A burn to remember

I need to learn the importance of sunblock. Wait, scratch that, I need to remember the lessons I've already learned about the importance of sunblock. I've been lucky when it comes to burns, mostly because I don't spend loads of times hanging out in the rays. It's not because I am scared of how harmful they are, it's just that I prefer to stay cool indoors. There have been a few exceptions the past couple of years.

Saturday found me at some friends' wedding, held outdoors at the provincial museum. The weather was warm and sunny. The girls all mocked the guys, since they were stuck in suits and tuxes, and we had the pleasure of wearing sweet summer dresses that allowed us a bit more comfort. An hour later, while grabbing a quick bite at a nearby restaurant, I caught a glance of myself in the restroom mirror. Oh dear. I was burned. Or rather parts of me were burned. My shoulders and my back were bright red, already, but it was a little lower down that I was more concerned with. My dress had a low v in the front and my poor chest was quite close to burgandy in colour. I should have known better. This wasn't the first time.

A couple of years ago, a couple of friends and I went to Greece and on our first island stop, we headed out for a day of sightseeing. I was wearing a halter style bikini top, with a fair amount of skin exposed, so I lathered up in sunscreen, but didn't reapply during the day. When we got back to our hotel, I took a shower and was shocked when I looked at myself in the mirror. I was burned, but what was worse, was that I had a slightly smeared hand print on the front of my chest. I looked liked I had been mauled by an over eager date. I must have had extra sunscreen on my hand and just rubbed it across the front of my body, leaving the rest unprotected. My roomies and I took pics and the rest of the tour group relished in passing my camera around and laughing for the rest of the trip. Good times.

When I called my friend on Sunday, to tell her of my wedding adventures (the same one that took the pic in Mykonos) she began to laugh. When I asked her what was so funny about burnt boobs, she said that the only reason why I came off so unscathed on the trip was that after I would fall asleep on the beach (which was inevitable due to being completely exhausted from walking, drinking a little bit too much and not sleeping) she would come over and cover me with sunscreen. I never woke up. Didn't even move, from what I was told. How scary is that? Complete strangers could have been robbing me or worse... they could have been selling tickets to touch the Canadian girl, and I would have never known it. I wouldn't have even gotten a cut.

So, now I am sporting yet another red chest, and it's noticable. Really noticable. Even our Purolator delivery guy pointed it out this morning at work. And what's worse is that the type of bra/dress I was wearing (bringing the girls closer together, so to speak) which created outstanding cleavage, also created an outstanding farmers tan/burn, so that I have a glaring white patch inbetween the bold red. Can you say "Sexy"?

A little tug to remind me

Tonight it rained. Poured. I missed the storm itself, but had the chance to enjoy the after effects while I walked to my car and then drove home from downtown. I realize I am not the only person around who feels positively washed anew after a storm. Far from it, I am sure. Tonight, though, as I watched the sky change colours as dusk overtook the day and the air was cooled by the rain so recently fallen, I was reminded of another place where I felt myself restored and cleansed of all the ills I tended to collect and hide just under the surface. Scotland proved to be a place of rebirth for me, in more ways than one.

In Oban I exposed my true self without first determining if it was safe to do so. My soul, never accustomed to this baring, took a chance and was rewarded with friendship and acceptance.


In Skye I let go of my demons and released those pains I had been clutching on to for so long, thinking that in keeping them close I was making myself a stronger person. I also made a wish for the future, one that showed I could still have hope.


In Inverness I laid aside most of my insecurities and dove in where before I would have been afraid to tread.


In Fort William I said goodnight and goodbye to me twenties and ushered in my thirties with a welcoming kiss.



In Pitlochry I gave a piece of my heart because it was asked of me and because I realized, after so long, it was truly mine to give. It was there, too, that I discovered my wish to the fairies in the enchanted glen came true, word for word. That in retrospect, the whole trip was part of that fulfillment.


In Edinburgh I left that same piece of my heart. It no longer belonged to me, anyways. There is still a slight tug when I think of it. But with that sensation comes a smile, always.

There's no phonecall like a drunk phonecall

Before I tell you about the phonecall, let me tell you this, about myself. I do not nap. It's not that I never have the desire. In fact, I have spent most of the last three years going to bed much too late, and on those rare occasions, not at all. I understand about wanting a nap. The problem is not that I cannot fall asleep, the problem is that every person I know seems to have the uncontrollable desire to call me about seven minutes after I've fallen asleep.

So, tonight, I was watching some lame movie on TV and being utterly exhausted from my current attempts at getting in-shape, I fell asleep. After just a few minutes my cell phone starts to ring. Caller ID says it's my best friend from BC. Sweet, right? I never mind getting woken up for her calls, since I miss her terribly and she usually causes me to squeal in laughter/delight. When I answer, though, it is not the friend in question. It is my friend's old roommate and she's drunk. She's with my friend's sister, who is also drunk. Eventually the best friend makes it to the phone, and you guessed it, she's drunk, too. The whole family, up for the sister's wedding, is at the house, drinking vodka out of the bottle with a straw.

I heard about how the old roommate tore her pretty pink dress because she was clomping around the house "I have MAN STRIDE!". I talked to the younger brother, whom I am slightly scared of, just because the kid seems much too cool to talk to. It turned out ok, though, because we had a delightful chat about unicorns and rainbows and how he would love to receive a live one (hint hint?)to pet and make it be his friend (yeah, I said I thought, past tense, thought, he was too cool). It was hard to keep things straight, since all of those present were vying for attention on and off the phone. But I wasn't annoyed in the least. You see, my friend and I both know that the drunken phone call is the highest form of flattery. Think about it, you're drunk, you can barely string a sentence together, walking without falling is a bit of a chore, but you pull yourself together just enough to scroll through your contacts list on your cell phone and choose one person with which to try to converse with, slurred speech and all.

Tonight, I had that, with more than one person, it turns out. It was worth being jolted out of sleep for, just to talk to them all. It will be worth more when I get to send her brother ranom unicorn posters and cards with rainbows on them.

All About The Lava

Today, over Dim Sum, conversation between I and the two friends I was with, turned down a familiar lane. Well, a familiar lane for our group, anyways. What had started off as a chat about vacation resorts soon touched on tourist caves. This led to springs heated by volcanoes. Eventually a question was posed about a person's morality concerning his own well being over that of his beloved. After some debate, my friend decided to poll a few close friends on the subject. This was the question he posed.


You and your significant other are wading in the middle of a shallow pool/lake on an island in the Pacific. All of a sudden you look over to the horizon and you see a stream of MOLTEN lava heading towards the pool at an incredible rate. The lava reaches the water and the temperature of the water begins to rise slightly. You and your significant other start swimming towards land but the lava is right behind you. Your significant other is not as good a swimmer as you and has fallen behind and the lava is catching up to him or her.

What do you do?

Here are some possible actions.




You get between the lava and the other person even though you know that you’ll be 100% dead meat and more then likely so will your significant other. At least you two will die together.

You go back and try to help the other person move faster even though that’s pretty much impossible. But you’ll stay by their side until they’re swallowed by the lava and then take your chances. Your chance of survival is 50% and your significant other is 25%.

You swim for land first and hope that you can help them once they get closer to land. Your chance of survival is 100% and your significant other is 25%.

So what do you do?

Yes, readers, what do you do?

Better than a box of crayons

I've been playing in my paints again, just for fun. The pleasure I get from doing it is comparable only perhaps to once again being a child and opening up a brand new box of crayons. The sixty-four pack. With a sharpener in the back. There were endless possibilities in that box. It's the same when I start to take a bit of colour and mix it with a touch of something else. Anything can happen on that canvas. It doesn't always match up to what is swimming around in my head, but I feel a type of surprising joy when I see what I actually can do.



It's fun, that's why I do it. It's only about creating soley for the sake of pleasure. It's about giving myself a chance to not only play in my imagination, but to also bring a little bit of it (me) back to this reality.



Here they are, those that I've finished, that I haven't forced upon friends in the name of friendship. The top one is my very first painting ever and holds special meaning only in that my wonderfully talented sister pushed me to try it and then raved about it enough that I tried again. The next two are of Oban Bay in Scotland, on two different evenings. The last is from the MacGregor lands, close to where the legendary Rob Roy is buried.