Random At Best

A Personal Reflection

2010-11-02T12:34:00.001-06:00

Life would be so much simpler if I were a zombie. My mind, perhaps for the first time since infancy, would be clear of the everyday clutter that inevitably collects there. Problems at work, annoyances with family and friends would most definitely fade to nothing, if only the z-virus would find its way to me. There would be nothing left of the person I am now. I can’t imagine a more peaceful and utopic existence than having this one track mind.

If I were a zombie, my greatest, in fact my only, ambition would be a nice, juicy brain. And when that goal was achieved? I wouldn’t compare the next brain to the last. There would be no critique given to which had a finer texture, or a richer, more savoury flavour. I would eat, sincerely smack my lips in satisfaction regardless of the relative quality... and because eating brains would be the one thing I existed for, everything would instantaneously reset itself when the hunger took over. Once again, my world would have a singular purpose and I would be driven to excellence because of it. Yes, I would be the best zombie, I could be!

But what, you ask, of politics and governing bodies? How would I be able to define myself without these affiliations and associations? Simple. I wouldn’t. I would wander freely, heedless of borders and the people chosen to protect them. Perhaps not completely unmindful, though. After all, border guards and military personnel all possess the one thing I will desire: cerebrum. Further, as I would not be endowed with any fear of their weaponry or ideals, they would serve as easy marks, gathered together against me, their grey matter ripe for the picking.

The question still remains of whether I would foster any conscience against tearing people limb from limb, all for the sole purpose of devouring the delectable morsels that lay hidden beneath skin and bone. Regret would mean that I have the capacity to feel, to experience the world on an emotional level. And while, at first consideration, it appears sentiments of any kind are beyond the understanding of the zombie population, I must disagree. The ability to supersede emotion and carry on with only necessity as a guide could be, in fact has been, argued to be the ultimate result of enlightenment. Have not religions, the world over, extolled the virtues of giving up oneself to a higher calling? Isn’t this surrendering of one’s ego, in essence, what would happen with zombification? There would be no feelings of loss over those things we can no longer have (and to have, I mean control). No agonizing over decisions. No thought process at all, in fact. Spirituality and religion would have no place, hold no value. My soul would no longer be in any danger, having transcended completely, to a different plane, altogether: one beyond that of piety and doctrine; my only veneration being the search and ultimate consumption of a warm, toothsome brain.

Westbound

2010-07-02T23:54:00.008-06:00

I packed a bag this morning and climbed into my little green Ford Focus. I was heading West. Towards BC and towards friend-Shannon and friend-Zachary. The visiting is really secondary. The actual pull for this trip was the 12 hours I would have alone in the car with only my thoughts and imagination to keep me company. Then multiply it by two since I planned on coming home less than two days after I arrive. If you include pee breaks, that works out to about 28 hours of solitude. Solitude and a whole lot of singing along with the stereo.

Now when I have even a few moments to myself, my imagination wants to take flight. Today, it had free reign.

Somewhere between Edson and Hinton, the landscape changed ever so slightly as I was looking at it... roads disappeared, people and cars vanished and in the stead, dinosaurs roamed. Not just lumbering beasts, like Brontosaurus or fierce theropods like Albertosaurus, but even Procomsognathus. I could feel the ground shake beneath me as the large sauropods made their way past me.

I was brought back to this world by a worrisome buzzing in my car (terrified it was a bee, I tried to remain calm and not drive my car off the road, taking out whomever was unlucky enough to be in the car behind me). I soon realized the noise was nothing more than the seat belt rubbing against the casing and I was reminded of a Gary Lawson Far Side cartoon about a giant bumble bee sitting calmly in the back of a woman's car.

Road Trip as seen through eyes of a perpetual list maker

2009-09-01T23:27:00.003-06:00

OK, so writing the trip in chapters is not going to work for me. Too many thoughts that don't matter run into each other and I simply cannot find joy in writing like that. Let's try something new. Something near and dear to my heart. Lists. Here are things we've done, seen, said and laughed at. I hoping that by expelling these bits, I may see the trip for what it surely must be... AMAZING.

1. Jasper (the park, not the city) is freaking huge... especially when it's pitch black out and you're tired and just want to get to Valemount and go to bed.

2. Following a truck through most of the windy turns in Jasper will do much to alleviate the feeling of impending doom that waits for you in the darkness.

3. Sometimes the Universe does all it can to correct the small mistakes that happen in life. When a travel booking site switched reservations for they wrong type of room, the wonderful woman at the hotel asked 20 or so rooms if they wanted to switch rooms and no one did. When we arrived, we let her know that the "mistake" was in fact what we wanted. We averted a small crisis and tension filled night. Yay Team Universe!

4. Driving along the highway... sorry, Freeway in American speak, in Washington, I noticed to the side of the road, in the distance, a NUCLEAR POWER PLANT. My mom and I spent a good half hour or so trekking back to find it so we could snap a picture of it... we even did a little off roading to find it.

5. I forgot to take out a toy out of the car I bought for my dog, Chyna (nicknamed Chin-nee) before we left. He is a stuffed guinea pig from Ikea and can now be found in random shots of the trip. He's been christened Guinea Chin-nee and has thus enjoyed the trip so far.

6. I had Guinea Chin-nee on my lap along the way, for no apparent reason other to keep it from falling out of the car while my mother was getting in and out. We had stopped for gas somewhere in Oregon and I was enjoy the Full Service station we had pulled in at. I gave the lad my credit card and was enjoying a moment of solitude. He came over to the window to check my ID (stupid boys name!) and walked away a moment later, with a look that was somewhere between fear and confusion. I didn't understand until I looked down. Not only was Guinea Chin-nee on my lap in plain sight, but I had be PETTING him! Rubbing his back and scratching behind his ears...

7. I spent the most delightful quarter of an hour on a deserted beach at 6 am in Lincoln City. Alone with nothing but my imagination and the ocean, looking through the haze at what was before and behind me, I caught the echo of something... the stirring of someone long passed. I saw this through the haze that had fallen and heard it through the pounding of the surf. A story lay within and I need only to coax it out.

It's late and after driving the insane I-80, I am off to bed... the list will continue a different day.

Road Trip... A story of the open road, told in chapters

2009-09-01T22:52:00.003-06:00

Prologue

I decided to take my parents on a trip for their 40th wedding anniversary. A road trip to San Francisco, via the Oregon coast was soon decided upon. I would foot the bill for it all... food, gas, accommodations and attractions. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself until a few days later my father bailed out. When I re-iterated that this was an anniversary present for he and mom, he still didn't want to go, citing his health and inability to keep up with us. I tried to convince him otherwise, but could not change his mind. Now the poor man is stuck in Edmonton babysitting my two cats along with my mom's two dogs.... all of whom could win the douche-bag of the year contest-pet division.

And so the trip has been planned (my darling mother was given the task of booking motels and hotels along the way which necessitated researching mileage between stops and figuring it out what attractions we wanted to see and how long it would take us to do everything we wanted). We were to leave as soon as I was off work on Thursday... throw her bags in the trunk and hit the open road. What actually happened is that my cat, who had been at my parent's house for 4 days heard me come home and thought she was going to be thrown in her carrier and hid. Hid so well we couldn't find her when I wanted to say goodbye. Hid so well, we spent 30 minutes looking for her and believing she got out. My mother was muttering hateful things about my cat and I, in turn, was muttering hateful words about her attitude. We finally found her under a bed we had each looked under twice before. Tensions were still running high when we piled in the car. We made it as far as Stony Plain when I realized I couldn't see out of my streaky, dirty windshield. We stopped and bought Windex, since I had forgotten to pack some. After much spraying and wiping and veiled comments by us both about how late it was, we were finally on our way.

Filters

2007-03-24T17:15:00.000-06:00

When Shannon and I started to hang out we learned that each of us were suffering from a condition we so fondly christened, "a lack of filter". This is to say that whatever was swirling around inside our little noggins, would tend to pop out if the opportunity presented itself. Never was it malicious, though, hurtful it still could be. We were more the type that would actually tell people if we were sad (after they had asked how our day was), or on the other side of the spectrum, would gush all the goodness we felt about a person when they happened to come round. Long ago my filter grew back. I found that my spouting off everything I was feeling made it hard to work, hard to play and hard to feel like an average person. I found that I needed a balance between letting my heart show and keeping everything walled up inside my inner fortress (which is how I was prior to this).

So, I do understand a thing about filters. I also understand about putting a foot in one's mouth. I've done that, too. But each time it's happened, I've known what I've done. I've apologized, and those "I'm sorry"s have been heart felt and sincere.

Now, what I am coming to understand is that not everyone cares if they hurt someone's feelings. They do not care that using the disclaimer, "I don't mean to offend you, but..." or "I'm saying this as a friend..." doesn't make it OK. Yes, we've all offended people, but when that happens, we do our best to make ammends. Or at least some of us do.

Is it time to subtract more from my life? I just finished, earlier this week, my post about weeding bad things (people) out. At that time, I was feeling good about those I allow in. Now, I am unsure. What's worse is that it's not just ONE person. I've had no less than FOUR people, this week, disappoint me in how they treat me. And when told that I did not appreciate how things were going down, I was either ignored or told I was over reacting and being bitchy. I am tempted to come out of my corner, fighting... stooping to the same level as they do. But then I know I am more talk than action in that respect, I couldn't live with myself knowing I'd hurt someone I cared about.

Mathematics

2007-03-20T20:23:00.000-06:00

Lately, I have been thinking about the math of my life. There are always new equations to contend with: the addition and, sometimes, subtraction of people and ideals. There is the algebra aspect, where I try to make each side of a new situation even. And, always, I try to keep my answers in the "real" realm, that is to say that I require a positive and not a negative outcome.

While it is true that I am a sole number, I would not go back to being the second half of the pair I once was. I realize that I am better off with my ever changing formulas. I can factor out that which I do not need to make my life work.

My additions far outweigh that which was taken away.

I could never believe my friendship with Shannon ever getting past the initial, polite stages had it not been for late night phone calls, distracting emails and random bursts of laughter over very weird and random things.

I can't imagine not only being so close to my cousin Steven, if it hadn't been for my being on my own.

Never would I have considered Brandy more than family, had it not been for being forced to put my trust in someone new. Any friendship we may have had would never have been so strong... never would we have had shared experiences and stories and early morning secrets while travelling.

I would have lost out on lessons of friendship and committment from Carol. I would have missed knowing there was someone so similar to myself, and yet so completely different. I would have never had the pleasure of introducing Gladys and Millie to the world, emailing walkie talkie sounds or bouncing rubber balls in a church parking lot in the dark of night.

Missing from life would have beem seeing Julie cry when she laughs, and feeling like I'd accomplished something great when it was I that reduced her to those tears. I would not have ever received text messages on my cell about toast, or Jesus or Tim Horton's chili. I would have missed out on boy talk, birthday surprises and much giggling.

Kept to the sidelines would have been Des, Pat, Wing and Johnny. I would never known the delight that is every other person I choose to have in my life. I would not believe myself to be a storyteller, or someone that could make people laugh. I would never have licked Chaucer's tomb or the tower of London. I would never have been kissed in Scotland (nor Greece, for that matter). There would have been no call to sew a superman cape or to admit to a crush on a friend. I would have missed having Stewart and Elizabeth. I would even have missed out on making mistakes and poor decisions.

These additions are what my life are. I would gladly give up, once again, what I had for them. I would live through the sadness and the pain to have what I have now. I am more complete, more balanced for having been part of a subtraction.

Tidbits

2007-02-19T23:07:00.000-07:00

The past few days, perhaps even nearing a week or two, there has been a substantial change in my funny bone. Something is different, and while I am not sure what this could be, it seems positive, and has lasted for more than an hour or two, so I am claiming it. It's mine. It's brought me to a place I was before. Nearly six months (or possibly much more than that, I fear) has passed since I've felt myself.

Now, for anyone who know me (or at least knows the good part of me), this will be demonstrated by the fact that I have reverted back to a state where I find much more of life fairly random and am given to fits of giggling because it really is ever so ridiculous.

Though I am sure not everyone will get these, and those that do, will probably not understand why I am printing them (perhaps being funny only to myself). The following statements and ideas (or something close to them, since I am not even pretending to use direct quotes) have caused me much joy:

When talking about sending Kenny a singing telegram for his birthday, "man in a chicken suit OK?" is the greatest question one can ask. Being told that said chicken would receive a thrashing for his troubles is an adequate, if not laughable, response.

Telling Shannon that Sundays should not include dinner parties will then degenerate to mumbling (via msn, no less) about how Sundays are for movies and just what the proper placement of butter in a bag of popcorn should be... which then leads to a rant about how other nations should have free refills so that one can send Julie for a refill before the movie starts, but to make sure she doesn't take any money with her, just to see if she can get free butter.

Having spent an entire day (noon to 8 PM) with Carol... with nearly six hours of that day being spent at The Tea Place (much to the dismay of the owners and employees, I am sure). While sitting at the table we have now claimed as our own, we experienced all the flavours of life: philosophical and theological discussions, pie, laughter, tears, discussions and confessions of bodily functions and even a practical demonstration of how dwelling on the topic of broken bones can make a person physically sick.

Waterpark hair.

"Bobbie, I think we are missing a lot of pieces to this puzzle!" (in reference to the 100 piece puzzle... children's puzzle... that we assembled at The Tea Place) We were not missing pieces, by the way, we are just too hasty when we can't make the pieces fit right away.

Big Hair Carol.

Hearing there is a "more efficient way" to fill the princess pez dispensers than how we had been doing it all our lives before.

Windsor salt, old beer commercials and being Canadian.

Ninja skills being discussed as a standard for accepting a man as a potential mate.

Being told by Wayne that it's just like before going to war.

Going to ask Julie a question about a bridesmaid dress and instead being reduced to laughter through tears (when I needed it most).

"If I don't laugh, I'll cry."

Cheese discussions at I.G.A. with Tanya, my only contribution being, "I like provalone." Having Tanya say it, at the same time, being an added bonus.

J.C. text messages from both Brandy and Julie (making my catholic heart guffaw and cringe, all at the same time!).

Travel talk with strangers.

"If you aren't going to show, just say so..." (being called on a most unpleasant character trait and having a good time because of it).

"I will order... one bowl of steamed white rice... oh, I didn't really want that, I was just being an ass."

"Happy Birthday. That is all."

As a side note, I find every person who made an appearance here, whether named or unnamed, remarkable.

For Sale

2007-01-29T20:13:00.000-07:00

For Sale:

One Castle.

Fortified stone walls reaching 40 feet, vertically, and surrounding the property, ensure privacy AND protection from pesky outsiders.

High slit windows, originally intended for defending against attackers, pilagers and other unwanted visitors, also add the illusion of eternal dusk. This preferred new style of lighting enhances all decor, no matter how dismal.

Security equals safety with a traditional European moat, fully loaded with snapping turtles, alligators and pirahnas. This waterway circles the entire grounds and boasts a newly stained drawbridge for access in and out of the property.

Drawbridge is in working order, though will require maitenance, as its spring mechanism tends to snap back, pulling the bridge up at any given time (whether actually in use or not). (Drawbridge workmen may be able to deodorize the moat water, as it has become stagnant and smells as soon as the light of day hits it).

Sentries are not required, though this castle does employ a full staff, presently. The guards can be kept on retainer, if desired.

Surrounding area is heavily forested and makes for a delightful backdrop, should one climb high enough to stare out the slit windows. It should be noted that would be visitors CAN hide in the woods, so extra caution should be taken in keeping any and all people out.

Cost of Castle and those amenities included: Am willing to negotiate.

My Mom thinks I'm cool...

2006-12-28T22:07:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my mom on the phone today, about a friend. We were talking about relationships and I mentioned that this friend has his fancy set on someone. My mom asked, "Is it Bobbie, he maybe likes?". No, I answered, it's not me. Then I realized this is not the first time my mother has assumed that very thing. Whenever I bring up a friend or aquaintence, she seems to think that this person is enamoured with myself. I will never understand why she thinks this, but my life has now boiled down to, "But my mom thinks I'm cool enough.".

Sucking the marrow out of life

2006-12-21T20:52:00.000-07:00

Christmas time means many things to many people. In my family it means huge upheaval and usually a big blowout between the parents. This time of good tidings and joy seems to be a catalyst for tears, yelling and the threat of divorce. And who is standing between them? Me. I am pulled into the drama, with phone calls at work, phone calls at home and the imminent display of emotions when I stop by to visit.

So, it has dawned on me, yet again, that my family sucks the life right out of me. With the exception of faking my own death and living a life of quiet solitude abroad, in Scotland, I have no idea what I can do. And I now realize the severity of the problem when the only plan that is appealing to me is to fake a shark attack and leave only my underwear (with my name clearly written with a black sharpie inside so as to easily identify the "remains") behind. I do wonder if any of them would believe a shark attack? Probably not, since landlocked Alberta probably comes in somewhere near the bottom of the list for fatalities at sea. What about a farming incident? No, they would expect to find body parts along with the underpants. Besides, everyone knows I lack the proper plow skills to work on a farm (although NOT having plow skills could CONTRIBUTE to my demise, now couldn't it?).

I must face facts. I am stuck between a rock and bunch of nutters, and no amount of strewn underwear is going to get me out.

Drivel

2006-12-18T22:49:00.000-07:00

Thoughts written as I was sitting in a Second Cup. I had been invited out for coffee by a friend, and was left to my own devices to find amusement when the girl he liked called him. Here is the fruit of my boredom...

I dream of seeing you when you are old. Your skin will be soft and wrinkled; your silver hair will be thinned to near baldness. I will be happy to know you had never even attempted to hide it with a bad comb-over. You reason that, in your life, you had laughed at too many uncles and your father’s friends to try it with a clear conscience. Your eyes will be magnified by the thick lenses you will have to wear; but I will tease you that it only means that I get to see even more of your beautiful eyes. You will hold my gaze and tell me they are only reflecting the beauty you see in me. I will give you a little laugh and lightly slap you across your shoulder, letting you know I can see through your flattery, but inside I will feel the same thrill as I did when I was a girl and looked as pretty as I felt.

I look forward to hear what you will tell our children as they move out of our nest and begin their lives apart from us. Your advice will fill their ears with wisdom from our life together; my head will fill with the memories that cast that counsel. The peace and calmness of our home will be restored once more, reminiscent of a time before teenagers, children or babies, when it was but the two of us. Now, as then, I can hear you call to me, “I love you…” from some other room in the house. I will follow the sound of your voice and when I find you, you will embrace me from behind. You will whisper to me that I am your happiness, your reason for being. My heart will be so light with the joy I feel to be near you. I will respond to your words with a kiss loaded with my own blissful thoughts of you.

I am eager to sit with you outside, watching the sun rise after talking all night. We will have been fighting about some trivial thing which felt so much bigger a few hours before. After our anger has been spent, we will begin the act of reconciling by holding each other’s hands, and eventually cuddling in the chilled dawn air. You will wrap me up in the sweater you had been wearing, and your scent embraces me just as your arms do. Your own smell is a gentle presence reminding me of everything you mean to me. You catch me breathing in the fragrance that is you and I will hear you laugh. You tell me that on those rare occasions when we find ourselves sleeping apart, in different beds in distant cities, you have breathed in my own scent from my pillow as you lay waiting to doze off. You will say that some little piece of me is needed to close your eyes and let go. Much like our youngest daughter, I think, whose purple teddy is required before laying down to sleep.

I desire to stand beside you, my hand holding yours, as we recite our vows of love and of a promised lifetime together. A few years later, I will be anxious to inform you that you will be a father. This is something I will say to you three times, each time with cheeks flushed, anticipating your reaction... you never disappoint me. In our years together we will relate to each other the daily trials and delights that make up life. Through my tears I will recount the story of our eldest child’s first steps, and her subsequent spill into the corner of the coffee table, as we sit in the emergency waiting room. In this same room, at some future time you will tell me how our son’s broken arm isn’t the end of the world; it is just the end of his baseball season. During these growing years we will make known to each other our hopes for our family, for each other, and we will also share our fears. Every day, I will tell you the most important thing I have in my heart… “I love you”. Again and again, you never disappoint me with your reaction.

I long to feel your lips on mine; every day your touch reminding me of our first kiss after you will have walked me to my door. One of your hands will guide me by the small of my back; the other entwines its fingers through mine. Since then, our hands have spent much of their time together like this, a better fit could not be found for either of us. From the beginning of our relationship to the end of our time together, your touch will be a constant source of both comfort and strength to me. You have never shied away from telling me that through each one of the thousands of kisses we’ve shared I have always made you feel like I did on our first date; that even now you get weak in the knees each time our lips meet.

I wait with bated breath for all these things; for my senses to be filled with you.

Two Days

2006-12-13T21:28:00.000-07:00

I've had two days off (well, with the exception of all the blasted phone calls from work) and trekked into Vancouver for both. I thought I should enjoy them, since it will be a good long time until I get another. I'm down two managers, two assistant managers and countless staff. In fact, I've lost even more staff this week... Wait, I am getting off topic, I was going to write about my days downtown.

I ventured into Vancouver yesterday, intent on seeing the Chinese garden that is nestled in the heart of downtown. It wasn't as great as I was hoping, but I did spend a leisurely hour in one of its rooms, reading and writing and listening to the noises within and beyond the walls of the scholars garden.

I decided to walk around Chinatown after that. I ate a rather large plate (well, half of it) of chow mein in a divey little restaurant and made my way back home.

Today, I went to the Vancouver Aquarium. I did manage to get a little lost downtown but still managed to magically find the right bus to take me to Stanley Park. I haven't been to Stanley Park since I was a very little girl, so little I don't remember being there... I have only old photographs to testify to it. There is something about being out among the trees, walking in the fresh air, that revives the soul. I found my way to the aquarium and spent a few hours befriending fish and turtles and otters. I even crossed paths with a random peacock when I making my way out of the park. I let myself be carried away by the wonder of seeing animals wandering about. I let myself smile at strangers, not because I have to, but because there was some joy in my being. I let myself be.

Dusk was starting to blanket the park and I decided to follow one of the paths (they had christmas lights throughout the park). Stanley Park in full daylight can be ominous, take most of the light out of it and it is enough to send chills up and down your spine. I walked as far in as I dared, remembering the tales of serial killers and abductions my parents told us about at an early age. I sat for a small while and listened to the wind in the trees. I felt the damp tree stump beneath my bottom and smelled pine and mint and a few other outdoorsy delights.

I found a small piece of myself these past two days.

Burnaby Bound...

2006-12-10T23:55:00.000-07:00

So I am laying in my hotel bed, safe in the heart of Burnaby BC. I came as I had heard there was a spotting of the elusive Brown Bear! Too excited to stay put in my own prairie home, I jetted off early this morning to the clean mountain air in hopes of FINALLY meeting this furry little fiend.

Just kidding... BB, I am sure, will remain a mystery to me for a while yet.

I am here for work. To be honest, I can't really tell you exactly WHAT part of work has me here, but here I am and here I will stay for the next five days. I am to be helping the manager here learn, well, how to manage. Specifically, how to manage staff. So now I have to tell her just what is working and what is not. The thing is, I know that what I tell her should help... but if the situation was reversed and someone came in telling me I wasn't doing the job how they would, I would have a snit fit in record time. Then again, this IS supposed to be my strong point, dealing with staff. All I have to say about that is, BOO!

So, with any luck, I will have a few days off to hang out here (woohoo?). Any suggestions as to how to spend my days off would be appreciated.

Wow, this post really is craptacular in its content. Sorry about that. Maybe if Brown Bear were here, it would be different...

Them polyester pants...

2006-11-13T20:59:00.000-07:00

There has been a running joke in our family for years now about a particular pair of red and white checked, double knit, polyester pants. While looking through our photo albums, in about every fourth photo you are bound to see one of the ten grandchildren wearing the pants. Boys, girls, doesn't matter, it's the same pair of pants, I know it! You can see how they must have been passed down from cousin to cousin as they make their way through birthdays, Easters and christmases.

I have brought the pants up to others around my age, throughout the years, and they swear that their entire family owned a similar pair of pants. No one remembers who they belonged to originally, and no one knows where they went. So, there is only one logical conclusion: it must be the same pair of pants. So far, no one has been able to prove otherwise: there have been no receipts presented from Woolworth's or Kresge's; no one still has a pair packed away in a trunk in the attic with their name printed on the inside of the waist.

Today, while sitting around my mom's table, flipping through christmas flyers, the pants decided to resurface in our conversation. My sister had been speaking of how polyester of any type chaffes when wet, like when you spend a recess outside in the rain and how your polyester pants would then rub and irritate you all during gym class. I took the scenario a wee bit further. I pointed out that polyester pants, especially the double knit kind that our family passed around, RETAINED heat when wet, and that what was worse than rain or snow was pee! "Yes, I cried, "remember when we were walking home from school one day when I was five and I couldn't hold it any longer, so I peed my pants?" The feeling of hot urine and man made fiber is one that has yet to leave me, even after 27 years. I am sure that having to walk home another two blocks in that matter, bawling and stinking as I was, had something to do with the lasting impression it made... but not much.

So to all who are 30+, remember your own childhood closets and the endless stories that can be pulled from the fashions your parents thought were cool. Remember how it wasn't considered embarrassing to have the same shirt your sister wore three years before, even though both of your grade five school pictures look exactly the same. Remember your own pair of double knit pants... they deserve it... they worked hard for your entire family.

At least I wrote something

2006-11-03T11:25:00.000-07:00

Oh, how I've been negligent in posting. As I've said before, it's a sure sign that the mind is cluttered and feelings of being overwhelmed must be floating about. I don't know what in my life has me so on the run from own creativity. Wait, I suppose I do. A general feeling of inadequacy is what I believe it is, though I am not sure if that's the right words to describe it, entirely.

Worry not, it's not as bad as it sounds. I've just been stressed at work (I know, hasn't everyone) and what is really bad is that is mostly my doing. I have gotten to a point where I let everything I do, and let everything that is being said to me, hit me in a personal way. I take too much responsibility for the consequences and not nearly enough in the execution of tasks before hand. It's a life theme, believe me. It just seems to be catching up with me. I know that my resolve should be to just do better. Complete what I have to. But it seems that I never do it. I would like to say it's because there is simply too much to do... but then why can everyone else do it?

I have come up with an answer for that question too. My need for balance. I've always been one to search and search for balance in my life and it has dawned on me this past year that I do so with such vigor that I wind up getting a bit out of control, then I over correct, throwing myself off balance even more. Ever twirl on a chair, as a child, and you spin so fast you think you are gonna fall, but it's just your perception? So, you shift your weight and wind up tumbling to the ground when, had you just stayed the course, you would still be seated. Then of course people come running to find out what the commotion is all about, possilby to yell at you for breaking something, or causing their nerves to fray by just being yourself. Well, that's me, in a big old nutshell, overturned chair, broken lamp and bruised bottom in all.

The good news is, I am not governed by my complete lack of balance and resultant sore backside. Let's face it, didn't you always wind up laughing hysterically when you shot off the spinning chair?

Since I've not posted for so long (again), here's just an update on things that have been happening:

Carol celebrated her 22 birthday last weekend. It was such a good time. I got to hang out with her sister (who can completely crack me up at any given moment, even when she doesn't mean to). Lyssa was also present and we did our best to work our way down the drink menu. I also got to spend some time with both Simon and Michele, which was also fantastic. It's been about a year since we've gotten together and it was simply delightful.

During the course of the night, we exchanged stories (how Simon and Carol actually met... both sides of it); my birth control story (which did cause a negative reaction for one person-but after having a heart to heart with both Simon and Michele, I felt better about things as a whole) and a few other tales and inside jokes.

A few weeks ago, Julie, Carol and I went on a ghost walk. It was great fun and I will post pictures as soon as I get them from Julie. It wasn't nearly as scary as the ones Brandy and I went on in Edinburgh, but still a good night.

I was hoping for a frightful Halloween night. Nothing really panned out, so I spent the night with a couple of pizzas and a friend. A marathon nap ensued. It just goes to show that I am a better sleeper if someone else is around... just ask Shannon. I have been unconcious more than I have been awake whenever I stay with her family (there's always some friend or pet to nap with there). All in all, it was a good night.

There have been realizations, though no great epiphanies. I've sent these off to friends, and received a few in reply. It's good to know that I'm not the only one that is still trying to figure out what the heck is going on in life.

Tonight will be a movie with friends and mmmm chinese food afterwards.

Hugs and Hershey kisses

Bad Children

2006-10-22T02:36:00.000-06:00

I was rereading some old Livejournal entries and I came upon this one that made me laugh. I was feeling most melodramatic, as you will soon see. I wanted to wallow in my little mood and have my woe exposed for the world to see. It didn't quite happen that way...

BAD CHILDREN
Have you ever seen a Bad Child? I am not talking about a loud child of five, who insists on running around touching things with his icky-sticky fingers. I am not referring to a twelve year old that can only whine and complain.

This is the person that hears she disappoints all around her. This is the one that has been told he has a little black heart and can do no right in his world. It is this Bad Child that all parents hope their young ones never grow up to be. Have you seen a child such as this?

SIMON:
Yes, I have.Oh, wait, you said seen, not been.

BOBS:
Ah Simon! Haven't you guessed just who the Bad Child is?

SIMON:
Me?

BOBS:
Simon, I could never see you as a Bad Child, you are too dear to have a black little heart. However, I will let you know that a Bad Child, indeed, can only be seen in a mirror.

SIMON:
Is this like Bloody Mary?

BOBS:
Yeah, but in this horror story, I am the bad guy.(I wonder what would happen if you said my name ten times, really fast, in the bathroom, with the lights out?)

SIMON:
My roommate knocked on the door and asked who I was talking to.I said "The mirror".He just walked away.

BOBS:
Simon, You have succeeded in making a Bad Child, with a black heart laugh at the world....this is why I love and cherish you.

SIMON:
Carol says I get ten points and a gold star sticker.

CAROL:
I did say that.

A few moments for Annie

2006-10-14T16:02:00.000-06:00

I wrote a list of all I had to accomplish today. I did it when I was very tired last night and managed to get pretty much all that had been on my mind, at least written down (if not actually accomplished yet). I went to bed and left the list for the morning.

I woke up and dragged my butt around the house, finally settling down to start my work for the day. The list proved helpful, as it had individual tasks for that needed attention for work, mundane household chores, even a trip to the library to pick up some books I'd put on hold. I also found this:

#21. Spend a few minutes with Auntie Annie

When I read it, I smiled. I remembered writing it and was glad that I had the forethought to do so, as I'd obviously forgotten about it, already. My Auntie Annie is actually my cousin, second or third, I believe. She's also my Godmother. And I last saw her 23 years ago today.

I visited her in the hospital after a doctor's appointment of my own. The next morning, the phone rang and the news was delivered that she had passed away, having been fighting cancer for years.

Every year, I make it a point to give up a little of my time on October 14th for her. Every year, I do the same for the day after.

Just to catch you up

2006-10-12T01:30:00.000-06:00

There is much I could write about, giving all the details, but it's late and many of the details will interest only myself. Instead, here's list (I love lists! They really are the funnest things to write.).

1. Heather is now a cyborg. I tried to tell her that her two little tubes made her bionic. I was corrected.

2. We've discussed it and I am trying to convince the aforementioned Heather to write a diet book. As she said, "Millions of women are looking for the cure, and I found a cure for fatness."

3. I finally met Shevaun, offspring of the ever gallant Shane. She's beautiful and I plan to make a pest of myself so that I can not only have more Shane/Lana time (whom I really do enjoy), but so that I may also get some cuddle time in with the wee bairn.

4. My cat is gross. Not only does it smell like pure evil (Satan, if you will) lives in her butt, but she decided to take it up a notch and do something unspeakable to the carpet. I still love her, but Ick! Enough said.

5. I was thrown a surprise birthday party last week. It was truly amazing! I didn't expect it (I realize that is the point of the "surprise" part of the party) and it made me feel, well, loved.

6. I found out I was no longer going to Vancouver. All I have to say to that is, woohoo!

7. I wrote a great little Millie tidbit to entertain my own Gladys. It makes me happy to read it. I am thinking of starting a blog for Millie.

8. I found out at the surprise party that two of my friends have known each other for 15 years! I also just found out tonight, that one of those same friends is the brother of a friend from highschool! Now that I think of it, I may remember mocking that kid brother's name. My world, it seems, is shrinking. Pretty cool.

9. It was my cousin's birthday today. I really do have to get better at remembering these things so that I won't get the call, "It's my birthday, want to hang out?" call. I should be calling him, not the other way around.

10. Shannon, in Japan, is doing well. Which warms my heart. Even though we haven't seen each other in nearly a year, I am happy to tell you that receiving an "epiphany" email still holds the same thrill it did when we started nearly three years ago. By the way, Bun-San, yeah, the person having the epiphany is usually the last to know it.

11. Today was coloured with friendship (both old and new) and drop-ins and small memories that still mean so much. There were hugs and laughter and plans for Karaoke.

I am sure there is more, but for now, I must bid you goodnight. I will leave you with this: I am grateful to all those I call friend. I know I am a person who is constantly searching for balance in her life and because of that, I tend to overcorrect and wind up throwing myself off kilter once more. And it is through all of you (blood related and otherwise) that I once again find my footing. I love you guys.

My manual

2006-10-01T01:15:00.000-06:00

I spoke to Shannon tonight, via MSN, tonight. She forwarded me a copy of a manual she wrote out for her friend, Megan's, boyfriend. It was operating procedures and a help guide to any problems encountered with the Megan unit. It was highly witty and made me laugh... and yes, I got right back on MSN and demanded she write one for me, and possibly format it in a scrapbook, so that I may see, as well as read, how I am properly dealt with. Since she then demanded to know where the manual I was supposed to write for her was, I quickly sidestepped the whole situation by mentioning copyright laws and other lame excuses. However, this deflection still leaves me without a manual! I think of how helpful it would be to have, at hand, a few helpful tips for those that either are being exposed to me for the first time, or for those of my friends that really don't have a clue on how to handle the wonder that is me. I need this manual.

It will include such basics as:

1. The Bobbie unit requires regular refuelling or will be subject to bouts of moodiness, bordering on bitchiness. Shortbread is a good thing to have on hand as it will also serve to turn her "smile" switch to the on position.

2. Take care to provide excercise and fresh air. This unit tends to get stuck in a work loop and has a hard time overcoming this without help.

3. Be aware that the Bobbie unit can crash, without much warning. This can be caused by stress, or happiness. It is not uncommon for her to have outbursts, both publicly and privately. She has been known to cry, laugh, babble or simply shut down. Each situation is different, so be aware that what worked last time, may not work the next time. She will usually tell you what she needs to get back on track, but if she is being a brat and either not articulating, or doens't know what is the best course of action is, a good solution would be cuddling and a nap. Also refer to #1.

The manual will also include trouble shooting for other, more rare, situations:

4. When asked for chocolate, Bobbie may yell at you and run off to hide in her bedroom. This will be caused by temporary malfunction in her logic processor. It is usually best to let it run it's course, as it is a short lived problem. At that time, when things seem to be operating normally again, you may want to making the same request. This may or may not be successful.

So that is just a glimpse into what it would be like. An asset to all who know me.

Free Day

2006-09-25T23:24:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was free day in Edmonton. This means some local attractions had free admission. So myself and a couple of friends took advantage. After a delightful feast at Dim Sum (I not only missed a turn while picking up my friend Carol, but got lost on the way to the restaurant), we headed off to Fort Edmonton Park.

Jillian, being born outside of Alberta, had never been so we escorted her into our city's past. Unlike when I was younger, they now have people that are in period dress that engage you in conversation about the house/tent/area they are in. It was pretty rad.

Here are my friends Des and Mikey. They are crouched by the railway tracks as I had instructed. I had just finished making a very bad joke about how their forefathers helped build the railway (Yes, I said it was a bad joke... but they laughed AND posed, and I didn't really mean it anyways, so no being offended!). Once inside one of the buildings, the pretend telephone operator rang the phone in the booth for us and Des answered. They had a short conversation about long distance calls in the year 1905 and Des let the operator know that he and a friend had just finished building the railroad, outside. I cracked up and wound up curled up and laughing on a bench.

Here are all of us sans Jillian, outside the fort part. We had been waiting for Jillian to take the picture and we had all been standing awkwardly beside each other, like a bunch of strangers at a family reunion. I had just made a face to crack Jillian up and everyone wound up seeing it, which made us all laugh. The properly posed pic, taken after this one, isn't nearly as good. As a side note, Carol has described herself as, "kinda simple, actually. Like this is the kind of picture where you'd have to talk slow to me." She describes me as doing the "Bobbie gives up laugh", which makes me smile to hear. I like that I have a pose for when laughter overcomes me, and that it happens so often, that pose has a title.

Jillian and I found an outhouse... it was roped off, otherwise we would be squatting inside, instead of on the perimeter.

So that was Free Day... it was also my first day off in months. I really cannot think of a better way to spend the free time I was granted. I was in the company of people I thoroughly enjoy, that I've missed lately, as I've been busy with work and the clutter of my brain.

To Heather

2006-09-23T22:56:00.000-06:00

To Heather:

You may never read this, for I may never let you know it's been written. It will be enough that my thoughts will be out there, in the universe at large. Here I will get to say that I am sorry, and that the universe is wrong and unfair, and that I hate it for what is happening to you, for what is happeing to your body. I will get to say that you are seventeen! And that you should only be concerned with social studies homework, meeting me for soup, dumb boys and which of those dumb boy will be lucky enough to escort you to grad. I will use this medium to say that my heart broke when I heard you cry on the phone, because I knew why you were calling; that when you sobbed that you were a fighter, my heart, two pieces that used to be whole, shattered altogehter, so that it would never be the same again. I will allow myself to say that I wanted to cry, but wouldn't allow it, for even before you told me about your aversion to the head-tilt/shoulder-rub combo, I knew that I could only look upon you with the same smile on my face and joy in my heart, that I've always had for you.

You will not have to worry about one more person crying for you, over you or because of you. I will not be one more, in an unending line, of consoling pharses and apologies. You will not hear me whisper to others about you and your health, two ideas seemingly intertwined into one entity forever more. You will not see a fake smile plastered upon my face, or me veil my eyes when you are around.

I will be here for you always. I will make stupid jokes, I will tell rambling stories, I will entice you with soup and salty plum soda. I will answer my phone at all hours, to listen, to talk, to be silent... just to be. You will make stupid jokes, tell rambling stories, entice me with pie and tea. You will call at all hours, to talk, to listen, to be silent... just to be. Or you will not.

You will beat this and be healthy. Or you will not.

And I will love you, never will I not.

2006-09-13T22:33:00.000-06:00

I came home tonight from a long day. A hard day, as well. I find it harder and harder to enjoy my job, and feel secure in what I am doing. Part of it is the person above me. Little faith is shown in my ability (the credit, it seems, should be his... either he taught me right or he was the brains or action behind a good thing), little thanks (wait, strike that and replace with "no thanks") is shown for my effort or the long hours I put in (both at work and at home). He is severly absorbed with himself and his world. Hey, isn't everyone? But he has no compassion, no empathy, no thought for anyone he doesn't like (which, it is sad to report, I believe I am in that catagory).

Anyways, my soul was tired when I came home this evening, and even forcing my cat to cuddle did nothing to soothe it. I was feeling very alone and lonely. Very much like if I went on a trip (which I am to open a store in BC), there would be no one who would truly miss my company; I see people at such an irregular basis that I would hardly be missed. Yes, I was wallowing, but I've not indulged in that for so very long, that I wrapped those hurt bunny feelings around me like a blanket and let myself feel like the smallest, most unloved wretched creature in existance. Then, two things happened: An old friend (the same galant man from my chivalry post) messaged me and I found he was having a rough time at work. Sometimes it is good to know that even while wallowing, we can find company. More importantly, I was told that I am thought of everyday, and that I will, indeed, be missed for the months I will be away; that I am someone who is called upon, always in his thoughts, if not always, in person, to be a comfort when things get too big for him. My heart lightened. Yet again, I found a dragon slain and laid at my feet; his gift to me, with nothing but my smile as his reward.

Another friend furthered in lightening my spirits. When asked what he was doing, while we were chatting, he said he was trying to find a teachers list for Hogwart's. To determine the staff size. To determine the number of students who attend there (He figures that with the number of classes, it should be around 1000). This was completely random and warmed my heart, as it is these little things that I truly love about my friends. Little tidbits that lurk about in their heads and manifest themselves, somehow, in reality. I love each of them for their unique ways in which they think, and, invariably, entertain themselves and others. As I hope they love me too. Hearing about his little mission, I was struck by a wave of happiness to simply know this person and to be privvy to his inner workings.

These two things have made me smile, when I thought I only wanted to cry. These two people (like so many others I call friends) gave a little piece of themselves and, in turn, made my world better. Thanks... everyone.

At least I remembered his smile

2006-09-08T22:48:00.000-06:00

My life has been filled with people who have, in some way or another, changed it. Always for the better as change can only be a good thing, if you are in the right mind set. One such person made a re-appearance a few days ago. He walked up to me, at my store, and said hi. Unfortunately, I didn't recognize him... which he saw too. So, he smiled at my ignorance. Ah! Simon! A smile I could never forget, even should I live to be 103.

Simon and his beautiful fiance Michele were both introduced to me about two and a half years ago. A friend of a friend (Carol, of Gladys and Millie fame, for anyone keeping up with the characters that colour my life). We all went to a poetry reading at Steeps Tea House. Carol had a few other friends in attendance, I brought one. Well, a bit of caffeine, combined with the near manic personality I was sporting at the time, resulted in an unforgettable night. For everyone. I had been sitting with Simon and Michele and we three got a case of the giggles part way through the reading. I was doing my best to keep silent, which resulted in my vibrating and physically pushing myself into the two of them, while they tittered. My friend and the other friend of Carol's were mortified. They barely acknowledged our presence afterwards. It was pretty great!

It was an odd time for many of us in the group. We now refer to it as "the unhealthy" time: breakups and too many changes in friendships. We hung out and made ourselves a family of sorts. Perhaps I clung a bit. I can admit to being needy then. I tried to fill my time with these people as it was a good distraction to the sadness that seemed to be ever present. They made me laugh, feel loved and even pretty (something that I definately did not see in myself at the time). Simon was part of this. He always seemed to sense what I needed to hear and when I needed someone to flash a smile my way.

He also was there to bear witness to one of my stupidest (and apparently, most alluring) moments in history. And bless the boy, he never thought less of me... or at least he was gentleman enough to keep it to himself. This particular incident had to do with my birth control pill. I'd been single for like five months and wasn't doing anything fun with anyone, so when I was too late to pick up my prescription (the pharmacy closed well before I thought to go), I didn't think too much about it. It could definately wait a day with no harm done. Well, the next day, when I went to get my pill, they were out. Then I forgot to pick it up the next day. When I finally did get it on the fourth day, I popped four of the stinkin' pills before I gave myself a chance to think about it! I popped a whole gram of whatever little hormonal cocktail the pills contained. Never did I think of the warning "if you miss more than two days, start your pill cycle over". Nope, just opened my mouth and swallowed. Oops.

I started to feel a bit funky as the evening progressed. I got ready and met friends at Boston Pizza for a late, late supper. I sat next to Simon, who kept staring at me, telling me there was something different about me. He just couldn't put his finger on it. A little time passed and Simon was still adamant that I was giving off some sort of sexy vibe. Finally, I cracked and blurted out what I had done. Ahhh! I was giving off something... pheremones. Simon picked up on the higher level of estrogen in my body! My goodness, how could I not hold someone like that in the highest regard?

It was such a joy to see him again, as I've really seen little of him this past year and then some. We had a little visit, chatted about school, songs on my ipod, and just how radical Michele is (she broke some flasher-pervert's nose while at work!). He left me with another of his charming smiles and the warmth of friendship and shared history glowing in my heart.

Chivalry should not be a lesson in history

2006-09-03T21:04:00.000-06:00

Chivalry is not dead. Though it certainly is on the endagered list.

For two days I've been trying to sort through what defines chivalry in this modern age. In days long past, a knight would pledge to be a maiden's champion, to show her honour and to defend her, should the need arise. She, in turn, would give him small token of her favour: a glove, a handkerchief, her heart... whatever, I suppose, was handy. But what of today? I've asked friends and family and found the examples not only sparse in numbers, but decidely less substantial in thought and sentiment than I was hoping for. I heard more of what men hadn't done, than what they had: not waiting for his girlfriend to walk through the front door of her house before driving off; not bothering to lighten the load by carrying packages and groceries in; not putting her reputation before his own.

There were exceptions: the gentleman that waited until the woman in line behind him was finished buying her groceries, he placed all the bags in her cart and walked away without ever saying a word, not requiring recognition for his deed; my own ex boyfriend, when we first started dating, took over my car payments so that I could give that money and then some to my family who was experiencing financial difficulties at the time... he did it because he knew it upset me to not be able to see my responsibilties through, both in paying for my car and in helping my family out; a friend that took my uttering of "I miss how it was in university, when we did such and such" online, and asked if I wanted to hang out. He arranged it so that he would pick me up at my parents (I no longer live there, but it fit with the theme of the night), we drove to the beaver dam, where we hiked and laughed and talked and took pictures. This was good enough for me, he listened to a small hope but made it better. When our walk was done, he surprised me with the makings of a fire and a marshmallow roast. We sat in the wavering light of the flames, the night still holding on to it's springtime chill. Besides his time and his unwavering friendship, he gave me what I most needed: to have my meaning be heard beneath my words, to have the effort of my desire not be held against me, to, in fact, be shown that I did have a champion in my life.

Take up the challenge, my good men. Your forefathers have slain all the dragons and we ask not for you to take up a broadsword and cut down our enemies; what we desire is far less dangerous. Have the courage to simply share a piece of yourself, no matter how small it may seem. It could mean the difference to whomever you offer it to.

"I don't know what it is, but it seems to be migrating towards my butt!"

2006-09-02T01:59:00.000-06:00

I suppose one could say it's been a stressful couple of weeks, wait, make that months. But it's ok, I'm no worse for it. Wait, wait, if that's true, then why do I have the start of what feels like an extra head coming out of my neck muscles? It's true. Not just a knot of tension, a full scale, perfectly round bump where only flat relaxed muscle should be.

I made my friend Julie feel it at work today. She was highly grossed out and was taken by a fit of awkward laughing. What could it be, we both asked. Obviously, the start to an extra head, we decided. For what girl doesn't require a second noggin? Brains before beauty and all that jazz. Assuming, that is, that my little appendage will have an I.Q. that will put Einstein to shame. What else could we do but name the little darling, in honour of a mutual friend's father (Happy Birthday, Bruce!). That is when we discovered that it wasn't where I had left it... apparently it is migrating south, towards my butt. It has a way to go, but really, why rush a good thing?

My list

2006-09-02T00:49:00.000-06:00

I found this list on my old livejournal site. It made me smile for the person I was, and the times that made me that way. This list is about 20 months old, but I can still feel the smile on my face as when I was writing it. Every point has a story attached, and as you know, I am all about the stories. I like finding stuff like this, because it gives me a chance to think back to all those moments and to roll the details around in my head, and savour the experiences again.

1. My workplace did not fall apart when I left, the funny thing is, when I came back, I couldn't have cared if I found out it did (who knew?).

2. Australian boys are VERY, VERY selfish. I tossed around the idea of actually writing an eitiquette book for them, I still may, you never know.

3. I CAN dance. I have wasted a lot of time watching the coats and purses on the sidelines.

4. I found out I can drink 20 ounces of alcohol in about four hours and not only will I not go blind, but if I get to have a little nap in a Greek parking lot, I can actually take care of other drunk people.

5. I intimidate other females. I don't understand it, I thought I was only scared of them.

6. I don't require sleep, or at least my body doesn't think I do. Which is fine, because sometimes it's funner to go when you're sick and deal with feeling crappy sometime later in the next day.

7. A true friend will pack your bags for you while you are out having fun with the Aussies. (God, I love Brandy!).

8. There comes a time when a person will pay any amount of money to wear clean clothes.

9. I am completely oblivious when it comes to my own life. I actually require people I know and sometimes even random strangers to let me in on things that are going on around me.

10. A wee walk in Scotland actually entails climbing up a damn mountain.

11. Tiffany's really does make a girl smile.

12. Having fancy high tea at the Ritz can include being bad and randomly stalking weird old ladies, that later turn out to be famous.

13. If you look at the Mcbackpackers website, you will see the corner that changed everything.

14. Canadian girls really do have a thing for kilts and accents.

15. If you don't take care of yourself on vacation, you tend not to remember the flight home.

16. You can try to kill the germs with beer, but I don't think it really works.

17. I know what's under a Scot's kilt.

18. Birthdays are better spent overseas (especially if you have a piper playing you happy birthday and a tour guide that makes the day truly worthwhile).

19. I am an attention whore. Seriously!

20. I have A.D.D. much too often when I am too happy or too sad.

21. A guy who assumes too much, not only sleeps alone, but will do so as his tour mates mock him outside his window.

22. Cleavage is not only a way to get attention, it can provide an impromptu drink holder (I never said it was pretty!).

23. Even the best whiskey in the world (Oban) is still whiskey and therefore tastes like crap, regardless of whether it's mixed with a litre of pop or not.

24. Guys can be horrible to each other when there is a girl involved.

25. When spying on friends, it is always best to not only stifle the giggles, but to remain hidden after until both parties retire to the bedroom.

26. Sometimes a profound moment in your life can be caught on film.

27. Sometimes there are more documented moments than you ever thought possible.

28. Plans will always work out for the best, so try to handle each situation with poise.

29. It's easier to project irrational feelings on to inanimate objects than it is to deal with them (I don't pretend to think it's healthy).

30. Boys are dumb, girls are confusing (what about becoming a nun?).

31. Boys will do random things if you tell them to, especially if they are drunk and you can convince them it's what a real life pirate would do.

32. There are moments in your life that seem mundane... but someone will see beyond that and get a glimpse of just how special you are.

33. The wine of Naxos does less for a broken heart than I was lead to believe.

34. My navel is also the vortex of confusion. It is the source of many confused feelings and uncomfortable situations. When you cover it, the world is more in control.

35. Keeping a sleeping friend's head propped up on your shoulder, while flying budget, is a difficult experience, but it does both hearts good.

36. The tower of London tastes worse than you could ever imagine and the aftertaste lasts for days and days and days.

37. It is easier to tell your bunkmate that she has mosquito bites than to deal with the aftermath of letting her know they were bedbug bites.

38. Getting to speak to your tour guide's mom on the phone is an awkward, but enlightening experience...Having him grab the phone while you are chatting to your best friend back home only leads to more questions.

39. A good friend will anticipate the problem you may have sharing sun status with a new girl... and while he doesn't let you hog his affections, he lets you and everyone else know just how bright your light shines.

40. Curling up with a friend is a favoured way to spend an evening.

41. Anger and hurt can resurface and complicate your life and heart, especially when you think you should be better than this.

42. A good friend can do much for restoring joy to your world when number 41 comes around.

Emptying out the clutter

2006-09-01T01:09:00.000-06:00

I would like to say that it is my home that is getting the overhaul, things getting packed up to be given away or thrown out, but I've decided that another space of mine needs attention first. My mind, it seems, is overcrowded. Like a cupboard that has had items shoved, again and again, haphazzardly in to it, it is now crammed to capacity. That is until someone opens it up and things spill out and pile up around me. This happens when I am too neglectful to remember to only venture in through a crack tiny enough not to let anything fall out.

The past few weeks, maybe longer (who knows when it all becomes part of your everyday) my poor head has been a victim overcrowding. Too many thoughts and emotions, many, if not all, had been left unchecked and stored away for a time when I could devote a few moments to ponder them. I either never had the time, or more likely, squandered it away on doing something else more fun.

So now I am left with the junk stuff of my head and my heart, laying in heaps around me. I know I should sort through them, as some may be worthwhile to hang on to. But I am more inclinced to sweep the lot of them up, and toss them in the garbage, not caring to look back at what had seemed so important to elevate me to fits of giggling, or reduce me to tears in the presence of staff, customers and reps alike.

That being said, I know that every piece that sits at my feet crumpled and neglected, has changed me and the way I look at the world. I don't know why this accumulation should have such a profound affect upon me, and yet it has. As I sit here and think that trying to answer the "why?" of it would prove to be too difficult to even attempt, I find myself with the answer, at least in part. These things are not mine, they are what others have given to me (in good conscience or bad), they have been shoved at me with either a lack of explanaition or with words chosen to make a point about where I rank in the general order of that person's universe. They are other people's problems and expectations, and I wordlessly accepted them.

I've had a great many things become clear this past little while. Not many were expected, in fact, some were completely out of the blue. But what can you do? Sweep out the garbage that belongs to those who don't deserve to have that much say in my emotional well being, be thankful that my own stuff is tucked tightly, if not a bit skewed, inside of me. And, I suppose, be glad, just because I can be.

My Three Words

2006-08-21T22:14:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago, I was over at a friend's house for dinner. After the food had been consumed and conversation settled back into its usual rhythmic pace, we were all given the task to come up with three words that described ourselves. Out of the four of us, I seemed to be the only person that was finding it rather difficult to settle on anything more than "indecisive". I was told that my inability to think of three mesely words did not warrant me having to define myself by it. Taking pity on me, I had been given one word by my host. I was grateful for both the start and the compliment. But when I left there, later that evening, the question of how to describe myself was still swirling around in my head.

For days I tried to come up with two other words that I felt I could wear comfortably; ones that I felt fit me like a second skin. I tried them on, one after the other, and finally, after much reflection was pleased with my hard work.

1. Compassionate

2. Fanciful

3. Irrepressable

You know, I've spent nearly an hour writing explainations to why I chose the words I did, but it seemed wrong. It's enough, I suppose, that I know why I chose them.

Two Old Ladies

2006-08-16T22:20:00.000-06:00

Millie and Gladys are two ladies very near and dear to my heart. The problem is, they don't really exist. You see, the duo started as a joke between my friend, Carol, and I a couple of years ago. Into our msn homepages we pasted in fake pictures of some eccentric looking old ladies and soon enough we were creating profiles to fit. The joke stuck and the two old ladies became alter egos of sorts. Their personalities began to take on stories of their own, made up as they may be: how Millie would call Gladys from a pay phone, claiming to be God, asking if she'd found her yet; how Gladys liked to take a walk down memory lane and always brought back a souvenir or two; how a good friendship evolves, so that only the strongest bits are left.

They were born of a time when my sense of humour bordered manic; when I was fond of excusing my outlandish behaviour with the phrase, "I have a lot of emotion that just needs to come out" followed by hysterical fits of giggling. This is also when, I have discovered, when my laugh changed from a quiet sort to a huge guffaw, one that could be heard for miles around. Millie is the woman I hope I will one day be. She is strong and has a wicked sense of humour. Maybe not everyone understands her, but they can clearly see how good her intentions are by her actions. Her friend Gladys is how I see my own friend. And like us, Gladys and Millie have weathered their fair share of stormy weather.

How do I know so much of two ficticious women? Well, I've written a story or two about them. Within the lines I've woven a bit of myself and a bit of Carol. It's a story that took me nearly two years to finish, as Carol and I were not in a good place for awhile. It seems that Millie and Gladys ran deeper than I first suspected, as I couldn't imagine a strong friendship between them, until we had re-established our own.

One day, Carol and I will look back and laugh about it. It was a story for the ages, she will say. I will roll my eyes and mock her. She will carry on about the days of our youth and I will remind her that part of our youth was firmly embedded in the days of two old ladies, near and dear to our hearts.

Cheese Update

2006-08-15T01:16:00.000-06:00

My mother is not as innocent as she seems, she does, however, have a great sense of humour. If you read my last post about the smelly cheese, you will see that I wrote it for her. What I didn't know is that it was a set up. This past Saturday I was bridesmaid for a dear friend and I had heard that the best man was digging up dirt for the toast to the wedding party. I had been so confident that no-one could find anything on me (as most of my embarrassing stories seem to happen outside that circle of friends). I was wrong.

I stood up to receive my toast, smiling in my blue dress and heels. My stomach was already aching from the three previous speeches, but still, I remained poised. Not even my ex boyfriend (the brother of the bride) could be convinced to give up a story or two. I was going to have it easy. Secretly, deep down, I was a little disappointed. I didn't want to be the only one not to be mocked for fun!

I needn't have worried.

The best man started his speech, "She believes I have no dirt on her," and promptly started in with a tale of how, one day, I went to the doctor to have my back checked out... (for any new readers, please check out the post right before this one... I swear it's worth the time).

At this point in the speech, I knew what was coming... "Nooooooo!" could be heard throughout the banquet room as this realization hit me. I laughed until I nearly cried. The best man, did a lovely job, I thought, though the wording seemed awfully familiar to me. A second realization smacked me between the eyes about half way through the story (right around the part where the doctor cannot form normal speech): the rendition was more than familiar, it was what I had written for my own mother!

She not only gave up some goods on me, she devised a way that I, myself, offered them up without the slightest hesitation. Well done, Mom! I didn't think the smelly cheese story could get any better, but I was wrong.

A little slice of cheese

2006-08-07T00:08:00.000-06:00

I received an email today, from my Mom. She had just returned home from work and decided to read my blogs. This surprised me as I didn't realize she knew I even had a blog. Much to my delight, she enjoyed reading my sparse entries (I've not felt like writing lately, but am sure I have gotten over that, now). In fact, she mentioned how she liked the underwear up the pant leg story, but was disappointed by the lack of a personal favorite of hers. So, Mom, here it is, just for you...

When I was about twenty years old I went to the doctor for my physical. This involved me taking off my clothes and wearing one of those little hospital gowns. I was seated on the table and we discussed this health issue and that. About half way through the exam she opened the gown to check out a minor skin problem I had on my back. She was in the middle of a sentence and stopped dead. She touched my posterior and muttered a few more half sentences which sounded something like, "...that doesn't look... too... hmmm. Yes... that's... well... alright," and continued on with the rest of the exam.

A few hours later I was at home and in the bathroom, running a hot shower. I was standing in front of the mirror, undressing. I turned to walk into the tub when I caught a glimpse of my reflection from the back. Oh my God... there it was.

I had forgotten that the day before I was at my boyfriends house and he had wanted to draw some small thing with the black marker he had found earlier. I had let him do it and forgotten about it. This is what had caused my doctor, a woman experienced in all sorts of human diseases and conditions to become inarticulate during a medical examiantion. Drawn on my back, taking up most of the room between shoulders and tailbone was a very large piece of cheese. But it was not just any cheese, no, no. It was smelly cheese, complete with wafting stink lines above and a decorative plate below.

So there you have it. Just one tale from a rather large repitoire of similar experiences that I am sure make my mother shake her head and ask just whose daughter I could possibly be. Love you Mom!

A burn to remember

2006-07-11T20:18:00.000-06:00

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

2006-07-07T22:56:00.000-06:00

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

2006-07-07T00:22:00.000-06:00

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

2006-07-05T21:11:00.000-06:00

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

2006-07-02T23:32:00.000-06:00

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.

First let me tell you about the underpants...

2006-06-30T00:01:00.000-06:00

A few days ago, I came back to work, following a lunch run for me and one other person. I burst into the office announcing that I'd had some sort of adventure at Dairy Queen. My co-worker (who happens to be my ex, so is fairly well acquainted with me) paused what he was doing, looked at me and inquired why it was that I always had a story. I am certain his meaning was tinged with sarcasm, but it made me smile, because, in fact, I always do have one. Today is no exception.

First, let me tell you about the underpants. I decided to wear the same pair of capris today as I did last night. It's ok, they were clean and denim, and in my head it's perfectly acceptable to wear jeans a few times without washing them. Around two or three o'clock, after nearly a full day of work, I strode across the office and what should fall out of my pant leg but my underpants from yesterday. There was a moment of confusion, then denial, then finally a less than graceful snatch just as both my ex and the elderly gentleman who works in the back come strolling into the main office where I was. So there I sat, the rest of the afternoon with a pair of black thong underwear stuffed into my hoody pocket. I've said it before, but this truly illustrates it, I am ALL class ALL the time.

In case you don't believe me about the class, let me tell you another story. I had drinks with some friends last night. It was great fun, due mostly to the absurd turn our conversation took from the get go. We quickly established who still peed in the shower. It went on to who has seen the grossest bathroom, both here and abroad and how anyone who denies touching themselves for fun is an out and out liar. Eventually our servers got in on it and nipples and bum touching were highlighted. Hmmm, did I forget to mention that my one friend brought someone to meet me? I think the poor lad may have been expecting a proper girl, or at least one willing to abide by accepted first meeting dialogue: "So, what hobbies do you have?" (I am not kidding, he actually asked that). "Um... I like to read..." (this is when my friend that invited him piped up something about my reading porn and, or lame romance novels, which I do not read but he thought it was funny so he kept saying it). The poor set-up boy simply never had a chance.

Getting my feet wet

2006-06-26T23:52:00.000-06:00

I wondered about what to start this blog off with. I asked my sister if she had any ideas and she replied that I should write about my typical day, or going for Pho, otherwise known in my circle as "soup" (vietnamese soup to all who are scratching their head in ignorant bliss). I resisted the urge to tell her that in fact going for soup would be part of my typical day, since of late, I have become obsessed with the dish and visit a local vietnamese restaurant a few times a week. I resisted because it wouldn't have stopped there. I would have told her of my last soup date with a friend on Saturday and how we discussed the present dating situation each of us finds ourselves in (or in my present case, out of). That would have led to my telling her my own theory that going for soup should be a mandatory first date, since no one can be anything but themselves when wrestling with chopsticks and slippery noodles; no one can look ultra cool while wiping splashed up soup from his or her own chin and cheeks. I could have gone on, letting one thread of thought lead into another. But, like I say, I resisted.

It is the afore mentioned urge that I see as one (and one alone) defining feature of me. It is to take a small piece of a conversation and expand on it, relate some tasty little morsel from my own repitoire, to purge my own head, if only momentarily of the thoughts and scenes that continually swirl around there. Then maybe, if the details are just right, and the delivery is on, I can even entertain. Welcome to my world.