movie musical NINE. AMAZING.

She’s also in Public Enemies with Johnny Depp. AMAZING.

She always seems so happy and giggly. AMAZING.

I <3 Marion Cotillard and she is my favourite Frenchie for this Friday!

week in the knees wednesday.... Brandon Reilly of Nightmare of You.

2009-06-10T11:51:00.001-07:00

So this week, I am staying with my rocker theme and picking the shaggy-haired, mumbling lead singer of Nightmare of You as my Week in the Knees Wednesday winner.

Brandon Reilly always looks like he will eitehr kick you in the shins or burst into tears. I like that. A lot. I’ve almost forgot aboutr him until I was going through my Itunes and found the precious gem, “I Wanna be Buried in Your Backyard.”

Oh 2002, how I missed you. Blogs were actually interesting. I actually felt like if I dropped myself off in the LES of NYC Ultragrrl and all her friends would invite me to live in their house with the big red door and pose like a heroine addict in front of the infamous wall at MisShapes.

“ For I haven’t slept a week since you’ve been gone/Now I want to be buried in your backyard/And when the flowers grow just know you’re still in my heart”… I used to listen to this song on repeat at work all the time. Imagining that there was someone out there who was sensitive enough to be so outwardly vulnerable, so grandiose and so earnest.

That is Brandon reilly. Tortured, skinny and rarely cracking a smile, he is a rockstar without the glamour, a hipster without the overwhelming irony and a regular guy without the regular.

He is a screw up and a romantic and his songs make me think I am in the 80s listening to the Smiths or the Commitments or some English band that has a really tortured lead singer with a non-chalant gay vibe.

I love you Brandon Reilly and I miss 2002!

Must Have Monday.... Green tea Ginger Ale...

2009-06-08T08:00:00.000-07:00

I love me some pop. I know, it can be bad for you, what with the caffeine and the asparmatame and the glucose bi-carbonate, but pa-sha! I love me some zero cola and I don’t care what anyone says zero carbs, zero sugars, zero calories equal plenty of goodness for me. But then one day I was at the good ole Petro Can and I was like why should I buy a zero when I have zero at home? So I bought something else. Something different. And something magical happened. I discovered… Canada Dry Green Tea Ginger Ale. It is so good.

Now some of you might say Green tea pop is everything that is wrong with our consumerist culture. To you I say… Have you tried it? I can’t belive no one made green tea pop sooner. It’s AMAZING ( imagine me talking in my white girl drag queen voice) AMAZING!

I never really liked Ginger Ale. I used to think it was like th pop that those girls drink that are like oh I never have any sugar! (FYI these girls are the same ones who get tipsy after sucking on wine gums!) Or Ginger Ale is what you are forced to drink when you are sick and you’ve been forced to gargle with salt water for 3 minutes straight! (eek! Elementary school flashback!)

Whatever my deep psychological reasons for shying away from Canada Dry, I’m right on board with Green tea Ginger Ale. It’s so yummy and I have a feeling there might have to be a dance battle in my mouth between zero and greentea to see which is my tastebuds’ favourite.

Oh yeah! The gaunlet has been drawn!

Canada Dry Green Tea Ginger Ale is my first Must Have Monday.

Favourite Frenchie Friday.....Vanessa Paradis.

2009-06-05T15:11:00.001-07:00

So why do I love Vanessa Paradis? Is it because she has a funny shaped head like and egg and a gap-toothed grin? Noo… but that is definitely part of her charm. She is the woman that has finally tamed Johnny Depp and together they seem to live this fabulous bourgeoisie hippie life on a farm in the South of France.

Actually my fascination with Vanessa Paradis began in the early 90s when she was dating Lenny Kravitz in his “Are you Gonna Go My Way” days and was the spokesmodel for Coco Perfume. She released a U.S. albulm to little fanfare except all the cool NYC girls in Jane magazine were in love with her; and so I was too. Download “Be My Baby” and you’ll see why. She’s child-like and bird like and a little weird. She has hardly aged since the 90s but she still manages to look her age.

She’s an accomplished actress in many French films including like the only one that I really know well, La Fille sur la pont ( the Girl on the Bridge). If you haven’t seen these movie. You must. It’s about a suicidal girl who becomes the target girl for a travelling knife throwing act. So. Good.

She always whispers in interviews and says her biggest vice is bubble gum. Hello? You are with Johnny Depp and you biggest vice is bubble gum?? Oh Mon dieu!

C’est la vie. I guess that’s what he’s into. Johnny Depp eats roaches ( it’s true… look it up) and Vanessa Paradis chews too much bubble gum. It’s a match made in weirdo heaven. And I love it. Vanessa Paradis is my first Favourite Frenchie Friday!

Thursday: You are a Robot if….

2009-06-04T11:35:00.000-07:00

Today’s you are robot if features one of my favourite new singers, Taylor Swift. Sure she’s young and supposedly country.

But her diary confessional lyrics and her bouncy curly hair make me like her.. a lot. I bought her CD! Not ashamed to admit it. I sometimes cry when this song comes on my Ipod. A bit ashamed to admit it.

But I mean come on she relased this video around Mother’s Day. She says her best friend is her mom! It’s actual home movies of her and her mom!

I don't know who I'm gonna talk to now at school
But I know I'm laughing on the car ride home with you
Don't know how long it's gonna take to feel okay
But I know I had the best day with you today.

This video is so cute and heart warming and if it doesn’t make you cry or a bit teary-eyed or want to call your mom, then face it… you are a robot!

Weak in the Knees Wednesday - Kings of Leon’s Caleb Followill.

2009-06-03T11:24:00.000-07:00

When the King’s of Leon’s lead singer, Caleb Followill sings the opening lines of Use Somebody: “ I’ve been roaming around, I was looking down at all I see/ Painted faces fill the places I can’t reach” I fall in love over and over again.

Even though that song is on every radio station every 20 minutes and without fail at 8:10 am every morning when I am first logging onto my computer at work. I still love it. His voice sounds so tired and aching and scratchy and sexy.

Caleb and his brother Nathan formed KOL in 2000 in Nashville TN. Their father was a Pentecostal evangelist minister and they named their band after him and their grandpa. I have never seen Caleb without his requisit scruff face and when he sings he moves his head around all cute like Stevie Wonder.

They play just regualr rock and don;’t try to get all fancy with hipsters or the sceney crowd in London, NYC or LA.

When they opened for U2, they said it was dream come true ( how many hipsters would admit to having a dream?)

Caleb has some model girlfriend but whatevs. He is supercute and once said his dad was his role model. AWWW!

Caleb Followill is the first Weak in the Knees Wednesday.

Put a Key on It

2009-05-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

If you like it, then you should have put a ring on it! That’s the stern command that has become an anthem for all the single ladies everywhere. But I beg to differ. If you like it then you should have given a key. That’s how I roll. I’m not ready for the ring on it but I’ve dabbled in the put a key on it arena. And there seem to be some misnomers out there. Allow me the honour of providing this PSA on Put A Key on It Etiquette.

A key doesn’t mean you can come over whenever you want after work or during the day when I’m not there. Key of convenience or key to the heart. Everyone has a cell phone. A quick heads up to let me know you’re coming over will allow me to wipe of my facial hair remover cream and close the door to the bathroom when I’m “making a deposit.” While I probably won’t put on a bra or shave my legs. I promise you I will he moustashe-free and there will be no potatoe-chip residue on my face ( well at least when you first get here).

There are two types of keys you can give or receive: a key of convenience or a key to the heart.

A key of convenience is a key given at any point during the relationship. It’s a “Here’s a key” kind of thing. No long prologue. No declaration of what the key receiver means to you, no vague far off plans of sharing bathroom shelf space or drawer real estate. It’s just a key so you can feed the cat; so you can come in late without making me get up and let you in; so you can sleep in while I trot off to work. It’s a key of convenience. A key of convenience is like a library book; it need not be returned right away but you should always ask for a renewal: not keep the key forever and secretly come over without warning or invitation. That is NOT good key of convenience etiquette. You also should not invite people over without asking. That is also not good key of convenience etiquette.

A key to the heart is different. Given after too many nights being shuffled out of the bed early to accommodate the early worker and too many missed late night rendezvous due to lack of key difficulties; the key to the heart is a step towards something more. It usually involves some kind of affectionate exchange. Some sort of inkling that the relationship seems to have a future beyond next weekend.

Sometimes a key of convenience can turn into a key to the heart. Sometimes a key to the heart can revert to a key of convenience. This is usually when the relationship is snowballing down from a potential future to a certain death.

But it is very bad key to the heart or key of convenience etiquette to keep a key longer than the relationship. Always return the key. I repeat Always return the key. Especially if it’s a girl’s key. It’s really creepy to hear someone fiddling with your locks when you’re huddled under the covers after watching back-to-back episodes of Law and Order SVU. Are you really conceited enough to think that you are the only person I would ever want to give key to? Or do you think I’m some hussy that just gives out keys to every man I meet?

It doesn’t need to be a big production. Just return the key. In the mailbox. Under the matt. A quick email setting up a drop off time. It’s not that difficult, but the more time that passes the more awkward it gets.

Just. Return. The. Key.

P.S. Joe Fresh, I love you!

2009-04-19T15:20:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I could really love SuperStore more if I tried. Their shopping carts have a little holder for your latte. Joe Fresh, the Brainchild of Joseph Mimran the uber designer who created Club Monaco (remember when it used to be cool and interesting all the time, not just at Christmas time and when you feel like buying sweaters), has taken Canada by storm and made heading out to Langford a monthly occurrence. And now there's Joe Fresh Beauty. Cheap, chic and cute. I bought a pink lip stain for only $6! And the best surprise was, when I got home and opened it up I realized that the lip stain is shaped like a little felt pen. You just colour in you lips and voila! Perfect pink pout. It smells clean and fresh (duh) and is super moisturizing!

Okay my public service announcement ends here.

Momma, can you Hear me?

2009-02-10T14:13:00.000-08:00

The relationship between mothers and daughters is tenuous at best. At the root of it is that both mothers and daughters assume different roles at different stages in life. At times my mother has been my enemy, my protector, my enabler, my friend, my prison guard, my co-worker, my gossip buddy, my evil twin, my partner, a stranger and everything in between. I'm sure she has seen me as everything under the sun from an innocent child to a brazen hussy to a complete failure at everything to a success at everything I touch.

My mother is the queen of hindsight and the queen of blissful ignorance and the queen of I-hat-you-today-and-love-you-tomorrow-let's-never-talk-about-that-again. It can be a bit hard to keep up, especially when you are out of practise.

A couple of weeks after I got home my mother and I got in a big row and I kicked her out of the house. We both stewed it over for a few hours and in the end she called and apologized. Case closed. Hurtful words successfully swept under the carpet and forgotten. Well, for her at least.

Her words have clouded every conversation I've had in the last two weeks. This time for some reason, her cruel words were not as easy to shake.

Then today we had a conversation. Innocent enough. Nothing new or interesting was said really. I said I was having a hard time finding a job and that I was sick again. She said I shouldn't have gone to Vancouver because I always come home sick and that I shouldn't have quit my job in December. (See what I mean about Queen of hindsight?) So I innocently said, stop criticizing me when I am depressed. And she was all apologetic and sweet. She said she didn't realize she had been criticizing me and then asked me if I needed some money.

All these years, I've tried all these underhanded, backwards ways of teeling her things or how I feel and now I realize that all she needed was a basic direct approach. Be nice to me, I already feel bad enough!

Boy that would have saved me gallons of tears if I had figured that out 15 years ago!

The Art of Couple Walking

2009-01-27T09:37:00.000-08:00

Okay maybe this is a mute point for you you old married types, but when you are dating someone or getting to know someone or whatever, finding the right couple walk is a a very slippery slope. There are many things to account for the size of both practitioners, where you are walking ( a couple walk in the park could be very different from a couple walk on a busy downtown street), the speed with which you both walk....

It's complicated Business and sometimes if you pull yourself out of an awkward couple walk it can send the wrong message to your new and timid couple walking partner. While you may just mean the break in union as a chance to see the new window display at She She Bags, he may take it as a silent reprimand against his claustrophobic clutch around your shoulders.

So please men, take this a guide to what your subconscious declaration of your property or your innocuous display of affection can mean to women and how it can affect the all important factors of trying to keeping our bags on our shoulders or our jackets from falling down or our necks from developing serious kinks in an attempt to let you seem taller and shrinking into your arms. Women, please take this as a sign. You are not alone. You aren't the only one who finds these situations awkward and unreadable. And if you have never gave this kind of thing a second thought: remember: I don't have a job right now!

There is no walk more annoying than the backpocket jeans double walk. Like why don't we just tie our ankles together and enter a potato sack race at the local Smith Family Reunion? Ugh! First of all, jeans fall down, easily. They fall down all the more easily when there is a hand in your pocket dragging them down. I'm all for a free feel in public, but please just give it a quick squeeze and then carry on to the destination. Once at home, we can squeeze whatever until your hearts content, but walking like this makes me feel like a conjoined twin and the two arms always get smashed together and then on top of that you have to keep your steps in time. It's weird. I think after like grade 7, this type of walking needs to be outlawed except maybe if you're in a field of daisies or like maybe if you have had a big fight and are walking on the beach after making up. Those are the only two circumstances, though!
I'm all for the arm over the shoulder walk. It's cute. It's comfortable. There are a few issues though. Like your bag. You can't really hold your bag on your shoulder in this couple walk. It'll fall down if it's any bigger than a notebook. So then you have to hold your bag down at your side, which I find so annoying. The bag loses its cuteness when its way down by your legs. Plus it's way easier for your bag to get snatched if it is down at your side instead of on your shoulder. Also this walk is so cute and comfy but it does take up a lot of sidewalk space. Like if you are downtown, be prepared for people to bump into you and give you angry looks because you are walking slow and taking up all the space.
This is a variation of the arm over shoulder walk a.k.a the hug walk. It's okay, I guess. I feel like it's such a drunk walk. Like the girl can't stand up so she's hanging off the guy to stumble into the car. It is definitely a very helpful walk when you are drunk, but when you're not.... not so much. My arms are short, sometimes I can't reach that far around the guy and then it's like where should my hand go.... Backpocket? NO! This photo also illustrates the dangers of couplewalking when both practitioners are about the same height. She won't be able to lean into him for long or she'll get a huge hump on her back or a kink in her neck.
I like the arm in arm walk. It's comfy. You don't have to be the same height or walk in time or anything. Although I guess it looks a little formal but whatevs. I feel like this is a drunk walk also. More like a happy drunk walk before you have to be helped to the car at the end of the night. Although the more I think of it, it's not exactly a walking downtown walk. It's more of a here I am making my entrance to the debutante ball walk. Maybe that's why I like it so much.
Oh hand-holding. You are so cute. You are so normal. Sure maybe a bit grade school but it's good nonetheless. It's cute for anyone from kids to grandparents. It lets people be different heights; walk at different speeds; not get in the way of people trying to get by downtown (unless you're one of those couples that makes people walk around you so you won't have to let go of your hands for even a few seconds and in that case.... you're lame).

Yes hand-holding, you are my favorite. An oldie but a goodie. But that's just me. And every couple walking partnership is different. So who knows what will happen next?

Sometimes I hear you, Sometimes I don't

2009-01-26T14:14:00.000-08:00

Okay, I feel like a self-absorbed tart saying this, but is there some kind of weird joke going on at our local Starbucks's? Is there some random drunk photo of me nabbed off facebook or flickr that has been posted in various coffeehouses with instructions for barristas to handle me with extra care and build me up with extraneous compliments?

I've been to Starbucks maybe like 6 times since I've been back ( I know, I know, a bit excessive considering I don't have a job, but whatevs... simple pleasures) and every time the barrista has given me some strange unwarranted compliment. One guy called me beautiful, one guy said he loved my hair, one guy said i had a great smile.

I was like OMFG is it that I am now this old maid that the young barristas feel they have to go out of their way to give me some random compliment for fear that I will go and fling myself off the nearest highrise with the remnants of a Grande non-fat sugar-free hazelnut extra hot latte clouding the crime scene and creating a PR nightmare for the Starbucks brass.

I finally swallowed my apprehension over sounding like a) a conceited twat who wants everyone to know she once got six compliments in two weeks b) a hopelessly insecure dweeb who cannot even take a compliment easily c) a drone who cannot let a haphazard nicety go by without making into a total incident and asked my coffee cohort what she thought of this undeserved and unexpected occurrence.

She said I was dumb. She said that lots of people get random compliments from people; it's not like a marriage proposal or someone asking for your phone number. She said don't be dumb. She said I always get lots of compliments from strangers both at Starbucks and other places. She said you're being so dumb. She said I smile a lot and play with my hair. These are obvious things to compliment or make small talk about. She said I'm such a dummy. She says maybe in my old age my hearing is actually getting better and I am actually paying some attention to what's happening around me.

She makes a lot of sense. But she calls me dumb a bit too much for my taste.

Vacation Coma...

2009-01-25T13:08:00.000-08:00

I don't think I really understand how people have vacations properly. Okay maybe I get it when you go off with your friends, family or loved ones and then you come back to reality and you share inside jokes about funny things that happened and random homeless people you met on random drunk nights.

But I don't get it when you go off on your own and meet such cool people everywhere and have so much fun and then come back and no one knows what you are talking about and you have no job so you just kind of sit at home and surf the Internet and hang with your cat and think about what happened just two short weeks ago.

It was fun. Yes. That has been established. But what now? Where now? I mean I'm back from vacation but I'm not really back. I'm not at work. Not going out. Barely talking on the phone. I don't feel like myself. I feel like someone watching my old self. It is really weird and I can't tell if it's the result of some big shift in my personality or just I am really bored and at wits end so I am making all this up in my head.

I mean I've been sick. And that has put a damper on things. And I turned the big 3-0. But I'm not sure that is what it is. As much as I try to surf for work and work on my writing I find myself browsing Expedia and TravelZoo.ca looking at cheap flights and daydreamingly planning trips.

Obviously, this is not a good time to go anywhere. My Dad is in India and I'm not sure if you've heard, but there's this thing called the economy and it's in the shiter and that means I should try and not live on credit and get a job.

But I can't stop my daydreaming!

How a 42-year writer is like a 108-year old vampire that is a bit manic depressive and might kill you if he has sex with You.....

2008-12-12T11:13:00.000-08:00

Okay, I know, I know I have become way too obsessed with popular vampire fiction. But you know what? I don’t care! I like it. It’s dangerous and sexy and hot and tragic. And it helps me get through my humdrum days of boring, un-dramatic relationship problems when I can imagine I’m actually caught up in some sexy vampire werewolf love triangle or am spending my last moments with my vampire soul mate before we are both killed by the Volturi; or am innocently trying to seduce my vampire boyfriend while he tries to be “good” and not drain my blood.

I think it’s like that whenever you read a lot of first-person narrative. You start noticing things the protagonist would notice. You start comparing things in your life to things in the protagonist’s life. Now I know 42 is nothing close to 108 but since I seem to talk and act like I am 15 years old, at times it can feel like a monumental difference. He says some funny expressions that sometimes makes me think that he has lived through the black plague, the civil war and the women’s suffrage movement. Like the other day I was just like petty mad about something and he tugs on my arm and was like “Why are you acting so cold?” I totally had to bite my tongue, but inside I was like “what is this 1881?” And that tiny quick-witted quip starts me on another daydream. It is 1881. I am a suffragette and an carrying a parasol and wearing petticoats marching through the streets of London when a dark-haired stranger with a huge widow’s peak and an heavy gait saves me from being pelted with pebbles from the angry throngs of pig-headed men. It’s all confusion and chaos as a riot breaks out and I am disoriented amongst the masses. But he leads me through the crowds and down a dark alley where he grabs me by the shoulders and.... you know.... like drains all my blood. And then I look up and he’s like “What’s wrong with you? Now You’re giving me the silent treatment too?” I can’t very well be like oh I was daydreaming you were a vampire in the 1800s again. I already have reached my threshold of teen girl teasing from this one. There is no room for any more.

The Daydreaming happens more often than I’d like. I’d say for the last two months, if I’m not with him, I’d reading about Vampires, talking about vampires, talking about him, thinking about vampires, thinking about him, googling vampires (like the stars of the movie, the behind the scenes stuff about the authors and movie and TV shows... nothing like how do I actually become a vampire, I’m not that far-gone!), or like with my parents or at Bikrams. The two were bound to collide in my small pea-sized brain someday.

Sometimes when he is lecturing me about safety or rudely making me nervous about my trip by creating crazy What-if scenarios and sending me horror-stories of women raped and beaten in Buenos Aires, I try to not stomp my foot like a 10 year old or do the whole Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah thing with my fingers stuck in my ears, but imagine that he is nervous about my safety because he is so old and he has seen so many terrible things and he sees himself as my world protector (although the whole he won’t carry my groceries anymore in an attempt to prepare me for lugging my backpack around Argentina for 15 days doesn’t really jibe with this particular daydream). Sometimes I imagine that he was a poet laureate in WW1. So as the battles at Flanders Fields were being fought and the battles on the Western Front were being waged, he strolls the sidelines watching young men getting shot at and blown to bits and he quietly writes down his reflections like a fly on the wall unable to help or engage with the soldiers in any way. He enters the barracks and sees the cruel hazing amongst comrades and feels the undercurrent of fear and loss through everyone. But he isn’t able to help them through their pain or even tell a few fresh jokes to clear their heads for a few minutes because he is not one of them. He sees all the pain in the world; he sees the worst of humanity but remains disengaged from it all.

The daydreaming is fun for the most part. I almost always “awake” back to reality with a smile on my face. But the Carl Jung part of me would say I am obviously subverting my personal fears for the relationship behind a superimposed heightened reality in order to save my psyche from acute self-awareness. (thank you damned 3rd-year Psychology elective). I don’t really want to deal with the problems we have. So I imagine we don’t have those problems. I imagine we have the problems that can be resolved in a 600 page novel (well a four-part series, is more accurate I guess).

I guess it all stems from wondering if he really likes me. Who is the chasee and who is the chaser? I thought I was the chasee at first and I would say like 60% of the time I still do. But in the most important times, I feel like the chaser. Like a very inadequate chaser that stumbles around in the dark and falls asleep with a kitty cat at her feet but wakes up with a birds nest on her head. So I dream. I dream about what it would be like if early to bed really meant early to bed because if we stay up I might have sex with you and kill you by accident. I dream that t is enormous self-restraint that keeps us apart not lack of attraction or the building piles of work waiting for him the next day. I dream that one day there will be broken bed frames and holes in the walls and bruises and fang marks all over my body. I dream about it all. And then I wake up.

TV Placement killed the Video Star

2008-12-08T13:47:00.001-08:00

There was a time when song and video went hand in hand. What is Teen Spirit by Nirvana without the iconic image of the anarchy cheerleaders and the chubby janitor headbanging away? What is The Scientist by Coldplay without the images of the backwards car crash? These were both iconic songs and iconic videos. But nowadays the only songs that really have videos that stick in your head are those few that get overplayed so much on radio you are ready to murder the tuner. I mean I love T.I.’s Live your Life song as much as anyone and even like Katie Perry’s Hot N Cold but I swear those are the only two music videos I ever see on TV anymore. Let’s face it. Music videos are not on music video channels much anymore. MTV will show a few seconds of new music videos if you’re lucky and Much Music will basically only show you Jonas Brothers or Simple Plan music videos or shows making fun of music videos (I love you Video on Trail but you are on like 20 times a day).
Today new music is brokered not through the dead radio format or the newly buried music videos; it’s found through television shows and commercials. At one time it was considered selling out but these days artist have few other choices with both radio and music television refusing to embrace new genres and take risks. For new artists it is a great opportunity to get their music out there and up their MySpace hits. For television shows it’s instant cool cache. The more indie the featured artist is, the more allure he/she hold for fans eager to find something new and already crowned cool by the tv execs who manufacture their favourite show.

When’s the last time you saw a Bright Eyes video? I would say maybe never? A quick Youtube search shows that he has plenty but I’ve rarely seen any. But I’ve downloaded over 20 of his songs and he routinely sells out 3,000 seat venues in minutes wherever he tours. I mean who can forget the first “Chrismakuah” episode of the O.C. with Blue Christmas by Bright Eyes? Or when “Lover I Don’t Have to Love” by Bright Eyes was featured in that hawt make-out scene between Marissa and Volchuk in Season 3? Or where would Snow Patrol be without “Chasing Cars” in Grey’s Anatomy at the end of Season 2 when Denny Ducette dies and Izzie is so upset in her pink prom gown?

I’m not sure what show started this trend, but I definitely know which shows do it best: Any Josh Schwartz-produced show, (The O.C., Gossip Girl, Chuck), Greys Anatomy, One Tree Hill, So You Think You Can Dance, Brothers and Sisters. Actually any melodrama works well.. Come to think of it, I think I even remember learning new music off the original 90210, like in the later years when they had the Peach Pit After Dark and like Toni Tony Tone played there, and Brian McKnight and Christina Augerila, and R.E.M..... Now none of these acts were really indie darlings or new discoveries by any means but they all hit a new cache of cool when they appeared on the hit show and I am definitely from the school of anything cool that happens on teen serials happened first on 90210.

All in all I think it’s for the best. Finding new music through television shows forces you to go out and find music as opposed to radio and music video channels that just spoon-feed you everything you are supposed to like. Undoubtedly by searching out an artist’s MySpace or downloading their featured single on itunes, you are exposed to more of their music and maybe even other artists similar to them if you are perceptive enough or so inclined to follow the consumer bread crumbs.

It’s a bit sad though. I mean there are a lot of artists still making very interesting videos like the Ting Tings, Radiohead, Rosin Murphy. But their videos get little play on music television. So your choice is either watch new videos on Youtube or just create your own music videos in your head. Just don’t be surprised if your mental music video contains steamy scenes from last week’s Gossip Girl.

Um... Like You Should Be a Writer or Something!

2008-11-27T14:41:00.000-08:00

Wow! What a novel idea! OMG NOBODY has ever suggested that to me! Actually all my life I’ve wanted to be a secretary. I used to write next to my goals in grade school right next to wanting to be a princess and wanting to be the head coach of the Canucks.
Hey buddy, here’s an interesting idea how about you take your preconceived notions about what makes someone a writer and shove it! It’s not the 1980s anymore. People aren’t defined by what they do from 9-5 pm. I’m a sister 24 hours a day and nobody ever calls me that ( well except of course for my sister).

A job is a job. And I shouldn’t be judged on whether I seem too smart for the job or what my motivations are for the job. I should be judged on whether I can do the job. And you know what? I can. It’s not brain surgery. Don’t try to cram everything you learned in your three-week Human Resources workshop into a series of juggling acts for a basic admin job. Get over yourself. It’s not that hard.

Humpfh!!!!

I Can Make Love to A Crocodile

2008-11-26T13:28:00.000-08:00

I’ve never liked ‘the oldies.’ They bug me and a lot of the time it all sounds like the same droning mid-tempo elevator music. Gives me a headache! But lately I’ve developed a new appreciation for the ‘oldies.’ At least some of them. I like the blues. I like the down in the gutter; going to shoot myself with a bb gun and make you watch blues. I like the I’m so poor, so desperate so drunk that I can’t even keep my words apart blues.

Have you ever heard of Koko Taylor? She sings this song called I’m a Woman and it so raw, so gutter, so real. I love it!
Here’s a sampling of the lyrics:

When I was a little girl Only twelve years old
Couldn't do nothing
to save my dog gone soul
My mama told me.
the day I was grown
She says "Sing the blues child, Sing it from now on".

I'm a woman,
oh yeah
I'm a woman, I'm a ball of fire
I'm a woman, I can make love to a crocodile
I'm a woman, I can sing the blues
I'm a woman, I can change old to new

I also decided I love It’s a Man’s World by James Brown. Now the James Brown I know was all hip shaking and hooting and hollering. But this song shows a desperate and vulnerable James Brown. It is so sexy. (It doesn’t hurt that I first heard this song when Nico and Arrasay danced contemporary to it on SYTYCDC).

My next favourite right now would have to be Van Morrison. Now I am not so dim to have never heard of Van Morrison. I promise. I knew who he was. I knew he influenced everyone from Elvis Costello to Jay Z. But I only was familiar with his big hits like Brown-eyed Girl and Moon Dance. The best song of his has to be “Do Go to Nightclubs Anymore.”

I'm not a legend in my own mind

Don't need booze to unwind

Don't have no reason to pretend

Ain't got no huckleberry friend

Alcohol was too big a price

That why I said hey no dice

When it comes to men or mice

Don't go to nightclubs no more.

I bought four new CDs online on Monday but I’ve barely listened to them (although I have listened to 808s and Heartbreaks a lot and it is so genius! Oh and the Virgins EP is so infectious I feel like shaking convulsively every time it comes up on my iPod.) I am obsessed with my oldies favourites right now.

Does this mean I am officially getting old???

30s the new 20, yo, I’m so hot STILL!!!

2008-11-25T13:36:00.000-08:00

I don’t know why I always hated my birthday when I was younger. Actually I do, but that’s a story that involves a trip to the Shrink’s couch and some 2-ply tissue. I want to talk about fun stuff today.

I think maybe when I was about 28 I started being like OMFG my birthday’s coming! Where are you taking me? What nice things are you going to say to me? What are you getting me? Not out loud of course, that would be rude and presumptuous. But I love the idea of people taking you places and being extra nice to you and you know loving you long time.

This year I will be all by myself on my real birthday. Away from my friends and family and my cat. But I don’t know. It doesn’t exactly sound scary to me. It sounds exciting; adventurous. Maybe I’ll be travelling across the world’s biggest waterfall on my birthday. Maybe I’ll be at a boca juniors football game on my birthday. Maybe I’ll be tangoing on the cobble streets of Buenos Aires on my Birthday. Maybe I’ll be getting spa treatments and getting shitfaced in the hotel bar on my birthday. I don’t know exactly what I’ll be doing but I’m sure it will be fun.

And then when I get back I hope to celebrate over and over again with everyone I know and love.

Traiga en el 30s sucio!!!

Top Five Reasons I’d Rather Sleep with me Cat than HIM!

2008-11-24T14:12:00.000-08:00

1. The cat may scratch my arms and legs in his sleep but at least he doesn’t burn my face with his three-day old beard or rip my hair out with his damn Mexican silver rings that he won’t even take off at bedtime.

2. The cats only wakes me up once at 7:30 am wanting to be fed, while he wakes me up intermittently to ask random questions about his latest article/story/upset feeling in his tummy.

3. When I wake up from a nightmare, the cat either runs away or stares up at me quizzically. I prefer that over the pseudo-Freudian mumbo-gumbo that makes the possibility of getting anymore sleep that night almost nil.

4. The cat likes to cuddles and then goes away to its own section of the bed, while he flops on top of it all and claims the bed like a conquering explorer ploughing over everything that was there before.

5. The cat may sniff at something funny but I have yet to hear him ask when was the last time I washed the sheets!

**DISCLAIMER** This is about no one in particular, more like an appropriation of many men exaggerated for effect! I love you long time!

Barack the Future

2008-11-04T10:47:00.000-08:00

Every time the American election rolls around we get sucked in. It’s easy to see why. The campaigns are louder, flashier, and sexier. But for the last eight years and the bells and whistles have been for naught. In 2000 it was all for naught over 543 votes. Not to get all slogan-y and cheesy but I think a change might be coming this time.

Barack Obama is one of the most eloquent speakers I have ever heard. I have a feeling that if he wins the election, he will go down as one of the most influential leaders of our time. Although I really loved Hilary Clinton and think that she would have made an excellent president she definitely did Not have the same star quality/ everyman mentality of Obama. Obama is like the guy next door but also very enigmatic. The only other president who comes to mind with the same quality is JFK.

What has really set Obama apart is his ability to stir the masses. His huge rallies have attracted 100s of 1000s of supporters and his ability to cater to both the rich company owners that donate to his campaign and the everyday people that would be the most impacted by his policies.

“You got these $10,000-a-plate dinners and Golden Circles Clubs. I think when the average voter looks at that, they rightly feel they're locked out of the process. They can't attend a $10,000 breakfast and they know that those who can are going to get the kind of access they can't imagine.”

He’s got the uber-rich so stirred by his policies and the prospect of change that they don’t realize or maybe don’t even care that they will be paying 20% more in taxes annually under Obama’s leadership. The fact that he is half-black, that he can actually speak (unlike the last Democratic candidate John Kerry), and that he is young and full of idea has really galvanized his position not only in America but across the world. But even he seems all the hoopla as extreme. He is just a man not some “MAVERICK” who is going to change America’s image around the world in 6 months ( sorry, Joe Bidden. I am actually NOT hoping for a crisis in the first 6 months of 2009, thank you!). He will have problems getting his bills passed just like every president.

“It's crucial that people don't see my election as somehow a symbol of progress in the broader sense, that we don't sort of point to (me) any more than you point to a Bill Cosby or a Michael Jordan and say, "Well, things are hunky-dory." There's certainly racism here. Professors may treat black students differently, sometimes by being, sort of, more dismissive, sometimes by being more, sort of, careful because they think, you know, they think that somehow we can't cope in the classroom.”

Barack is something everyone can swallow. He’s black, but not full-black. He’s against the war but supports the troops and the Iraqi people. He is rich and has rich friends and supports the free market but he wants to look after the impoverished.

“How does America find its way in this new, global economy? What will our place in history be? Like so much of the American story, once again, we face a choice. Once again, there are those who believe that there isn’t much we can do about this as a nation. That the best idea is to give everyone one big refund on their government—divvy it up by individual portions, in the form of tax breaks, hand it out, and encourage everyone to use their share to go buy their own health care, their own retirement plan, their own child care, their own education, and so on. In Washington, they call this the Ownership Society. But in our past there has been another term for it—Social Darwinism—every man or woman for him or herself. It’s a tempting idea, because it doesn’t require much thought or ingenuity. It allows us to say that those whose health care or tuition may rise faster than they can afford—tough luck. It allows us to say to the Maytag workers who have lost their job—life isn’t fair. It let’s us say to the child who was born into poverty—pull yourself up by your bootstraps. And it is especially tempting because each of us believes we will always be the winner in life’s lottery, that we’re the one who will be the next Donald Trump, or at least we won’t be the chump who Donald Trump says: “You’re fired!” But there is a problem. It won’t work. It ignores our history. It ignores the fact that it’s been government research and investment that made the railways possible and the internet possible. It’s been the creation of a massive middle class, through decent wages and benefits and public schools that allowed us all to prosper. Our economic dependence depended on individual initiative. It depended on a belief in the free market; but it has also depended on our sense of mutual regard for each other, the idea that everybody has a stake in the country, that we’re all in it together and everybody’s got a shot at opportunity. That’s what’s produced our unrivaled political stability.”

His opponents claim he is too idealistic and too inexperienced. That is definitely a valid point. But I believe his convictions and his ideas save him. He doesn’t have much experience in Washington and maybe that’s what America needs. Someone who has actually lived in America and understands its problems as a citizen and not a politician.

“Nobody really thinks that Bush or McCain have a real answer for the challenges we face. So what they are going to try to do is make you scared of me. You know he--oh, he's not patriotic enough. He's got a funny name. You know, he doesn't look like all of those other presidents on those dollar bills.”

I really hope America makes the right decision!

F*** the Media....

2008-10-18T11:33:00.000-07:00

Can you imagine a time when being a journalist was as reputed as being a doctor? Today's reporter is on par with divorce lawyers or used car salesmen in terms of respectability. Some people see the Internet age as the death of the media. We see it already in the slow and terminal decline of the newspaper. Why read something that is so big and clumsy everyday when the "news" in it is already at least 24 hours old? When was the last time you read a daily newspaper from cover to cover ( the Globe and Mail weekend edition does not count!)

The only thing in print media that is actually increasing in sales is tabloids and that triggers another rant on the hypocrisy of celebrity culture and its impact on the Western World as a whole.

But does the rise of the Internet really mean the end for trained journalists? We can see the scary world of convergence all around us when we turn on Global and see a Province news writer delivering his take on the latest Premier's address; or when we flick on the Fox and hear the weather girl from CTV giving the afternoon traffic reports. The loss of independent news Media also means the loss of jobs for those of us standing on the outside of the inner sanctum of the CanWest conglomerate. But that is a given. If I was the owner of Canwest I don't think I would pay one person to write the news in my newspaper and one person to say it on my TV station and one person to read it on my radio station. You don't need an MBA to see that convergence is just another way for the company bigwigs to squeeze those last drops of water out of a dry well.

Newspapers, radio and TV news are all battling for second fiddle status behind the fast and varied news sources available to us through the click of a mouse. News on the Internet engages the reader in a way news in the paper, on the radio or on television can't. In the Internet age, it is up to the reader to seek out what news they want to know about. The reader seeks out information they want either by subscribing to RSS feeds from sources they trust like the Guardian, the Tyee or StreetNews or by actively searching out what stories they are interested in learning more about. While a snippet heard on the radio or flipped to during a commercial break of the Hills may pique the readers interest it is on the Internet that most readers will head to seek the full story.

It's almost a given that the article in the newspaper or the 2 minute story on the 5 o'clock news doesn't give the full story. TV news is edited for time and maximum impact. Articles in the paper are edited for length and often coloured by the bias of the writer and the publisher. Most conventional forms of news are dumbed down to reach the masses. However, on the Internet you can find news stories that are dumbed down and in-depth and told from a variety of angles.

I believe that the times when the newspaper or the 6 o’clock newscast would shape our days and impact change across communities is gone if it ever existed. The media is not that altruistic. The readers and watchers are not that gullible. Well, I’m sure some are. But those are the same people that buy whatever record gets the most airplay on the radio from Payola. I know there are a lot of people like that but I would argue those are not the people changing the world or contemplating running for office.

Newspapers and newscasts need to embrace technology and encompass it into their approach to news. We can already see that with newspaper websites and in-depth videos available online. But in order for them to continue to hold onto whatever small percentage of the media share they hold they need to increase their web presence. They need to invite pundits and local activists to write online columns and commentary on the stories in the papers and on the news. This would help to stimulate dialogue and help reach that lofty goal of inspiring change within the community. Without embracing the Internet more, the media as we know it will continue to dwindle and suffer from a lack of understanding and a lack of active readership.

Ravi's Birthday!

2008-10-05T20:56:00.001-07:00

Ravi turned one year old today! And what a day it was. He went outside for the first time. He wore a leash for the first time. He wore a dress for the first time. He growled at someone for the first time. My little guy is growing up!!!

The Hottest Things in Pop Culture Right Now...

2008-09-08T18:38:00.001-07:00

(in no particular order)

1. Britney won 3 MTV awards! It's britney Bitch! She seemed so sweet and happy and appreciative. Woot Woot Brit Brit is back in full effect!

2. The new NKOTB album, "The Block" Don't even front. It is sooo good! Grown Man and 2 AM are the best songs!
I <3 U Donnie! See you in November! I'll be the one wearing the top hat wih the lid cut out of it to let my curls out a la Joey McIntyre in 1989.

3. Gossip Girl. OMFG this show is da bomb and I don't care how much I get teased for liking teen shows. I know there are lot sof almost 30-year olds (and older) who watch this show ( just none that I have actually met in real life). I see lots of older GG fans in the cyber world.

4. BARACK-MANIA: Am I the only one fascinated by all these BARACK t-shirts? Is this really the way to make it seem like he is right man to lead the United States? Sell t-shirts endorsing him to 15 year olds at Urban Outfitters for $30? Although I will admit I want the BARACK to the FUTURE one so bad!

5. NEW MUSIC:
omg! there is so much hot music on the radio right now. I haven't used my ipod in the car for like 2 weeks! new Kayne West, new Christina Augerila, rumbling of new Britney, new T.I., Neyo.... I think I might even buy lil Wayne! woot woot!

Don't You Forget About Me.

2008-09-08T18:13:00.000-07:00

As you walk on by

Will you call my name?

As you walk on by

Will you call my name?

When you walk away
Or will you walk away?

Will you walk on by?

Come on - call my name

Will you all my name?

So I know I seem to have a lot of crippling insecurities that keep me from having as much fun as I like and saying what I mean about 80 per cent of the time. I understand that. That's just the way it is. Love me or lump me as they used to say...

But I want to know, what are YOU doing? What are you thinking about? Who are you thinking about?

I'm not obsessed or anything. Just sometimes when ther's nothing on tv and I'm waiting for my brown rice to come to the boil I stare at the espresso machine and see the weird stain you left on the coffee pot that time when you left the element on all day. Or when Ravi draws blood or I do my weekly count of cat scratches I think about the time he scratched your scalp and made you bleed. I wonder if you still have a scar? I wonder if you tell people a kitten almost clawed your brain out while you slept.

If so, do you say it was some random girl's kitten? An ex-girlfriend's kitten? Do I rate a funny nickname like Neurotico or Hysterika? Do you use my actual name when you talk about me? Or am I just the "EX?" Or the uber-bitch?

I don't think about these things often, just once in a while. And it would be nice to know that you won't forget about me.

Where have all the curly-haired boys gone?

2008-07-30T13:03:00.001-07:00

Is there a magical land that they trot off to after they hit their 27th birthday? Are they like the elusive unicorn that is often talked about but never seen? Do they slowly blow out rather than fade away into the obscurity that follows with lacklustre locks and receding hairlines.

It’s depressing really. To think that all curly haired boys begin shaving their heads or the wiggly pigment in their hair begins to unwind and straighten up with the pressures of adulthood and responsibilities. I mean curly-haired women keep kicking it way into their 50s, becoming free-spirited hippies or Soho artists or crazy ladies with many cats and wild, wavy hair.

I mean there is no lack of cute curly-haired babies:

Definitely, no lack in curly haired boys: ( I 3> you, Nick Jonas, and Corbin Bleu and Rupert Grint!)

Absolutely no lack of hot curly-haired guys: (OMG Brody Jenner, Adrien Grenier, Zach Mann, John Mayer, Eric Dane)

But where do they go when they hit 40 and above? They all seem to fade away. There are almost no over-40 actors in Hollywood with curly hair and none that I would consider good-looking. So what happens to them?

Where have all the curly-haired boys gone? Have they shorn their hair so short that you can barely see a single curlicue and taken up with a publicity hungry ex Top Model with an addiction to reality television a la Peter Brady?

Or have they all suffered a far worse fate becoming models for Halloween masks for crazy mad scientists?

The truth is out there.. keep the curlicues alive!

I make Lists III

2008-07-23T14:27:00.001-07:00

My Favourite Flavours of Potato Chips Right Now:

1. Ruffles Sour Cream and Bacon
2. Lays Ketchup
3. Old Dutch Corn Chips Original Flavour
4. Lays Salt & Pepper
5. Smart Foods White Cheddar Popcorn

That is all.

I Make Lists II

2008-07-23T11:56:00.001-07:00

My Favourite Pieces of Clothing Right Now:

1. My beige striped sweater.
2. My Purple Prairie Dress from Value Village
3. My White and Red peep-toe pumps
4. My Maxi dress from Joe Fresh
5. My Julia.... sigh....

That is all.

I Make Lists

2008-07-23T10:28:00.001-07:00

Best songs out there right now:

1. “I’m not going to Teach your Boyfriend How to Dance with You,” The Black Kids. www.myspace.com/blackkidsrock
2. “Just Dance,” Lady Gaga. www.myspace.com/ladygaga
3. “Blind,” Hercules and Love Affair. www.myspace.com/herculesandloveaffair
4. “Cath,” Death Cab for Cutie. www.myspace.com/deathcabforcutie
5. “Shut up and Let Me Go,” The Ting Tings. www.myspace.com/thetingtings

That is all.

Melancholy and the infinite sadness....

2008-07-17T11:27:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I get tired of being sad. It is very exhausting you know. Constant crying gives you bags under your eyes and gives you combination skin. It is true. Please don’t argue with me. I am an expert. But I’m kind of over it. Not happy, mind you, far from it actually. But not like manically depressed and sobbing.

I am melancholy and the infinite sadness. I am melancholy but I will be infinitely sad. So what of it? What should I do? I can only do so much? My mobility is limited by circumstance. I can’t exactly go travelling. I can’t bring myself to go out and party every night. I can’t lull around hanging out with friends.

I need to do something. I have been trying my best to hold back on the self hair cutting because even I’m getting tired of that. I need something new to devote some of my melancholy towards. My kitten is a good source of mindless time passing, but he has his limits and is too blind to really peak my interest for that long. I think I am a bit too old to develop an eating disorder or start cutting. Drug habits and alcoholism: it’s like been there done that. Writing is a bit too self-involved. There aren’t very many interesting vices or habits left to pick up? Maybe I will try juggling or become a porn addict....

Tears dry on their own.....

2008-07-10T15:04:00.000-07:00

You can feel it coming but usually it is a slow build. I’ll hear the news, say all the robotic responses I am supposed to say and then say good-bye. Then without the tinging fear in your voice to concentrate on there is nothing left to save me from my fears. Alone with my thoughts, I can’t help but replay the scenarios over and over again. The regrets, the worries, the pain, the forgotten promises and dreams yet realized. There’s nothing that can soothe the wounded soul.

So I’ll excuse myself. I just need a few minutes to compose myself. To wail and to rail and to scream and to complain and to whine and then I will be fine. Minutes pass and I feel a reprieve. I wash the smudged mascara off my face. Take a few deep breathes. I look at my reflection and see nothing but swollen eyes and a fake plastic smile. But it will have to do for now. I need to get back before too many people ask what happened to her.

So I head back. Tail between my legs. Head down; no eye contact. Just try to make it back to the safe haven of the computer without causing a scene. But as soon as I sit down I see the phone where the news came from. The harbringer of disaster: you feel like throwing it across the room in frustration. I see the balled up tissue I used before I realized this would be a “time out cry” not a “quietly so no one notices cry.”

And it all comes flooding back. First sniffles and then waves and waves of tears. Still, I make no eye contact with anyone. It seems like the safest route. Then my heart starts racing. I want to just get up and leave. I want to just quit and live under my comfy down quilt for the rest of my life. I want to do something but I can’t seem to help her no matter how much I try.

But I just stay seated. Take a couple of deep breathes. Stick my head between my knees and just try to calm myself down from the brink of delerium. But it’s not working. My attempts to remain inconspicuous have turned ridiculously obvious and I can’t seem to calm down or even just breathe evenly.

So I work up enough stamina to coherently say that I won’t be able to work the rest of the day and hightale it out of there. Finally beneath the shield of my sunglasses out in the open I can cry and sniffle as I please. And by the time I reached my car, my tears had dried on their own.

You Give Me Fever

2008-07-07T19:49:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's the heat. Or maybe it's the constant barrage of weddings and babies and lovey dovey coupledom. But for some reason I keep noticing them. Everywhere. Cute ones, not so cute ones, ones that look like ones I've dated before, ones that look like ones I wanted to date before. In groups, in couples or all by their lonesome. They are everywhere. Ones that are looking at me; ones that are looking at someone else; ones that I wish were looking at me; ones that I wish were looking at someone else.

What do they like make up half the population or something?

Live Like You Were Dying

2008-07-04T10:47:00.000-07:00

Everyone contemplates what they would do if they have only one or five or ten years to live. I would travel. I would call my high school sweetheart and tell him I still love him. I would sky dive. I would walk in the surf. I would give longer and tighter hugs. But would you do if you knew your mom had only five or ten years to live?

Would you still take that trip you’d been planning in the back of your mind for about ten years? Would you still skip out on Sunday dinners to go smoke pot with your ex-boyfriend? Would you remember the past since the future is just too scary to contemplate? Would you think about all the things she will probably miss or would think about everything she has already been a part of?

Take whatever kind of pull towards home that these thoughts conjure up inside you and then multiply that by 1,000. Now you know what it’s like to be an Indian daughter.
You know that 1991 song “Everything I Do, I Do It For You,” by Bryan Adams? Sure I guess it is supposed to be all romantic but from the first time I heard that song, I thought of my parents. If you are brown you know this old sob story. They left their upper middle-class jobs in India to come to Canada and work hard labour for 40 years in order to provide better lives for their children. And then we turn around and end up all emotionally unstable and (gasp) still unmarried.

Sometimes when I hear my mom talk about her nieces and nephews, I wonder if she is jealous that they are all married and settled. I mean at least I got my degree, but I am not exactly working a great job that she can brag to her friends about. I’m not sure how I turned out all weird and artsy and without an iota of corporate ladder ambition, but I know that it is not very brown of me.

Sometimes I think I will try and be a better daughter by meeting and dating brown people (such a bad idea, but that is a story for another entry), getting a better job, cooking Indian food and spending more time with her. It is exhausting. Most of the time I just want to cry and mope and curse the world. But there’s little time for that in between the visits, and the walks and the phone calls. Maybe that is a good thing but maybe not. The other day I found myself wondering when my life would be mine again and my instant gut reaction was in five or ten years.

The More you Ignore Me, the Closer I Get

2008-07-03T13:11:00.000-07:00

When you sleep
I will creep
Into your thoughts
Like a bad debt
That you can’t pay
Take the easy way
And give in
Yeah, and let me in

Anyone who takes relationship advice from Morrissey has issues. I understand that. But there is no doubting that the Mozfather take on relationships is eerily akin to my own. However it would be sorely off base to say I enjoy the thrill of the chase. That would imply that the ebbs and flows of the relationship inspire a surge of confidence in myself and my pursuit of what I want. I liken the experience to that of a kitten nipping and meowing at its owner’s feet; following him around incessantly until he is so tired of tripping over you that he finally picks you up.

But then once he picks you up, you realize that in mere moments he is going to realize that you have kitty breath and can do little more than look at him quizzically. So you scamper off. But then you still want to be with him. So you stay close and jump up for quick cuddles every now and again.

And the longer he stays away the more I wonder what he’s doing. Even if just a day goes by without a phone call or a text or an email I find myself unconsciously heading to the Market on Yates, or the Black Stilt or even just a wanderlust walk that lands me smack dab right in his neighbourhood.

It a bit sad, I guess. I mean what would my women’s lib sisters say if they heard me comparing myself to a kitten and referring to him as my owner? Not good.

He’s not that great, I know. It’s a go nowhere situation. But there’s something about him that keeps clobbering me over the head and dragging me back by my hair.

So uncool it’s cool again.... The personal blog is resurrected

2008-07-03T13:10:00.000-07:00

I think it was Plato that said nothing is officially dead until someone says it is. By today’s standards of cyclic trends and mass consumerism, I think the more apt statement would be once the media says something is dead it’s time to bring it back to life. If personal blogs are really dead as most media savvy pundits are claiming (http://thetyee.ca/Mediacheck/2008/06/24/PleasureBlog/), then I believe it’s time to resurrect what has died.
There will be changes. No more drunk photos; there’s always flickr for that (http://www.flickr.com/photos/preetadelic/)! No more boring, “this is what I did on the weekend” diatribes. If you want to know what I did last weekend, call me. No more lambasts about Britney Spears’ latest trauma or Amy Winehouse’s weekly conjugal visit to go see Blake, my Blake incarcerated. This is a blog about me. ME! If it interests you, great! If it makes you laugh or think even better. But ultimately it is for me to sort through my issues and go on and on about ME. Self indulgent, self-obsessed, over contemplating ME.

ENJOY:)

When I close my eyes I see ELECTRIC......

2008-01-03T12:49:00.000-08:00

Okay, like I'm no scientist and not good at math and whenever someone says I am a genius or a brainiac it's usually because I added something wrong. But i think, sometimes at night, when I close my eyes, I can actually see my brain working. Like these electrodes passing through my eyelids to my brain. It's like all these different rainbow colours and they look like veins or something moving at light speed. It's crazy, right? Or is it? Everything has to go through your brain to happen. And things still happen even when you are asleep. Maybe I am seeing the signals that are sent to my brain telling me to go to sleep or to breathe or to make sure I locked the front door.
They go in all different directions but always up usually stopping at one or more dead-ends before heading off my eyelid path into my brain. Maybe it's like a lot of different signals that meet in my eyelids before travelling together to my brain.
And what makes these signals choose a certain colour? Like is Red an emergency? Or Code Blue? Or is it different for each person?

Skinny jean Dreams Do come True... in Record Format....

2007-12-18T12:08:00.000-08:00

Have you ever seen a pair of jeans that you just MUST have? They are so cute, so soft, so cheap, so perfect except for one thing: they don't quite fit, YET. As soon as I start getting back into my gym schedule again, they will fit, you rationalize. The next three months will be a no potato chips zone you promise. So you go ahead, all in all it is a good deal. These jeans won't be on sale when you actually fit them. So you're saving yourself money in the long run, right?

It all sounds perfectly rational EXCEPT when you get home and realize you have a whole closet of "One-Day" clothes. Every morning when you look over your wardrobe of clothes not yet ready for public consumption you sink lower and lower into a hole of depravity and the first thing you want to do is reach for a bag of Old Dutch Ketchup chips.

So instead of faltering into a sea of ketchup-stained excess you hide those "one-Day" clothes away so you are not confronted with everything you are Not every time you open the wardrobe in the morning. Every once in a while when you are looking for a screwdriver or you randomly get an urge to polish furniture they pop out of their hiding place. The red pumps that are one and a half sizes to small but still so cute!!! The hot pink jeans that will make you look like a high-class Fergie when you can finally manage to get the last button done up.

Usually this type of shopping is a bit like throwing money into a black hole, but on the rare occasions that it actually works out, you feel like the frog prince. You get a surprise bunch of new clothes that you didn't ask for or remember for free. What could be better.

I started taking the same One Day approach to records when I was about 14 years old and saw a DJ spinning for the first time. He was everything I was not at the time: cool, calm, hot, mysterious. But "One Day," I would be. And it all started with records. I remember going into Boom Town Records as a bored teenager and giggling with my pubescent friends over who was the hottest cashier. We pool our money and spend hours pouring over records and sometimes even bravely asking for some help. The tiny fact that I didn't have a record player, didn't mean much at the time. The covers were cool and "One Day" I would have one, and it would be awesome!

I was often scoffed for my predilection towards vinyl. I may not have had a player yet but I still knew a deal when I saw when and I knew a classic album when I saw it in a sale bin for $0.99.
Finally, this Christmas after 13 years of scouring record bins and scooping up free records off dirty sidewalks, my skinny jean dreams of a record player have come true. And it is glorious.

Yesterday I listened to the Dirty Dancing Soundtrack like three times. And then I played a little RedMan and then two Happy Days Albums. Sure I had to keep turning the record over a\every thirty minutes or so and some times the music sounds like it is two chipmunks singing on speed but it's definitely worth it.

My One Day dreams of a record player are now a reality. Now about those skinny jeans.......

Comes in Flashes.....

2007-11-19T13:53:00.000-08:00

So for the past few years, I have been researching crazy people. You know reading books on crazy people, looking up crazy people symptoms on the Internet, watching TV shows about crazy people; sometimes I even go to this one coffee shop on Pandora and Government and people-watch because it's where a lot of street people and other medicated types work and congregate.
There's one common thread: it comes in flashes. Sometimes you are crazy and sometimes you are not. Sometimes you feel happy sometimes you feel sad and sometimes you feel nothing. That is when you should start to worry.
Most people who know me would say, that I often feel both very sad and very happy. I mean I cry at soap operas and I cry at concerts and I cry at long distance commercials and you-tube videos. It's been that way for a while.
Those same people and most aquaintances would say that I often seem happy. I am quiet, sure not I also smile and laugh a lot. It's ying and yang, baby.
But lately I have been waking up feeling so empty. For a while I thought I was hungry but I soon began to realize even potatoe chips didn't satiate the feeling in the pit of my stomach. I would watch a couple of hours of TV and have no idea what I had just watched; or read a magazine cover to cover and not be able to recall what a single article was about.
I feel a bit antsy and out of sorts; like I am watching myself but not really in my body. Not exactly a call for alarm yet. But it is sure unnerving.

Do You think of Me?

2007-11-11T20:10:00.000-08:00

Do you think of me once in a while?
When you are sad or feeling blue?
Do I remind you of things that make you smile or even laugh out loud?
Like when you step outside to get the paper and you get a bit of dew between your toes
Or when you eat cookies in bed and read girly magazines?
When you think of me once in a while?
Is it good or is it bad?
Is for just a second or maybe a bit longer?
Do you want to talk or just leave well enough alone?
When you think of me once in a while do you think of what I did wrong or what I did right?
Do you think about how I might look now or how I looked then?
When you think of me once in a while, Do you wonder about my family, my friends, my health, or my happiness?
When you walk down the street do you sometimes think you see me and then try to catch my eye?
Do you think of me?
When you hear a new song or watch a new movie do you wonder what I would think?
Do you ever think of me?

Five-Day Old Pizza and Maxi Pads.....The Long Anticipated Conclusion....

2007-11-11T19:24:00.000-08:00

I'd seen Greg's filthy basement suite a few times before, so I'm not sure how my overly-dramatic pubescent head morphed the smell of dirty laundry and half-eaten food into the mirage of vanilla-scented candles and freshly laundered linens; but so goes the mind of a girl who for years well past her teen cursed herself for not sending a b-cup bra to Luke Perry for him to autograph instead of her real Warner's A-cup sports bra.

But even in hindsight, the suite was messier than I'd ever seen. I guess the honeymoon was officially over. There was no more hiding stuff in closets or behind the couch, this was Greg; this was Greg's filth: love it or lump it.

So I loved it. I loved it with all I had. I just closed my eyes and tried to remember the lines from every schmaltzy first-time teen love scene I could remember. Downing that half bottle of jack really helped me get into character. We weren't two rebel without a cause teens in a condemned basement tryin to fumble our way through baseball metaphors; we were Brenda and Dylan at the Bellagio on Prom Night; we were Diane Court and Lloyd Dobler in the back of the car after graduation. We were anyone we could think of to be except ourselves.

Because we were embarrassing. There was hapless clothes pulling; there was awkward shifting and accidental hair-pulling; there was outright shock and full-on staring; and most unexpectedly there was a surprise visit from my Aunt Flo that was not only unexpected but unknown until after the fact.

The look of horror on Greg's face is something that haunted me for years to come. Any delusions of his cool exterior and sexual experience fizzled into nothingness as I tried to explain that sometimes "Aunt Flo" came unexpectedly and I swore up and down and even looked up for him on the Internet that he was not going to 'catch anything' from me.

I guess the copious amounts of drugs and alcohol consumed that night did nothing to ease the tension of the awful conclusion to our soap opera rendevous. There was no closing our eyes and pretending anymore. I thought I was going to literally pass out from embarrassment. I seriously was periodically checking my pulse and putting my head out the window for some air. Greg was so red. Not just red in the face; his whole body was red with embarrassment.

Everything was way too real. There was blood: on the bed; on my clothes; on him. Then I started to notice other cracks in the facade. There was a moldy pan with what seemed to be old mac and cheese next to the night stand. there were about three empty pizza boxes at the foot of the bed. There were fruit flies buzzing around a heap of dirty laundry.

While Greg was in the shower "decontaminating himself," I was becoming more and more aware that I was not in the penthouse suite of the Bellagio or even the comfortable back seat of a car. I was in a pig sty and I was starting to feel itchy and nauseous. I suddenly started to notice three tiny pink marks on my thigh. I scratched them and they almost instantly turned into red protruding welts. I couldn't take it.

I called my dad and asked him to pick me up. When Greg got out of the shower he was a bit less disgusted with me but still none too pleased that I had somehow become "allergic" to his place.
"you've been here before, and never had anything like this happen!," he grumbled, still stumbling from the booze and the atrosity that we had both participated in." Well his place had never been this disgusting I thought. And I'd never spent more than twenty minutes at his place before. And I'd certainly never done anything like whatever we had just done at his place before.

He didn't put up much of a fight. We both wanted the night to be over. Neither of us could look the other in the eye. Greg locked up the basement and decided to spend the night on his parents' couch. He left in such a hurry but I was too relieved to see him go to care.

No hug, no kiss not even a wave goodbye; just a random nod in my direction. But I certainly wanted no bodily contact with him at that moment. I didn't think I wanted any bodily contact with anyone ever again.

Five-Day Old Pizza and Maxi Pads.....PART 2.....

2007-10-21T19:19:00.000-07:00

Some people describe first love as euphoric and all-encompassing: an exhilarating magic carpet ride that takes you to all the most beautiful places in the world. I would say, not so much. First love is full of missteps and awkward moments intermitten with gooey feelings of attachment and overall horniess. But I wouldn't say I'm a pessimist; more a realist. Let's face it 98 per cent of first loves last a good 6 months longer than they should due to a contagious attachment disease, I like to call Awkward-repetition-avoidance-itis.

I mean, who hasn't comtemplated overlooking the ocassional sexual daliance due to the fact that a) you don't want to go through the whole body positions/body image/bodily functions comfort dance with another new guy; or b) you don't think you will ever be able to afford an apartment as nice as the one you two share, on your own.

But sometimes awkwardness comes upon a hill called horrific embarrassment. For most people, their innate awkwardness would give way to control and thus, they would be able to avoid horrific embarrassment. But when first love awkwardness is coupled with habitual cocaine usage and unbearable PMS cramps, you get a case of horrific embarrassment, or as I like to call it, the tale of Five Day old Pizza and Maxi Pads.......

There was something about Greg that screamed bad boy with a heart of gold. He still had his learner's license when he first met, but he had blacked out some of the letters on his "student driver" sign so it said, instead,"Stunt Driver." Very cool, that was Greg. Very loud, very forward, very abrupt; but very, very cool. He didn't have many friends, which seemed appropriate. Not everyone was in on this secret: Greg was very, very cool.

Greg was the perfect antidote to everything that ailed me. I was mischevious and ready to rebel against anything and everything in my path. I had spent too many summers looking for the perfect Dylan MacKay to match wits with my improbable Brenda Walsh. My own personal Luke Spencer to sweep me off my feet and carry me away from my abismal existence as a wallflowerish Laura Webber. That was one problem straight off the bat. We both watched far too much TV to understand what a real relationship with drugs and curfews and naked bodies and unreturned phone calls would be like.

There was nothing Greg could do that wasn't absolutely perfect. Sometimes I would break a date with him and not return his phone calls just so I could make him mad and hear him scream to me how much he loved me. He loved me a lot. He would scream it from rooftops; outside my house when I was grounded; on the family answering machine so everyone in my family could hear it.

He loved me so much that when I finally got the courage to admit to him that I could not sleep over that night because I had a visit from"Aunt Flo," he was actually relieved. At least I was not falling out of love with him; or worse falling in love with someone else. Besides, it's all part of Mother Nature's plan, right?

So despite my better judgement, and with a lack of understanding what a night at Greg's place would really entail, I preceded to prepare for a sleepover. I left my house that night with stars in my eyes and dreams of a magical night filled with candles and soft music and rose petals. When I returned less than 24 hours later, there were no more delusions of grandeur in my head. Just the all-emcompassing fear that if Greg ever broke up with me I might have to relive that horrific embarrassment all over again with someone new.........

Five-Day Old Pizza and Maxi Pads.....PART 1.....

2007-10-16T18:29:00.000-07:00

You know how the plucky heroine always seems gets herself into some cringe-worthy jam and then she has to comeclean and get a bit embarrassed but it doesn't even matter because everyone always ends up liking her more for her honesty?

Why is it never like that in real life? How come dumb Baby can tell hot Patrick Swazye she "carried a watermelon" and STILL end up with the guy and everyone rooting for her? How come the Shopoholic can fully plan and pay for two lavish weddings in separate countries and then is just given a playful shove when she admits to her financier fiance that she just wasted like$50,000 and 100 of hours of time planning impractical weddings?

Real Diasters are never that cute and are never resolved tidily. Real disasters involve PAIN, HUMILIATION, and LIFE-THREATENING EMBARASSMENT.

Real disasters involve missteps and drunken decisions and flared tempers and, sometimes, sometimes, if you are really and truly unlucky in love and life, sometimes they involve five-day old pizza and maxi pads....

Hello, LOVER.......

2007-09-28T17:18:00.000-07:00

You are my new favorite. Forget all the others. They never meant anything to me compared to you. You are sleek and small and fast and everything anyone could want. So you're not hot pink. That's okay. Silver is just as nice and prolly a little more grown-up.

Which is prolly something I should try to be. Grown up. Not blowing my paycheque on my lunch hour and buying toys.

But WHATEVER!!! you are sooo hot!

Music is like sooooo....totally awesome!

2007-09-23T19:16:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I forget how much music means to mean. Like I am not a musician by any standards although I can throw down a little Stevie Nicks on Karaoke like nobody's business; and I can create a killer playlist or Mix CD and dance like a mofo; but I'm not like aspiring to be in the music business by any means. So why does it stir so many feelings inside of me? How can certain songs get me more amped or more depressed that real situations in life?

This morning I was super tired but just couldn't fall asleep, so I just sat in my big cozy bed and listened to music. Just sat and listened. for hours. It was great. And when I tried to explain to someone how relaxing and euphoric it was, he just didn't get it. On Friday we went to an intimate concert although he said he enjoyed it, i get the feeling.....eh....not so much.

For me music is an unparalleled connection. It's not my livelihood but I definitely could not live without it. At my last job, I used to listen to it so quietly that it was almost like listening to poetic whispering all day long. It helps me concentrate, helps me relax, makes me happy and makesme sad.

It all sounds so trite. I mean there are a million people out there who are all like "Music is my Life, man!" and I would probably laugh and roll my eyes at them with the rest of the too-cool musical elite, but it's true.

It's great to be able to create anything and all art is subjective but music is something bigger than a beauutiful painting or a well-written novel or a superbly-acted movie: music unites people more than any other medium. Look at concerts like Live Aid or Live Earth, charity painting, books or plays rarely succeed as well as charity concerts.

That's not to say there aren't millions of problems with music today, particularly mainstream pop drivel, radio airplay and the music industry as a whole: but at the heart of it, in it's purest, genenist state, music is about connection and relating to universal experiences, and sometimes that is the greatest thing to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

High School Musical: Too Old for This Edition

2007-09-16T14:02:00.000-07:00

So, okay, I'll admit it. Sometimes I slip back into the drunk drama and drunk dialing chapter of my life that really should have been put to bed when I was like 21.
It's a hrad habit to break. Especially when a relationship is new, and plans are being made and flirting is happening and drinks are flowing and text messaging and answering machines are sitting there waiting for you to record your embarassment at the beep.
It's not really a habit that has caused me too much grief. Yes it's embarassing. But so are a lot of things that happen. So be it.
Until now. I am hereby putting a moritorium on drunk dialing the "new guy" until like at least 3 months in, if we even last that long. Let's just say he was a little unimpressed and asked me like 4 times how old i really was. And hasn't returned my phone calls. And said that he doesn't like banana bread. And didn't come over last night.
Damn you raspberry-flavoured vodka and easy to use when I'm drunk, cell phone!
DAMN YOU!

We're All Misunderstood......

2007-09-10T18:22:00.000-07:00

Let me preface this entry with, I know. I know I think too much about random things that most people just gloss over. So be it.

Working at a university, you get a real sense of searching. Everyone is looking for that chance, that opportunity to define themselves or to meet that person that makes everything all of a sudden make sense.

Well, I posit that nothing ever makes sense completely. As much as we all look for something to join , someone to connect with we are all ultimately alon ein our feelings and no one will completely understand them ever; probably not even you.

Take for example when something happens to you and someone else. Something that connects you forever and binds you together over a shared, intimate experience. Even though you feel close and feel connected you are not really. YOur feeling are yours alone and no matter how eloquent or how chatty you may be you will never be able to fully comvey everything you mean to anyone.

Every truth you share is filtered by the listeners' experiences and the listeners' preconceived notions on what you should be sharing.

Have you ever been in that situation where you feel like you are saying you want somespace and the listener hears that you want to move in together?

Truth is a relative term and something that can never be fully shared.

OMG! H&M!

2007-08-27T10:54:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you get into this zone, right? Where you are like this carniverous beast that can not Satiate its hunger. Like you just want more and more and more. You devour everything in site. Everything you see looks good enough to eat: that coffee in your neighbour's hand; that shriveled apple that has been on the kitchen counter for weeks; that small child running aimlessly dressed up like a big poofy ball of cotton candy.
That's how I felt at H&M on Saturday: except I wasn't hungry for food, I was hungry for jeans, shoes, bags, sweaters, tees and tanks. All weekend I would see someone walking down the street and i would think I wonder where they bought that shirt? I wonder if they have shoes like that at H&M? I wonder if she would sell me her bag if I gave her $20 cash?
I still feel it. I want more. I want everything in two colours and all variations. I thought I would feel a bit glutonous after the mega spree but I don't.
Well, I did for a bit on Sunday but then I went to the Art Gallery and diluted myself into believing I am really not that superficial if I can spend 3 hours in an Art Gallery on a perfectly shop-worthy day.
I still want more. I want to go back again, and again and again.
Maybe it's a good thing there is no H&M here, yet. I need to bring myself back down from this high. I need to curb my appetite for clothes before I end up furtehr into the poorhouse.
And i will.

Starting tomorrow. Right now, eBay and shopkitson.com are calling me!

I don't sleep... I dream......

2007-08-24T10:52:00.000-07:00

can you believe I've only been there once? From the way I talk about it, and think about it and read about it , i feel like I should have been there like 100 times. But no. Only once. One magical time in Montreal where I was reborn and re-affirmed my love of consumerism and mass marketing. If i've said it once, I've said it 100 times.. H&M Rules!!!

And on Saturday, I will go there again. All the way in coquitlam certainly not as exotic as Montreal or NYC but at least the travel expense is cheaper. Now I am getting kind of worried that I've blown it up in my mind. Maybe H&M won't be as great as I've imagined in my head. Sure we had one perfect day together but can lightning really strike twice?

And will there really be any clothes left? IN Edmonton, they had to close early when the H&M opened because there was literally no more stock on the first day! Can you imagine?

I mean I haven't traveled anywhere this summer and i've had a lot of stress so I feel like going to H&M and when I went to the Virgina Music Festival in May will end up being my summer highlights! Oh, and my Friend's wedding too. But I really hope H&M lives up my lofty expectations.

Two friends have recently returned from H&M trips abroad and have returned with enviable loads of cute stuff spending like $500 or $1000, in one sitting. Will my H&M Coquitlam experience be able to compete?

Only time will tell......

When you Don't care it happens.....

2007-08-22T14:37:00.001-07:00

Isn't weird how life works? Whoeever created the adage "Practise makes Perfect" was sure off base. I find I do better when I don't care. When I am just going through the motions. Like an interview that was casually shrugged off as a 'practise' one or the boy on the side who is just 'warming your bed'; or the random hook-up during which you were preoccupied by what was going to happen on the next O.C. re-run that you barely realized that the Big O was on its way.

Here's to Apathy!!!

R.I.P. Kurt Cobain, your short life has kept me from becoming a major stress case.

Better the Second Time Around

2007-08-13T13:53:00.000-07:00

You know what's weird? One of my biggest pet peeves is people who repeat themselves. I hate it and usually zone out. But some repeats I like. I like eating things again and again (potatoe chips anyone?, bacon sandwiches for the entire grade 3 school year anyone? or what about mike's hard lemonade). I Like watching teen reality tv shows over and over again to pick up the subtle thems and moments of film noir and comedy dellarte that would otherwise be glossed over in the exuberance of the whole "DAMN... Oh no she didn't" mentality.

But what I like more than any of that, what I like more than staring at myself in the mirror and eating potatoe chips and watching teen tv shows combined, is finding out what people who I have lost touch with are doing. Is that like repating myself? I feel like it is. Because that person is out of my life, and I for sure don't want him back in my life, but i swear i spend about an hour a day wondering and internet searching and casual name-dropping to mutual aquaintenances to find the dirt.

I guess it's not so much repeating myself as being like a voyeur. A cyber voyeur, if you will. And it can become all-consuming.
You see recently I got a hold of some photos of an old flame completely by chance. And not I am constantly salivating and scouring the Net trying to find more dirt and emailing and messaging mutual aquaintenances. Now one reason, is of course, because on paper my life sounds so much better than his.

Not married, okay fine, i'll give you that one. But I do have my own place that is cool and not a dump. I do have cute hair (that needs a little work, but on the whole it's looking cute when I put the effort in). I have this whole I'm a writer working on my first teen novel thing going.... It's really working for me!!

So now in a effort to combat my PerezHilton addiction, I've taken to scouring the World Wide Web to find my long lost companions and decide for myself if they are better or worse than when we were together. Is that terrible? I kind of think it is!! But that's the beauty of being a cyber voyeur.... No one knows you are watching them.....

How long is too long?

2007-08-08T11:35:00.000-07:00

Time is tricky. Sometimes you call someone and you have nothing to say. But you call because you love them and it's time to call. Sometimes you call someone and you can't even get into it; you have too much to say: it's been too long. That person is no longer privy to all the fun little anecdotes you flavour all your relationships with. It takes too much effort. The petty small talk that must happen before you get to all the juicy bits. The what'd you do last nights and the what'd you have for lunches that you must endure before you can make the announcements and start all the fun girly laughing and dissecting that makes conversations so fun.

Sometimes I wish i could just leave messages and set the scene and let the information be heard and we could laugh and gossip in our time about what had transpired. Or that I didn't have to say hello and how are you before I get to hear the latest gossip or spread the news I'm bursting to deliver.

Politeness is so overrated. Already the telephone plays second fiddle to email when it comes to making plans. Now I've started to receive (and I'll admit I begrudgingly partake in this activity sometimes as well, It is so DAMN convenient!) in the thinking of you e-cards and sweet I miss you text messages. If you were really thinking of someone, wouldn't you set aside time to go see them or at least call them.

Imagine if someone came and knocked at your door just to say they were thinking of you and wanted to see what was up. That would be weird. It's nice, I guess, but for the most part annoying and weird and awkward. Then you would have to let them in, feed them, excetra excetra.

Sometimes, I wish, I could just let people read my brain. Not all the time, mind you, I think that would be really uncomfortable for my hairdresser and other randoms, friends and family members that I come in contact with on a daily basis. But just sometimes, when you wanted them to. So you wouldn't just be saying I'm thinking of you, you would actually be doing it and have proof!!!

That would be cool.

DEBT!

2007-08-07T19:25:00.000-07:00

okay, so may be this whole self-employed thing isn't really going as well as I expected at first. In my head, I imagined it all coffee shops and meetings and quality lap top time. In reality it is a lot of drinking dirty tap water and religiously reading perez hilton until 3 pm when I watch Amanada Bynes in What I Like About You.
Not really a bad life, really, except for one thing. I have no money! And I keep spending money I don't have. And I don't want to stop. And I won't! So what can I do? I guess I willhave to bite the bullet and get a real job. It was a great dream while it lasted!

TV ate my brain and I loved it.........

2007-07-23T13:56:00.000-07:00

You know how sometimes people try to act snobby like they are too important or have other cooler things to do than watch TV? I hate that. I could do things too, but I know they won't be as cheap or as interesting as watching TV. In fact, one of my favourite things to do these days is create watching TV drinking games.

Below are some current faves:

Drink everytime you see a commercial for MTV or MuchMusic on a different TV station.
Drink everytime Chad Michael Murray looks sad on the inside on One Tree Hill
Drink everytime any Ben Mulroney or Billy Bus or Ryan Seacrest -type pops up on the screen.
Drink everytime Lauren starts whining on The Hills.
Drink everytime someone cries on the Real World LoS Vegas Reunited
Drink Everytime I forget what's happening when we're watching some complicated CSI or Law & Order -type show.
Drink everytime we flip to MuchMusic and there isn't a music video playing.

Posh Spice rulz

2007-07-20T14:46:00.000-07:00

So I've always had a passing curiousity with the Beckhams. They sure sound interesting what with their hired present-openeer at Christmas-time and their $1 million birthday party for Brooklyn's first birthday and the sanskirt tattoo that was supposed to be devotion and love but means like Menu Number 6 for Korean Take-out or something.
They sure seem to do some interesting stuff. But now that they've moved to La-La Land, it's on.
They are so hot and so fab and so funny all rolled into one. You know when someone is so everything that is over-hyped and exaggerated about the world but they embrace is so fully and so unabashedly that you somehow end up secretly worshipping them?
That's the Beckhams.

You'll never see Posh complaining about a lack of privacy ( excpet when the flashbulbs give her son Romeo seizures, which is a whole other tragedy, we need to discuss at a later date). You'll rarely see her smile or eat. And she knows it. She goes for it. And she's secretly laughing right along with us.

Plus she gets to sleep with the hotest guy on the planet. I don't care if his voice sounds like he has been inhaling helium since childhood. He is so pretty.

So bring on Beckham-mania. We're ready for it.

If you missed Posh Spice Coming to America on NBC, you are sadly out of luck. Pure Genius! Here's a clip from Youtube:

To Write is to Live.....

2007-07-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

In ninth grade creative writing class, I developed a somewhat unhealthy obsession with melo-drama that I never really got over. I think the instigator might have been the summer of the soaps when I seriously watched All My Children, One Life to Live and General Hospital everyday for two months straight. I was convinced that something life-shattering was going to happen to me just like when Karen Wexler became addicted to pills and a stripper at Sonny's club; or when Marty was gang-banged by a group of drunken frat boys (except Kevin, who felt bad about it and I think later, ended up dating Marty for a while). And instead of being afraid or even worried about what impending travails were ahead of me. I daydreamed about it. I wrote long-winded over-wrought short stories about it.

Everyone has their share of bad teenage angst poetry but how many of us can lay claim to melo-dramatic 'Fear Street' rip-off short stories always staring themselves as the victim/protagonist who repeatedly dies at the end of the 500-word soapy narrative?

My writing teacher started to get a bit concerned. He was also the school guidance counsellor. So he asked me about them and with a little prodding I conceded that my hum-drum life was far too basic and pedestrian for anyone to take interest in. That's when the hippie teacher dropped some of his hard-earned knowledge.

"To write is to live," he said. "And when you have a writer's soul, and believe me, you do, you won't have to sit down and write, one day it will all come out of you uncontrollably."

That has stuck with me longer than anything else I have ever learned. Now I think my naive writing teacher might have underestimated my powers of procrastination and the depths of apathy that lie beneath my cheery exterior, but his message remains the mantra that i whisper to myself when I feel down about my lack of productivity. Through the clouds and beneath the muddy confines of my befuddled mind, there is a Governor General's award waiting to happen. I just have to look for it.... tomorrow.

Shopaholic-ism

2007-07-15T12:30:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I have a little problem, with restraint. I don't have it. Patience? Not much! I can't even walk through a lame decrepit mall without succumbing to whimsy and shelling out a couple Ben Franklins ( well, not ben franklins, obviously, but I can't think of who is on the $20 bill? Is it the Queen? Shelling out a couple Queen Elizabeths doesn't really roll off the tongue... But who's that guy on the $5 bill? Alfred Laurier? Shelling out a couple Lauriers could work. I'll work on it)

Anyways, back to my problem. So I had this $60 gift certificate for Sears. ( actually it was my dad's from his retirement party but my mom gave it to me). I thought perfect. I can satisfy my craving and not anilate my pocketbook. I mean it's Sear's, not like I'm going to find much I want from there, right? But of course, it happens to be sidewalk sale time at Sear's and I end up spending like $80 on bras and underwear ( which I really needed, anyways) when I wanted to spend like $30 and spend $30 on actually buying my dad something with his own gift certificate.

Then I went to this random bedding store and spent like another $30 on a crocheted blanket and a silk duvet cover. Then I went to the Body Shop and they had all these essential oils priced all funny where I only really wanted one but I had to buy 3 to get a deal. So I did. Then I wanted some mositurizer and you had to buy two to get a deal. So I did. Then I went to Zellers and bought a shelf. And a chocolate bar because I felt depressed because I had spent so much money.

Plus now I can't stop thinking about these cute brown and pink shell-toed Adidas sneaks I saw at Champs. And these edgy boots and pink peep toe kitten heels at Payless.

This disease will be the end of me!

Music makes the people come together!!

2007-07-13T14:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I bought four CDs!! I haven't done that in so long! I am glad I can download music but there is nothinglike buying a dope CD, and ripping it open and reading the little booklet and listening to the whole thing and learning the names of the songs you love.

The Beastie Boys: The Mix-up

I will buy Beastie Boys Cds until the day I die. Now maybe that makes me seem like a dude or like I am sort of pedophile trying to pick up 10-year old skateboarders in Esquimalt, but whatevs. I love the Beasties and they seem to get no love these days. This is an instrumental CD and I have never bought an instrumental CD before. But it is not mellow or Yanni-ish or anything. It is crazy and fast and fun. In fact, it makes me want to kick a few freestyles myself, grade 10 style coming at'cha. Look out for it, yo!
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Interpol- Our Love to Admire

Okay, so I may be a little late on the Interpol love-train. But whatevs. My defense is two-fold: I barely started downloading music like just a couple years ago; and I am easily distracted by flashy teenager singers (Damn you Jesse McCartney and Hilary Duff!) But I'm fully abroad now and I think this is the perfect time. This CD is moody and mad and sad and heavy and keyboard-tastic ( is that complete sacriledge to say heavy and keyboard-tastic in the same sentence?) Whatevs. I love this CD and am excited to see them live asap! Paul Banks is a GOD!

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Classified - Hitch Hiking Music

What! Classified is my favourite Canadian rapper. In fact, he is battling for top 3 living rappers in my book ( with Jay-Z and Eminem, fyi). He is like the Jack Johnson of hip hop. Laid back and sweet, but he's a a lot less sleep-inducing than your boyfriend Jack Johnson(sorry). His beats are as good as anything out of NYC and while he does have a tendency to rap about how broke he is as opposedto how he'll beat you at dungeons and dragons (move on swollen members, it's not ironic anymore!); he does it without sounding pissed at the world like most backpack rappers. His songs are so club-worthy, it's ridiculous, but he gets no love in the clubs out here. No Fair. Classified is wicked and I bet you he will blow up.... soon!

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You Say Party! We Say Die! -Lose All Time

Shout out ABBOTSFORD! YSP!WSD! are fun and danceable and moody and edgy all at the same time. They bring it all with electro-pop goodness and moody lyrics. You know those parties where you start out looking so hot and then everything turns out messy and you like lose a shoe and rip you nylons and your hair gets all frizzy but then when you see the photos, you realize that it looks super hot and edgy like smeared red lipstick and smudged mascara? That's the appeal of YSP!WSD!

Class dismissed:)