so this one time,

2010-03-21T13:54:00.000-07:00

I'm not here any more. I've moved here for now upon recommendation. We'll see how it goes. I may be back.
Peace blogspot.
XOX

Parkour or L'art du Déplacement

2010-03-15T18:40:00.001-07:00

parkour motion reel
Uploaded by yom_. - Discover more animation and arts videos.

radical

2010-03-14T20:26:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, at the Gibsons Salvation Amy, I found an 80's acid wash denim dress which is a hybrid of the two beauts below except slightly longer with an asymmetrical zipper from the collar to the bottom of the skirt. I have since discovered I can fold the skirt under and it will stay in place making for an at home hastle free hem job. Also making this one of the most fantastic pieces in my closet. It is, what Anna Thorsen may refer to as "fierce dot com backslash amaze balls".
Expect to see me rocking it sometime soon.

It worked well with Winter...

2010-03-13T15:58:00.000-08:00

Dear Common Cold;

I know you are more responsive to confrontations but me being rather passive would prefer sending you a letter explaining my current feelings towards you than attack the problem head on.

See, the thing is, you're really starting to piss me off. I'm feeling rather razzed; miffed if you will. You've really rubbed me the wrong way. You have to understand, I don't get mad easily, Common Cold, so it takes a lot for me to get this angry. But my blood is boiling.

You need to leave. You have far past overstayed your welcome and it's becoming ridiculous. I know you don't have a home to go to but dude, there has to be another life you can invade. You're cramping my style, man. You're really making it difficult for me to live my life as I would like. I always feel as though I need to tend to your needs first and, frankly, I'm not okay with that.

At first, I was alright with your impending visit. I knew you were coming. There were warning signs and I hadn't seen you in a while. A long while. 2 years I think. So, while I didn't necessarily welcome you with open arms, I didn't fight your visit. I would liken it to what a visit from the inlaws must be like. You can only put it off for so long but it has to happen eventually, and then you're going to be forced to grin and bare it. Well, I've grinned, Common Cold, I've bared, and I've also coughed, moaned, slept, and spent more time with you than I would care to spend with anyone.

Not to mention, Common Cold, you are the worst guest I've ever had! Your stuff is everywhere. In every nook and cranny there is evidence of your stay. You are rude, you are invasive, you are nosey, you impose yourself on others, you are loud, you follow me everywhere, you are a bludger and you are wearing me down. I've had it!

So, Common Cold, this is how it works, you have until tonight at approximately 6pm to pack your bags and leave. I'm going to have a nap so as not to get in your way but when I awake, I expect to find you gone. I don't want there to be any evidence of your ever having been here.

Here's a list of where I've found your belongings, so you don't leave anything behind:
My eye
My ears
My lungs
My nose
My throat
My head

Once you're done packing, I would appreciate never having to see your face again. I'm sorry things have to end this way but three weeks is just too long man. You've over done it this time.

No, wait, I'm not sorry!

You have got to go!

Sincerely,
Your host,
Mikhaila

afternoon inflatable boat ride under parental supervision

2010-03-08T00:24:00.000-08:00

Instead of getting all nostalgic over vinyl yesteday afternoon, I went with Bruce and Yvonne in their new inflatable (purchased to replace the rowboat from the sailboat) over to Keats Island for a picnic and a game of scrabble. The sun was shining and the spread was delicious (not to mention the company was alright). Here are some seafaring maidens and other shots from the day.
Enjoy the view!

another anecdote: the man and his bird.

2010-03-06T10:00:00.000-08:00

“So there’s this homeless man who lives on Commercial Drive. The guy has a pet pigeon. It’s not a willing pet pigeon though; the pigeon is tied to him with a piece of string. How he caught it in the first place I don’t know. He’s one of those homeless people who think that we, who work hard for our money etc, owe him the world. He gets rude when those walking past don’t give him any change, not realizing that maybe some of us (myself included) are just a few dollars away from being in the very position he is in (aside from the pet pigeon because, I’m sorry, but that is just gross and not to mention cruel). Anyway, this guy is indignant and constantly covered, head to toe, in bird shit. I don’t blame the bird either, if I were unwillingly tied to someone day in and out, I’d probably crap on them too. One day last summer during that super hot spell where it was like 40 degrees for a couple weeks and tempers were really rising, I walked past the man and his bird on the corner of first and commercial at his usual post outside of Red Burrito (he actually switches corners every few days, but it’s always first and commercial) and he was parked on the sidewalk with said pigeon sitting on his head. At the very moment I was approaching my favourite bum, a man who was more generous than I walked on past and tossed a loonie or two into the extended paper coffee cup, “It’s for the pigeon!” he said cheerfully and went on his way, whistling, if I remember correctly. The homeless man looked at him incredulously and shouted angrily, “IT’S A DOVE!”. Now when I pass him on the corner of first and commercial, I remember that afternoon, I chuckle to myself, and it makes my day.”

on to the next one...

2010-03-06T00:37:00.000-08:00

It's Friday. Part of me is relieved and another part of me is looking too far ahead into the future and thinking of Monday. After work today I jetted to the coast to be nursed back to health by the one and only Yvonne. My She-Man immune system has failed me and I've been suffering from the literal Olympic Fever on and off for the last two weeks and yesterday it hit me again with a vengeance. This time, though, I think it would be safe to call it the Olympic Blues. The whole of Vancouver seems to be suffering from said bought of despondency. Downtown looks like a bar after the lights have come on. The party's over and everyone has gone home with mascara running down their cheeks and left the garbage for the night janitor. The stragglers are wandering around aimlessly with no drive or determination, with the same look on their faces, "What now?". All of Vancouver is hungover. It's been five days since the festivities officially came to an end and the cloud still has not quite lifted.

I partied into the wee hours on Sunday after our victorious hockey win over Team USA (suckers!), scoring entry into the Redbull party (open bar for hourrrrrs) and then free tickets to Deadmau5 with other parties peppered in between (the photo below being from one of said pepper flakes). I credit my dress for my party successes. Work the next day was brutal but I made it through and slept for an awe inspiring 13 hours that night.

Needless to say, this week has been one of recovery and Yvonne has requested that I come home for a couple of days so she can wait on me hand and foot (my words) and bring me back to health. I am envisioning Disney movies, lemon tea and lots of soup. And taxes. It is that time of year. Georgia is also going to be up with Kathleen and Rim and so I am also hopefully seeing board games and bottles of wine.

If I decided to spend the afternoon tomorrow getting all nostalgic and attacking my dad's record collection, this is what it would sound like.

Enjoy yourselves!
Stay fit, and have fun!

2010-03-04T18:21:00.000-08:00

Allie and I showing our support at the Recon/Official Snowboard Afterparty at Canvas Lounge in Gastown. This is how we do it. No big deal.

once upon a dream

2010-03-02T20:02:00.001-08:00

i would like to live here.

when i get old...

2010-03-01T18:30:00.000-08:00

married 62 years. gives one hope...

2010-02-23T09:14:00.000-08:00

Married to the Sea

a letter to winter

2010-02-22T22:48:00.000-08:00

Dear Winter;

Okay dude, jokes over. Where are you? We invited you to visit, and you never showed. You just left us hanging and even you, as icy as you can be, have to admit that that's pretty rude. Now Spring has shown up all early and is pushing herself on us (you know how she can be, in like a lion) and you just know that she's going to overstay her welcome, forcing Summer to come late and leave early because it's well known that Summers a pushover and nobody wants to piss Autumn off. Man, you've thrown everything out of whack.

We prepared ourselves for you; laid the table if you will. Some changed their tires, others picked moth balls from wool sweaters, while others still (myself included) dusted off and waxed skis and boards in anticipation of the copious amounts of snow you were supposed to throw on the mountains.
There were signs. Whispers of your supposed arrival. You teased us with icy fingers in the mornings and even put frost on our breath for a few days. There was snow in autumn, forcing the mountains to open early. It was going to be a good one. But then we blinked, and winter was all but a dream and now girls are wearing skirts and the cherry blossoms are confused.

(crocuses in February, Winter? Not funny!)

Winter, I know sometimes you don't always feel welcome. Some people complain about the cold shoulder and your more than often icy attitude. I will admit, you can be a bit hauty, but I've never had a problem with you.These complainers are the people who are hard to please; the ones who are never happy. Please don't let them discourage you.

I miss you, Winter. I miss icy mornings and the muffling effect of the snow, making everything so peaceful.I miss big sweaters and wool hats and mittens. I even miss cold fingers. Some people say I'm crazy, Winter. Some wonder how I could love someone like you. Sometimes I think even you wonder how anyone could love someone so apathetic. But, what can I say, Winter, you move me. You move me in a way that only you and Summer can and also maybe that special someone.

So, Winter, next time you decide that you're not going to show up, maybe give us the ol' heads up? I think a mandatory RSVP is in order from now on so we know what to expect. Because, my long lost friend, when you don't show up, it turns my whole world upside down. I've lived somewhere where you never go, and, it was no fun. I don't want to have to move again. I don't want to chase you. Who wants to be in a one sided relationship anyway?

Well, Winter, I hope you're safe and having fun wherever you are. Maybe you and summer are spending a much needed vacation together. I know you rarely get to visit. Have some laughs, a few drinks, but please, whatever you do, Winter, DO NOT hold her up because if Summer also does not show up for her annual visit, I will be FURIOUS.

Much love,

Always your's,

Mikhaila XO

my "beef" or "what grinds my gears"

2010-02-22T19:46:00.000-08:00

So I've been emersed in the Olympic stuff for the last week (naturally...who hasn't been?) and I've come across something that I need to get off my chest. It's something that gets to me every Olympics but I get too wrapped up in watching hockey and half pipe that I forget to express myself once the excitement dies down. This time round, however, I'm pretty deep into this blogging business and therefore have an outlet for which to get my ever important opinion in the open (which, if you know me well, you know I'll find a way to do anyway).

I've always thought that the point of the Olympics was to represent your country. And by your country, I mean, the country you were born in or at least the one in which you were raised from an early age. I personally believe (and have discussed this with others who feel the same way) that the athletes along with their coaches, choreographers (for skating) AND training grounds should be of the country from which they hail. It's only right is it not?

For example, the figure skating Reed siblings, Cathy, Chris and Allison. The Reeds' mother is Japanese, and their father is American. They were raised in the USA. Chris and Cathy (ages 20 and 22 respectively) skate for Japan. Their younger sister, Allison (age 15), skates for Georgia. All three train in New Jersey, Chris and Allison skating as a pair with a Russian coach (Nikolai Morozov) and Allison with a Ukrainian coach (Evgeny Platov) and a Georgian partner (Otar Japaridze). How does that even work? They are American, they live in America, they should have American coaches and American partners. This is just how it should be. Otherwise, I don't feel they're competing for the right reasons. They're not trying to make their country proud, it becomes a selfish medal race. Or how about Dale Begg-Smith? The Canadian skier skiing for Australia under an American coach? Even Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir (who I absolutley love and have become recently obsessed with), the Canadian ice dance gold medal hopefuls, train in Michigan with a Russian coach along side a competing American team. To me, this is just not how it should be. For the rest of the regular season, compete for whomever, wherever your heart desires but come Olympics, make your country proud! Our imported NHL hockey players all go home to Europe and so should our figure skaters and skiers come home to us (or wherever they're from) and be trained by home grown coaches.

Phew!

Glad I got that off my chest.

Now I'm going to go watch Moir and Virtue get the first Canadian gold ever in ice dancing.

GO CANADA

virtue and Moir

2010-02-22T06:58:00.000-08:00

This makes me proud to be Canadian
Original%20Dance%3a%20Virtue-Moir

an anecdote from allison (in a little wordier fashion)

2010-02-21T17:26:00.000-08:00

"This morning, while we were sitting on the patio at breakfast, I saw a mother and her little daughter walking down the street. The daughter was about three. They came upon a dog who was tied up and the girl instantly went to give (him) a hug. "No sweety, you need to ask the dog's owner first." said her mother. So the little girl asked and the owner assured her that the dog was friendly and so the toddler began to pet the dog. "Ask what the dog's name is..." the mother prompted. And so the three year old, in her baby voice, requested this piece of information. The owner looked them straight in the face and responded, "Kevin". The mother was silent for a moment and the little girl continued playing with the dog. Then the mother told the little girl to bid farewell. "Bye Kevin!" she said and they went on their way."

dance machine

2010-02-21T11:38:00.000-08:00

And last night was one for the drunken dancing. Tara and I decided it would be a good idea to start drinking beer at 3. Drunk by 5, we had a dance party in her living room just the two of us, ate some soup, went for a walk downtown on which I fell and tore my knee (and ego) to shreds (go me) and braved the masses. Tara left and I wound up staying out until 6am dancing at the Chromeo after party. I was the last (wo)man standing at the end of the night (or beginning of the morning) and took a thirty dollar, ten dollar solo cab ride home (should have been ten, wound up being thirty due to broken bank machines). How's that for olympic spirit?

Now I'm up and on the little sleep I did manage to catch, Allie (and possible Tara Hare) and I are going to go break in my new picnic basket (birthday present from mum) somewhere by the seashore. I think it's going to be a photo shoot day. I just wish we had bocce and big floppy hats.

Sunday funday!

sober partying

2010-02-18T09:30:00.000-08:00

There's something to be said for sober dancing. A few things actually; you don't look like a fool, fending off predators is a more achievable feat, people are astounded at your "drunken dexterity" (that is, if you choose not to let on that you are the straightest person in the bar), there are no drinks to be spilled (at least by you), and your longevity in the spotlight is not interrupted by frequent trips to the can or the bar. All that being said though, the same can apply to drunken dancing; you don't care what you look like, you generally don't mind the predators, you don't notice spilled beverages, and going to the washroom is the greatest feeling in the world.

Last night, there were no exceptions to the pros of sober dancing. I danced the dye right off my new blue jeans. Meghan and I turned up at Fortune Sound Bar at 11 to see Rico Uno and U-tern representing the Freshest Kids and opening up for Toronto's Keys n Krates, and we danced right through to 2:30 in the morning when we decided to peace. No hanging around. We just walked right off the dance floor and out the door (after a quick stop at coat check). We were getting props left right and centre for having started the dance party and being the only ones to stick it through.

After the bar, I came home, peeled off my sticky clothes, checked out my dyed blue legs, slinked into bed, watched some 'Weeds' and passed right out. A well deserved rest. The last two thoughts I remember having before it was lights out were, "I definitely worked off that cream puff I had for lunch." and finally, "Why do I even bother drinking?" Valid!

This morning, I woke up to birds chirping and the sun streaming in through my blinds. It's my DDO (designated day off, of which I have one a month) and the fact that I do not have a hangover (another pro to sober dancing is that you don't wake up feeling like a bag of smashed assholes...gross, I know) and also that I have a break from the early morning starts I've been forced to come accustomed to over the last week (Olympic mornings mean my alarm goes off at 4:45 am) will allow me to take full advantage of this beautiful spring day (in February??). I think laundry, and then a long walk with my brother in this uncharacteristically tepid weather. Mum will cry when she discovers that Quinn and I are bonding.

Life is pretty dope.

pretty nice

2010-02-15T14:09:00.000-08:00

I think I'd like to marry Jason Schwartzman.
Seeing as he's already hitched, I would also settle for being his pal.

Oh-ed to a hoofdkussen

2010-02-15T08:56:00.000-08:00

Your companionship is never wavering,

My buxom consort.

Anxiously anticipating my return at day's end,

Ardently, you wait,

More faithful than man's best friend.

You prop, you cushion, you comfort.

You listen.

You muffle screams of joy, sorrow, and passion.

You offer an immortal, ethereal shoulder to carry my burdens and my fortunes alike.

You defend me, sometimes violently -exposing your downy interior and draping yourself ubiquitously.
You've given me shelter in times of make believe,
Your malleable nature softening the blow when my roof caved in;
So forgiving.

You catch my tears.

You tend to me while I slumber, assuring my repose.

You care.

My perfect pal.

My confidante.

My soulmate.

My pillow.

fugg you alberta, we have families too

2010-02-15T07:18:00.000-08:00

Today is "family day" in Alberta. It's a bank holiday. I don't live in Alberta, therefor, this is not fair.

oye!

2010-02-11T14:37:00.001-08:00

this song reminds me of Cuba in a big way

2010-02-08T14:07:00.001-08:00

2010-02-08T09:52:00.001-08:00

La Roux is coming to Vancouver real soon.

Ashley and I are getting our tickets today.

STOKED.

firecracker

2010-02-05T16:14:00.000-08:00

Said by my now 98-year-old grandfather in reference to our family's extreme efforts to arrange a birthday dinner for he and all the other Aquarians/Capricorns in the Searle clan at a time and place that suits all, "I'll be like a banana and stick with the bunch!"

If I live to be 98 and still manage to be this hilarious, I will die a content woman.

Happy friday!

Anvil! The story of Anvil

2010-02-05T12:14:00.000-08:00

Canada is pretty awesome. We invented basketball, lacrosse and hockey; we gave the world Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell and Neil Young (not to mention the newly famed Justin Beber, there are, after all, a lot of lonely girls…); not many are aware of it, but Led Zeppelin did indeed get their start in a cabin in Tofino and we also invented heavy metal.

We’re pretty dope.

"Anvil", for those who have been living under a rock (no pun intended) with the rest of the world, is a heavy metal band from Toronto. They got their start in 1973 when some high school friends started playing music together. Initially, they were called “Lips” (after lead singer/guitarist Steve “Lips” Kudlow) but after signing a deal with Attic Records in 1983, they changed their name to Anvil. These guys are the real deal. They have been credited as being the actual founders of heavy metal and Metalica, Slayer and Anthrax, among others, have all cited them as being their biggest influence.

Anvil toured the world in 1983 with one of the most epic rock lineups, and while all other bands on the tour (including Whitesnake and Bon Jovi) reaped fame and glory and sold millions of records, Anvil came out with nothing. Maybe it was bad luck, who knows, but Anvil has never received the credit they deserved; that is until 2008 when film maker and former Anvil roadie Sacha Gervasi (who has credits like The Big Tease and The Terminal under his belt) directed a documentary on the rockers and a recent flop of a European tour. The movie follows them through Europe where they get lost, miss trains and play to nearly empty stadiums. These guys have hit rock bottom more times than Amy Winehouse, only to get back up and try again. The fact that, after nearly fourty years of playing together, they have not sold out is astounding, and more shocking still is the fact that they are still trying. They are the exact definition of persistence and finally, since the release of the documentary titled Anvil! The Story of Anvil, in April 2009, said persistence has paid off. With their so-called second coming, they’ve embarked on a new tour dubbed The Anvil Experience, in which they are showing the movie and then the 50-something year old rockers will grace the stage to prove they’ve still got it.

Anvil will be playing in Vancouver at Venue on Saturday, February 13th. Tickets are somewhere around the twenty five bone mark, and I recommend that everyone should go be you a metal fan or not. Their movie has won critical acclaim nationwide being cited as "better than Spinal Tap" and these guys, more than anyone, deserve your support. I know I will be there in top form with my leather pants and jean vest (just kidding, I don’t have a jean vest) rocking out with Tara and Dill Hare and I’m curious to see what kind of crowd these guys will bring in. Hopefully the kind of crowd that has you in it.

ROCK ON!

rap transcription

2010-02-05T11:03:00.000-08:00

married to the sea is my favourite site. you may have guessed that by now.

setting the mood

2010-02-03T16:36:00.000-08:00

I'm in good form today.
Here's a taste of what was on rotation at my desk this afternoon.

another funny

2010-02-03T11:35:00.000-08:00

married to the sea

a funny

2010-02-03T11:30:00.000-08:00

married to the sea

dope: a noun (me), an adjective (you) and a drug i don't smoke

2010-02-01T22:22:00.000-08:00

so this weekend was reveiling. i took crazy to a whole other level. i'm not a crazy person. ask anyone who knows me, and they'll tell you this.
i 'm not someone who gets angry easily. you really have to wrong me to piss me off and this weekend, someone i considered a friend did just that. i had one of, if not the, shittiest thing(s) done to me on friday night and it brought out a whole other side of me i was unfamiliar with; the crazy bitch.

i always said i wasn't like other girls. that i wasn't like that. and i'm pretty sure he always said he wasn't a douche like all the other guys. i guess we just brought that out in each other. i suppose it just takes the right (wrong) person because both of these characteristics reared their ugly heads this weekend. in the end though, i got the last word in and now i wish i had just kept my mouth shut. what can i say? i was angry.

anyway, if you still read my blog, cause i know you did once upon a time, it's my turn to eat crow. that was it. i'm done. i have other things to worry about now. so, i'm sorry for what was said. it was uncalled for, catty, and uncharacteristic of me. not that you'll believe that now. i hope that one day in the not too distant future, we can both be forgiven and refriend each other, not just online, but also in life because i do, truly, still think you're dope.

who's out there?

2010-01-28T16:26:00.000-08:00

I'm always curious as to who reads my blog or if anyone does at all. I have a few followers (but even I don't read all the blogs I'm a follower of) and my blog has been 'shared' a couple of times but all this means nothing to me.

Am I writing to anyone?

Or am I the only person who reads my blog?

That's right, I read my own blog.

Just kidding.

No I'm not

Yes I am.

No I'm not.

Just kidding.

eat your words!

2010-01-28T16:12:00.000-08:00

Lindsay and I just spent half an hour spelling out rude phrases with alphabet shaped pretzels.

This was one of the kinder ones.

Here's to dead days at the office and also playing with your food.

Redbull 3 style at the Commodore tonight.

Holla!

storm before the calm

2010-01-27T13:54:00.000-08:00

I drank some tea,

I ate some curry,

I did a crossword,

I got some fresh air,

I talked to my dad briefly,

I listened to Devo,

And now I feel better.

Feel free to approach the lion.

the good, the bad and the ugly

2010-01-27T10:14:00.000-08:00

I'm in a real stink today.
I'm not sure why.
I don't like it.

I forgot what it feels like to be in a really bad mood. It has to be one of the worst feelings in the world; which reminds me, Tara Hare and I made a list of the "worst" feelings in the world a few months ago on the bus and I still need to post it.
Watch for it.
Also, today, watch out for me. I'm on a path of destruction.
Today, I hate everything.

I think I need some fresh air.
On the upside, I'm listening to RJD2's new album. It's pretty great.

2010-01-22T09:10:00.000-08:00

Today, for a lil birthday celebration, Tara and I are going to the Vancouver Aquarium.

Sharks are pretty cool.

married to the sea

january 22nd, 2005, edinburgh, scotland

2010-01-22T08:50:00.000-08:00

Aging train

Yesterday was a day for lasts and today a day for firsts.

Yesterday was my last day of work at Free Spirit; yesterday was my last day in York where I have been living and working for the past two months. Last night I packed my bags and hopped on a train in York when I was 19; I disembarked that train in Edinburgh when I was 20.
Today is my birthday.
Today is my New Years day.
Today is when I consider my slate wiped clean.
Today I can officially account anything stupid done previously, to the fact that I was 19.
That is, until I do something else.
Today, I woke-up feeling great to be alive because today is my day.

Then I shaved my legs.

While sitting on the train, watching myself age before my eyes; I realised how much the ride represented my life. I am always getting older. I am now ten seconds older than I was when I wrote that last sentence.

And now that.

And so on.

I will always be older when I step off the train than I was when I embarked but there is only one day a year to mark this.

One day a year when you realise, "Shit, I'm getting old."

We act as if it happened with a bang.

While really it's been happening it all along.

But despite all this, January 22nd is, and always will be my day

(quirky fact: January 22nd is also National Popcorn day...don't ask me how I know this)

and I love it.

Today is wonderful.
Today is beautiful.
Today will be great.
It better be, or let me tell you, there will be hell to pay.

Because, today is my day, and nobody is going to take that away from me.

almost vintage

2010-01-18T15:35:00.000-08:00

I've always had an affinity for anything old. Objects that, when held in your hands, transport you back to days of yore and invoke you to conjure up an image of their original owner and use; items that have, today, become obsolete.

I'm not sure what it is about these relics that gets me so excited, but I've always been this way. When I was young, I loved old buildings, grave sites, cars, anything that I was not familiar with. My curiosity went even further back than what would be referred to as 'vintage' and into ancient times -mummies, tombs, clothing, scripts, any artifacts of extinct civilisations; anything that even resembled something old. These always sparked an interest and I wanted to know anything there was to about them. I was thirsty for knowledge of anything from what I referred to as "the olden days". My mum used to suggest that I should be an archaeologist when I "grew up" and I held that idea in my mind for years, even looking into (for about thirty seconds) anthropology as a post secondary study.

I think my interest in the more recent past was brought on by my mother's own fondness for articles from another, earlier life, be it her own or someone else's. For as long as I can remember, she's been making trips to the local second hand store and coming home with tokens from another time and I relished in these trinkets, taking them and turning them over and over in my hands conjuring up those aforementioned images. She would bring vintage dish sets, vases, art deco alarm clocks, lamps, and furniture. She has a collection of milk jugs around the kitchen window sills and a shelf dedicated to antique hand painted tea cups and saucers. When I was young, I'm not sure what she did with these collectibles; I think she may have saved them all for gifts but in later years she began selling them on ebay for pocket change.

Not only does Yvonne love finding these rarities, but she has a knack for it; an eye like I've never seen. I always thought she should be a buyer for some high end antique store, or be her own shop keeper, but she is adamant that there isn't any money in it, and it's just a hobby. --I've seen the price they charge in Vancouver antique stores and I believe she could definitely eke out a living but whatever--

This is one of the only traits that was passed down to me from my mother (I've always tended more towards the paternal side of my bloodline, whether by choice or genetics, I'm not sure.) and we spend hours geeking out over pieces of furniture, bakelite, fiestaware and vintage jewelry. Although I've been blessed with her love of anything from the past, I have not been gifted with her eye and don't take to the thrift store with a vengeance, exiting with a new living room. The two things I have taken to collecting though, are aprons (little known fact) and brooches and since I can remember, I've been envisioning my dream house. It would have hard wood and tile floors, an enclosed front porch (or solarium), large windows, a fire place, and be decked out in vintage, right down to the fixtures. At this moment in time, this seems to be every hipster's Eden, but I like to think my dream is a little more organic due to the fact that this has been a life long aspiration.

A few years ago, I learned that anything older than 25 years is considered vintage. I will be 25 on Friday. This is weird to me. 25 was always how old other people were. Obviously any age you are not is the age of another, but 25 always seemed to me that it would never come. Now it's knocking on my door and I don't have a career, a husband or a brood of children as I always assumed I would. Don't get me wrong; I'm not complaining, I've always loved getting older but I've learned that there is no way you can know where you will be by a certain age. You've just gotta roll with the punches. 25 is an age I always looked forward to for whatever reason. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I now can be categorised with these treasures I hold so dear because on Friday, I will be vintage and that's kind of cool.

2010-01-12T13:58:00.000-08:00

superpoop

pickle you, kumquat

2010-01-12T11:41:00.001-08:00

my resolutions a few days late...

2010-01-11T20:14:00.001-08:00

On my NYE, only two resolutions were made. I try not to make a habit of making the yearly promises of self improvement; the only time I've actually done so was two years ago, when I vowed to stop riding escalators or if unavoidable, to at least walk them. I've had a serious hate on for escalators for quite some time. Elevators too are not on my list of favorite things. I blame escalators and Mcdonalds for obesity. The fact that people can't walk up a set of stairs just proves how lazy we have become as a society.

When I did my Canada World Youth exchange, before the Cubans came to Canada, they had to learn how to use escalators and were put on some sort of simulator in Havana. Before they got off the airplane in Toronto, they had never seen the real deal before.

I think secretly, my escalator promise was a way of resoluting to try and lose weight without actually vocalizing this wish (I sometimes tend to revolt against pop culture or the norm while harbouring a secret desire to be just like everyone else. Only sometimes though.) The only time since then that I've been forced to ride the "lazy staircase" was when I broke my shoulder snowboarding shortly after making said resolution and I decided it was probably a better idea to swallow my pride than to wind up with a second broken limb or worse yet, a bruised ego.

Since I'd been so diligent in sticking to my vow for the past two years, I decided that this year I would take a leap of faith (in myself), and make two resolutions:

1).write more letters (specifically hand written but I also get points for emails)

and

2).stop being judgemental (about others and also, myself)

Both of these are hard for me to do. I don't actually remember the last time I mailed something out that wasn't a bill and even that has now been made accessible online therefore furthering the redundancy of the written word and the postage stamp alike. With tools like myspace and now the ever popular (and rising) facebook and twitter (the latter of which I do not subscribe, thank you very much)have given us the resources to know what every person we ever wanted to know anything about is up to at any given moment therefore TKOing the email all together. What do you write to someone you already know everything about and that knows everything about you? Nothing is left up to the imagination anymore. A few years ago, my friends and I used to email each other multiple times a day; like passing notes in class except this was post graduation and we were all who knows where in the world. We would send each other jokes, and anecdotes and photos of out latest outfits. Now with the
to-the-second updates provided by online networking tools, this has been deemed unnecessary. The only emails I receive these days are from Sephora, telling me about the new deals I can get on make up I can't afford and CWY alumni updating me on what the orgnisation is doing for the world. (Oh, and my mother when I don't answer her succession of phone calls). The one person from whom receive the occasional email and who I look forward to hearing from is my nearly 98 year old grandfather who, once upon a time, used to send me hand written letters in the mail.

If I were truly going to hold on tight and take the power back, I would cancel my facebook account, cut myself off from the virtual world, and carry around an address book but I am just as much of a tool as the next person and can't bring myself to take such drastic measures. I will, however, start with my pal Monica who is in PEI. I'll start this week. I may send her only one line notes. I may send her near novels. I may only send her a photograph. But the feeling you get when you receive something in the mail with a hand written address on the envelop is incomparable to anything else. The content doesn't matter as much as you'd think.

Being judgemental is a really hard habit to break. Giving people a chance is something I have a hard time with. I'm too quick to form opinions and it sometimes takes me a while to push myself to look past these first judgements (although, call it intuition, call it narrow mindedness, but I have found that nine times out of ten, I am correct). I'm not sure why it is that I let these first impressions take hold of me. Somebody doesn't even have to utter a word and I have an image of who they are or must be and I need to stop thinking in this fashion. Not only do I need to stop jumping to opinions about others, but I need to stop judging myself. I need to take it easy on everyone.

Sigh. All this seems to be easier said than done.

But, to be honest, I'm not going to do anything about any of it at this moment because it is past midnight and I work in the morning.

So, happy new years to all y'all, 11 days in.

Good luck with sticking to your resolutions like washing your bedding regularly. Clean sheets are the stuff dreams are made of.

night.
XOXO
gossip girl

2010-01-05T13:42:00.001-08:00

superpoop

saturday night

2010-01-03T20:31:00.000-08:00

Here's to drunken blogging and binge eating!

drunken musings

2010-01-03T02:17:00.001-08:00

Why is it that every hot dog I eat tastes like THE BEST hot dog I've ever had in my life?

dance music for old people

2009-12-26T17:40:00.001-08:00

There's a party tonight and my mother, so generously, offered my services as provider of music (I won't say DJ because you can hardly call it that). It's not easy to throw together a playlist last minute that will please all generations of music lovers. However, if you would like to feel like you're partying with us in roberts Creek tonight, it'll sound a little something like this (not in this particular order, and I had to throw some things in there specifically for the young folks. Each song is its own link unfortunately. Too lazy to change it.):

dance music for old people

· Reverend run & the christmas all stars
· Snoop Dogg - Santa Claus Goes Straight To The Ghetto
· Stevie Wonder - Higher Ground
· Sam Cooke-(Don't fight it) Feel it.
· Why Don't We Do It In The Road - The Beatles
· Talking Heads - Swamp
· Michael Jackson - Bad
· TOM WAITS "Going Out West"
· The Rolling Stones - She's So Cold (HQ Audio)
· The English Beat - Mirror in the Bathroom
· Vampire Weekend - "Mansard Roof"
· The Specials - monkey man
· Sly&The Family Stone (I Wanna Take You Higher)
· Tom Tom Club - The Man With The Four Way Hips (Extended)
· Baby Please Don't Go
· I Ain't Got You - Yardbirds
· Christmas Is - Run D.M.C. (HQ Audio)
· James Brown Santa Claus Go Straight To the Ghetto
· Stevie Wonder - Living for the City
· Stevie Wonder ~ Superstition
· James Brown - Get Up Offa That Thing
· Michael Jackson - Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough
· AL GREEN-Take Me To The River
· Paul Simon I know what I know
· MGMT - Electric Feel
· Vampire Weekend - "Cousins" (Official Music Video)
· Kid Cudi - Make Her Say (feat. Kanye West & Common)
· Kid Cudi - Pursuit of Happiness ft. MGMT, Ratatat
· Biggie smalls - Party and bullshit ( Ratatat Remix )
· The Beatles - Come Together
· R. Kelly-Ignition (remix)
· Step in the Name of Love
· Unknown Sixties Blues Rock Tune! - Goin' Down - ?
· Ike & Tina Turner - Proud Mary
· A Tribe Called Quest - Da Booty
· Lucy Pearl - Don't Mess With My Man
· Slick Rick-Teacher Teacher
· ladytron-seventeen
· buddy holly - bo diddley - 1963
· "Empire State of Mind" Jay-Z Alicia Keys [OFFICIAL VIDEO]
· Talking Heads - Psycho Killer
· Over and Over
· Bo Diddley - Road Runner
· The Rolling Stones-Miss You
· Otis Redding - Hard To Handle
· The Specials : A Message To You Rudy
· Jimmy Cliff - Wonderful World, Beautiful People
· Bob Marley & the Wailers - Roots Rock Reggae
· All Night
· Go Power At Christmas Time - James Brown

christmas miracles

2009-12-26T12:09:00.001-08:00

two sets of congratulations are in order.

Rachel and Brent welcomed their son Aidan on Christmas Eve and Matt and Lindsay welcomed Holly (?) more fondly known as Bun, 15 days early, at 5am today (Dec 26th).

Heres to Christmas babies!!!

merry christmas y'all

2009-12-25T10:20:00.000-08:00

exploding dog

my front porch

2009-12-24T00:08:00.000-08:00

"Christmas Eve Eve” is a term I learned fromGeorgia when we were in grade four. I remember it clearly. She called me to hang out (or “play” as you were still allowed to call it when you were nine) and her dad dropped her off on our front porch. I can only remember our front porch ever being used for two purposes; if my parents were having a dinner party, and if Georgia came a calling. Also when Jehovah’s Witnesses came to spread the word, they would come to this door, but it was rarely opened and therefore not used. The use of our front porch for some reason had a kind of formal significance to it. We have innumerable photos of my parent’s friends arriving for various events and dinner parties, standing in the doorway, in costume or with a basket filled with exotic food. Georgia coming over was not necessarily an occasion to be marked, but I always remember her walking up the stairs to the glass door with Pete instead of coming through the basement. I feel, though it is probably a fabrication, that I could probably count on one hand the number of times I myself used the front door over the basement. Let’s just say, they are few and far between.

On this particular day, Pete dropped Georgia off, and I can picture clearly myself standing in the living room, while Georgia took her shoes off in the front hall, and Pete closed the door behind himself before descending the stares to his vehicle which was idling in the driveway. As she bent down to remove her sneakers, Georgia looked at me and said, Hey, did you know that today is Christmas Eve Eve? And thus marked a new holiday.

Christmas Eve Eve has come to bear more significance as I’ve gotten older. In high school, Georgia’s family began throwing their annual Christmas party on this day which came to be known fondly as, “Fam Jam”. “Fam Jam” was us Creeker kid’s first real opportunity to party with our parents and friends alike, no strings attached. (“Fam Jam” was, unfortunately, laid to rest two years ago after it gained popularity up and down the coast. Too much popularity which caused the uninvited to appear at this most sacred of events and ruin it for the rest of us. It was devastating for those of us who looked forward to it every year. Some are still known to cross themselves and mutter RIP Fam Jam under their breath when it is brought up in conversation.)

Now, as I’m older still (a quarter of a century next month), Christmas Eve Eve holds a different meaning, as the day I come home for the holidays every year. For the past three years (today included), on December 23rd, I have lugged my ‘required’ belongings to wherever I call work that year, and waited anxiously for the end of my shift so I can haul my ass to the bus and make the trek to the place where I grew up. The bus and ferry are unfailingly teeming with holiday goers, locals and tourists alike, and I instantly plug myself into my ipod and gaze out the window so as to avoid eye contact with that girl I haven’t seen since graduation day almost seven years ago. The journey is noisy, and crowded and it is the one day a year I can convince my dad to come pick me up from the ferry. We drive home usually listening to the CBC and dad tells me there will be dinner waiting for me when we get home. I will come in through the basement door not the front porch but I always picture Georgia taking her shoes off when I walk past the front hall and think to myself Oh yeah. It's Christmas Eve Eve.

Today, when I arrived home, our house was more festive than I ever remember it being. My parents have found a new spot for our Christmas tree and my mum has found a new method of hanging decorations which involves vintage clothe belts. They even splurged and finally caved to my requests of getting a live tree. Quinn arrives tomorrow. This year will be different than most though. We usually have a multitude of multi family events to attend to including Christmas Eve games night with three other families, "Fam Jam", and another party of some sort none of which are happening . We’ve had Christmas dinner with Johanna’s family at Johanna’s house for the past eight years or so but this year, Johannas in Ottawa and mum decided things have to change sometime!, and so, we’re having dinner at our place, sans Johanna and sans turkey. Jo's family will still be there though and we’re having beef wellington. How's that for breaking tradition? (I don’t care for turkey though, so no love loss).

I suspect there will be no white Christmas either.

Sigh.

Change is hard when it comes to tradition.

We have friends coming by on Christmas afternoon though, which could open doors for a new ritual, and we still are having friends to dinner on the big day.

Change is tough, but I think I can manage.

And when those friends come, I'm willing to lay money on which door they come to.

Merry Christmas

spitting image

2009-12-16T12:27:00.001-08:00

Allie: "I like Sex and the city. I don't like Sarah Jessica Parker though; she looks like a foot."

choreography at its finest

2009-12-15T12:38:00.000-08:00

in the news

2009-12-14T18:16:00.000-08:00

Kid Cudi ends a Friday Vancouver show by punching a fan in the face after he attempted to return the fan's wallet when it was thrown on stage hitting Kid Cudi. The wallet aparently did not belong to the fan, and so he threw it back on stage. Kid Cudi took to this offensively, and, ripping out his ear peice and tossing down his microphone, attacked the fan. The fan is not pressing charges.

Good thing I was at the back.

i got hair on my chest, i look good without a shirt...

2009-12-14T16:08:00.000-08:00

Okay. No I don't.
But this is my favourite line in a song and it just so happens that this is my favourite song of the day. An oldie but a goody.
Take it away Tom

fuck healing, lets dance

2009-12-08T23:00:00.000-08:00

My first thought when I woke up at 6:30 this morning was, "I feel like dancing". I don't know if it was the remnants of a dream I had been having before I was jolted awake by my alarm or if it was just natural instinct, but all I wanted to do was shake my groove thang. I wanted to sway my hips, hump my rump, booby shake and bite my lower lip in the style of what Jeff fondly refers to as "the white man's overbite". I'm not talking a bar star top of the pops type deal. I'm talking Elvis Costello blaring, hair shaking, pajama clad, and probably a hair brush marauding as a microphone, all in front of my double wide closet door mirror. I'd be throwing down some serious mum moves because I know I dance like your mother and I'm proud of it. What's not to be proud of? If your mum is anything like mine (who can't dance to save her life, but doesn't give a shit), she cut a rug at some of the sickest concerts that will ever grace a stage: Led Zeppelin ("was it three, or four times? My brain has gone foggy."), the first ever Reading Festival ("I hate to admit it, but, I was so stoned the entire weekend, I don't remember a thing. Except that we bought paper sleeping bags.") and Blind Faith ("I saw Ginger Baker do a forty five minute drum solo!") just to name a few. I'd be laying out the snaps like nobody's business and probably some claps and I'd sing along, loud and proud.

If I could have it my way, I'd start every day in this fashion. Or I'd at least like to wake up feeling like that is how I'd like my morning to kick off. It'd be a fool proof set up for a killer day. Or so you'd think. The feeling is only fleeting on a work day though (as I learned this morning) for as soon as your alarm goes of for the second or third time, reality kicks in, and you realise that if you do not get out of bed this instant, you're going to be late for work and that, no, you do not have time to reenact TC's most famous scene from Risky Business before you brush your teeth. You, in fact, do not even have time enough to consider the sub zero temperatures outside your front door, and so without thinking, you wear your Christmas party dress that has been burning a hole in your closet since you first wore it (last week was much too soon for a second sighting) with naught but tights and boots, a sweatshirt and trench type coat to keep you 'warm' on your walk to the office. By the time you arrive, you can see the colour of your legs through your tights; they are crimson. You may as well have been wearing shorts. Your ipod also died a quarter of the way there, as you knew it would, and so you had nothing to keep your ears warm. Cold, colder, COLDEST!! This still does not seem to frost your mood though until an uncalled for, unprofessional freak out by a coworker is thrown your direction and your cheery disposition goes out with the bathwater (not the best analogy as you're at work by this point, so your bathwater has probably been thrown out hours ago...unless you saved it for your room mate, which is old fashioned and gross). That's when you think, "Shit! What a let down. If only I'd woken up this morning feeling like I'd just been dumped...then things could've only gotten better!".

So, on second thought, lets leave those mornings for weekends. The mornings you wake up feeling ambitious, or energised, or with the need to dance. Because, let's face it, when you wake up feeling like you need to dance, you need to dance otherwise you're going to be thinking about it all day, and then there's nowhere to go but down.

burger meister meister burger

2009-12-08T16:51:00.001-08:00

Last night, Tara and Nevada came over and we made Christmas cards and watched Christmas cartoons (Santa Clause is Coming to Town) and also movies we watched when we were kids even when it wasn't Christmas (The Santa Clause). I was a little apprehensive at first when it came to the cards as I usually am in most creative endeavors, lacking confidence in my artistic ability, but I soon got into the swing of things and couldn't put down the pencil crayons, construction paper, or glitter. "It's smells like grade school in here!" I exclaimed, getting high off the fumes being expelled from the glue gun beside me. It was exhilarating. I haven't done arts and crafts in years. I managed to produce a few gems including the cliched golden trumpet blowing angel (hand drawn of course), a candy cane wielding penguin, a cat pulled sleigh and this one, that I'm planning on giving to Allie-san. I have great faith that she does not read my blog and if she happens to see it, well then serves her right for deciding to support her bff! It will then go to the next deserving pal o mine.

MERRY CHRIST-BASS!

catchy tune

2009-12-07T16:03:00.001-08:00

Married to the sea

hey hoodlum, get up to no good!!!

2009-12-05T10:19:00.001-08:00

Drake has a new artist. A protege if you will. His name is P Reign and he sounds like every other 22 year old on the pop charts. He'll probably make it big.

When my buddy (lets call him Paul so as not to complicate him) lived in Toronto, he went to (elementary-middle-high) school with P Reign. P Reign's real name is Avery. Paul used to call him Ovary and P Reign would freak out. Paul was a bully.

According to Paul, he used to hang out with Avery all the time but then when Paul's family moved to Edmonton, Avery turned into (in Paul's words) "a straight up G". He and some other hoodlums started a Toronto Crip street gang called "Galloway Boys" and a bunch of them are still in jail for killing a couple (innocent, non-connected) dudes. (Avery wasn't involved). Paul was definitely the glue. Soon as he moved, things fell apart.

If Paul called him Ovary now, P Reign would probably pop a cap in his ass.

That is how you win at life.

wittle wabbit

2009-12-04T08:51:00.000-08:00

I would like to throw out a congratulations to Jessica and Graham Turner (Tara Hare's sister and brother in law) on the birth of their son at around 4am this morning (December 4th, 2009). Good work momma. I can't wait to meet the little guy.

an apology.

2009-12-04T08:48:00.000-08:00

Woah. I don't know what happened to me last night. Sorry for being all emo and shit.

To make up for it, here is the cutest kitten in the wooooooooorrrrld!

stab stab stab

2009-12-03T22:38:00.001-08:00

What do you do when you have feelings for someone?
You have feelings for them, and you're almost certain that they return those feelings.
All the signs are there.
Or so you think.
Then they decide you should just be friends and you have no choice but to agree; after all, in the immortal words of Bonnie Raitt, "you can't make your heart feel something it won't".
You think that being friends might be okay.
You enjoy each other's company and have the same sense of humour, but you can't stop feelings and secretly hope that maybe, just maybe there might still be a chance.

Then, WHAM, you learn that they've started seeing someone else.
Maybe even before they decided to make your relationship platonic.

What do you do then?
Your insides hurt.
You feel as though you've been punched in the gut.
Your head spins and all you can think about is what they might be doing at this moment and why it isn't you.
You think it's stupid to feel this way because you haven't known them for that long but, again, you can't help feelings.

What do you do, when all you want is to act like a crazy person; write angry emails; show up on their corner; sabbotage this new person and do other things that make you wonder who you are?

As if this may make them see the light.
Do you sit back and pretend like everything is okay?
Do you take it like a (man)?
Do you tell them how you feel?
Or do you distance yourself for a while to be fair to yourself and also because you value thier friendship?

I'm not entirely sure why I'm asking advice. Or who I'm asking advice from.
Is anybody even out there?

Besides, I already know what I'm going to do.

So, if you read this (you know who you are), then you understand why I'm being distant and maybe a little weird. Give it time and we'll be sending each other quirky message soon enough and maybe hitting the pow but until then, I just need a little time and a little Bonnie Raitt.

once in a blue moon

2009-12-02T17:53:00.000-08:00

Tonight is the first of two full moons this month; the second falls on New Years eve.

This is called a blue moom and it won't happen again for another 18 years (hence the term "once in a blue moon").
This should make for an interesting December.

Have fun, stay safe, and watch out for werewolves.

Especially if they look like Taylor Lautner.

...

In which case you should also (probably) keep your eye out for cougars.

Daaaaiiiimmmmm!

staff party hardy

2009-11-30T16:05:00.000-08:00

This weekend was our staff Christmas party. It was at the Pan Pacific at Canada Place (fancy schmancy). There was a buffet style dinner with the best prawns and beef tenderloin I've ever had in my life. I ate a plate as big as my face, then discovered there were bigger plates on a different table so I returned the smaller and stocked a second larger plate full. Later, while Allie-San and I were dancing to the less than mediocre wedding dj (she was more like a 3rd marriage wedding dj), we both confessed that our stomachs were cramping, impeding our ability to dance to our full capacity. This definitely didn't stop us from cutting a rug though, being the only ones on the dance floor for a few numbers.

All in all the party was less than stellar, we were only given two drink tickets each and any additional were nine bucks a pop, and they had a magician (magic makes me uneasy), and some annoying "dancing heads" game that only had about three songs to choose from, so we had "Jingle Bells" and "Barbie Girl" echoing around the dining room all night. It wasn't a total bust though, as they managed to somewhat redeem themselves by renting out a photo booth (only the best for Stantec employees). I also managed to look almost fabulous by breaking the bank a bit and buying a new dress and wearing red lipstick and heels(something I've been doing a lot more over the past year, making me feel and sound like a lady).

Here's what the photobooth spat out of myself, the rest of the Riley's crew, and my "date" (Tara Hare's little bro Dill).

It's still too early for me to say Merry Christmas...but tomorrow is December first so...happy holidays...I suppose.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

2009-11-25T22:00:00.000-08:00

It's the inside that counts

I remember when I was 12, I noticed that in the corner of the shower, where the glass tiles met ceramic, there was a mushroom. It had bunkered down in the grout on the side of the tub and began to grow. I showed it to my mum and she responded with the same "Oh" as when I noticed the Maple seedling beginning to grow through the vent on the hood of our Volvo station wagon. Maybe it was the hippy in my mum rearing up, not wanting to take the life away from something that was so alive, or maybe it was her just being lazy, but it, like the maple tree, stayed there. I don't remember the day it went away, I don't think I even noticed. I don't know if my mum finally got around to cleaning the spot in the tiles that it had come to call home, or if it finally drowned in the water from the excessive showers I had come accustomed to taking, but after time, it like the seedling, dissapeared. Gone.

I had a shower this morning, as I do every morning. I always have my best moments in the shower. I write poetry. I come up with stories. Always when there isn't a pen and paper. Just like when I first wake up. Always my best moments. I have now come to keeping a journal right by my pillow, so when I wake up, I can jot down my thoughts before they escape. I can't do that in the shower. As soon as I step out, they go down the drain with the bath water. To the sewer for the rats to enjoy. I stood there this morning, under the water, watching as it fell over my body, creating streams down my breasts and stomach. Letting it wash over my head. Cupping my hands in the classic commerical shower pose, and splashing my face. It was in this cliched position that I remembered the mushroom, and I looked into the corner, now empty. I then began my usual habit of counting the tiles. I used to as a kid, and sometimes still do, group them into clusters of five in my head, then six. But mostly fives. I've always liked five. It seems such a happy number. I was doing this when I realised that in the time I have been away from home, somebody had cleaned the grout. The grout has been bleached and is now so white that no mushroom would reside in this shower. Somebody has scrubbed even down into the tightest corner. Probably with a toothbrush. Probably my mother. And that got me to thinking about the other things that have changed since I left home. The little things. The new coat of paint in my parents room and the bathroom. The new pictures hanging on the walls. The new spatula in the kitchen. The new toilet seat. Then that got me thinking, if this house, this solid building that does not grow or shrink with age can change so much in such a short period of time, have I changed? Am I a different person than the one my parents said goodbye to at the Vancouver International Airport last May? I don't look different on the outside minus the new peircings and tattoo. But then neither does the house, minus a new tree out front. So maybe I've changed on the inside. Like this house.I can't pinpoint it but I think I have. Gotten older and I like to think a little wiser...and maybe lost some weight? But the physical stuff doesn't matter anymore. I've almost grown out of that. Matured a bit...maybe...nah...But, like I've always been told...It's what's on the inside that counts

urban dictionary

2009-11-25T16:26:00.000-08:00

Ashley Windsor: "What is it with guys from Victoria always taking duffle bags on the ferry?"

Me: "I can't say I've ever noticed?"

Ashley Windsor: "Well, now the next time you go to Victoria, you will. It's really weird."

Me: "They probably carry their girlfriends in them."

Ashley Windsor: "Gives a whole new meaning to the term 'slut bag'."

Me: "Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha."

2009-11-18T15:57:00.000-08:00

"Sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby
Edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley
Through the middle of my soul"

Bruce Springsteen

blahblahblah

2009-11-17T15:39:00.000-08:00

Something I am highly anticipating is the release of RJD2's new album, "The Colossus", which is set to hit shelves on January 19th of the new year (three days before my 25th birthday, please take note.).
I was reminded of this today and then got wrapped up in listening to a lot of he and rapper Blueprint's collaboration, Soul Position and found myself transported back to 2006 to my time spent in Cuba.
During my three and a half month stint in the socialist empire, I listened to a lot of Soul Position. Their sophomore album, "Things Go Better with RJ and AL" had been released March of that year and while it had held a spot on my Ipod since it's release date, I, for some reason, had neglected to listen to it until either just before, or just after I arrived in Cuba and so it became the soundtrack for much of my stay.
This song in particular brings me back and I've decided someday soon I will do a play list of ridiculous songs and this will top it.

Then I got to listening to a lot of older RJ. A lot of "Deadringer" tracks and then I came across this video for "1976" from "Since We Last Spoke", which I'd never seen before. It, as it turns out, is all shots from Cuba. I feel as though some of them may even be from my town. I think I watched it six times in a row. It's a really great video and not to mention a kick ass track. Short and sweet but straight to the point. It's ironically about Istanbul and sung in German but the video portrays Cuban life beautifully which is why I knew it was Cuba before I knew for sure.

I then got homesick for Cuba. My town. My host family. My friends. So I googled. And I found a blog that is dedicated specifically to Quemado de Guines and the goings on. There are people I knew and locations I recognise. It was really cool.
el guajirigallo is the blog for those of you who speak Spanish or who just want to sift through and check out a few photos of somewhere I've lived.

I appologise for todays post. It was not masterfully crafted but rather just jotted down in a flash. I'm now ending my day at the orifice (office) and am going to PC (Pacific Centre) to look for a dress for Allie-san for the Christmas party next weekend (a little early dontcha think?).
Tonight I have a late night Sushi date with my new friend. I'll need to nap first. And also complete the list of tasks I've left for myself on the kitchen chalk board.

Sorry for being boring.

Oh and we're also getting Kid Cudi tickets today.

Holla for a dolla!

exes and ohs.

When I was 19...

2009-11-16T15:52:00.000-08:00

Monday, October 11, 2004

Twitterpated
This last week has been one of confusion and twitterpatory (is that a word??).
This week, I met someone.
Yes, you may be saying to yourself, i do meet people everyday, but this time it was different.
He was different.
I liked him.
A lot.
I met him through friends at the pub.
We went out.
We got drunk.
We conversed.
We found things in common.
We made out.
He said things to me that I would have laughed at coming from any other guy's mouth but from him, were sweet.
(Why is it that sappy things make you want to puke, but then when the right person says them, you want to melt?)
What is it about all this that makes me scared?
When I do find someone that I like, and maybe, just possibly they like me back, I get scared that it's not real.
Scared that it's just a show.
Scared of rejection.
But I did/do really like him.
Then he left.
One day I accidentally stood him up at the movies and two days later he was on a flight back to Australia.
One week.
That was all.
But, one week can do and mean a lot I have learned.
One week can make or break someones life.
One second can do that.
One split second.
One second can do a lot more damage.
But I'd rather one week than one second.
Rather have had the experience than just a glance his way and a quick "He's cute." under my breath.
One week.

So, the Kiwi is in Australia, and Canada is here in England.
One week.
Maybe I'll see him again, maybe I won't.
But that one week was worth it.

2009-11-13T16:11:00.000-08:00

need a laugh?

2009-11-13T10:07:00.000-08:00

gato

2009-11-13T09:52:00.000-08:00

Going to the coast after work today.

Allie and Jeff are also going to come. Party time coastal styleeeez.
But before I leave, here is a picture of a pretty freaky kitty from cute overload in theme with today, freaky friday the 13th.
FELIZ FIN DE SEMANA!!

HOLLA

hello tuesday

2009-11-10T16:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I got a real bad paper cut.
Right where my thumb joins my hand.

It's red, swollen, and I can't hold a pen.

Maybe I should have got a stitch?

Maybe I'm being mellow dramatic.

Allie says that now I will have to become one of those,
'retarded left handed people'.

I refuse.

Watching lefties write gives me the heebie jeebies.

Today I learned I can do a really great Shakira.
I will be charging $5 an impression.

This could be lucrative.

tonight!

2009-11-07T09:43:00.000-08:00

Idolizzzzeeeeee

h1n1 or celiac?

2009-11-07T09:16:00.001-08:00

Last night, I went to bed at 7:45pm and I just woke up half and hour ago at 8:45am. I think there is something wrong with me.
I have narrowed it down to two things:
1). Swine flu
2). Celiac Disease

Anyone have any tips for gluten free living?

quirks

2009-11-06T19:27:00.000-08:00

married to the sea

tear jerker

2009-11-06T16:58:00.000-08:00

I was just the recipient of the saddest email ever received from one's 97 year old grandfather.

Hi Mikhaila , nice to here from you . Brent took me to the doctor's this morning . When I got back I had my lunch and after lunch I was so tired that I lay down for a nap . That is the first time I have ever had an afternoon nap . My brother Verne had an afternoon nap years ago . I still am a bit tired , will probably go to bed early tonight .

Hope you have fun with your friend , good friends are hard to come by .

Happy to hear from you any old time .

Much love , Poppa

I've been left teary eyed and realising that my Poppa is not going to be around for much longer. I've always just assumed he was immortal. But he's not. His brother Verne died during an afternoon nap, and now he fears he too will pass this way. I have to say, it wouldn't be the worst, but I'd rather he be happy than expecting what may be coming. It's going to be really difficult when Poppa passes. It's going to bring up a whole other realm of emotions none of us will have really experienced before. It's going to force us to finally deal with, also, the death of my Grandmother. My Grandma died 8 years ago while retrieving something from the back of her car, when it slipped out of park and knocked her down. I know I, personally, have yet to come to terms with this, and I feel that goes for the rest of my family as well.

Today was a stressful day at the office (the non busy-ness of the rest of the week finally caught up to us) and now with this email, I'm finding it a little bit difficult to feel excited for the weekend even with a visit from Kate Swaney and a possible hang out with a new friend to look forward to. On top of these potentially exciting events, my roommate just left for two weeks to Mexico. I should be screaming from the rafters. I love her, but, it'll be nice to be able to walk around naked. Oh well. As soon as I get home to a cooked meal, I'll be able to process everything.

Tonight I think I'm going to clean my apartment and spend some much needed time by myself (that is unless a certain someone decides that their schedule isn't too busy for me this evening. You know who you are. I think.). Maybe start a new book or watch a movie. Maybe I'll write. Or maybe I'll just sleep. In any case, my next decision is, what to listen to while I tidy?

Happy weekend.

ecology stinks

2009-11-05T12:58:00.000-08:00

calgon, take me away!

2009-11-05T10:33:00.000-08:00

I'm at work, drinking a tea that takes me back to a million childhood summers. Not because I drank this tea in the summer as a child. I don't even know that, before today, I have ever had this tea. It's called Bushmen's Brew Honeybush (snicker snicker) and it smells just like an alpine meadow, and that is why it is reminiscent.

I spent at least part of the summer every year in an alpine meadow somewhere. Never the same one. A secluded alpine meadow with not another person in sight other than we four. Surrounded by nature. Wildlife was abundant in these meadows. Flies of all kinds buzzing, deer on the edge of the forest, munching, birds twittering, Marmots whistling and the odd bear doing what bears do. There was usually a brook trickling or a stagnant glacial lake somewhere on the edge of said meadow. A breeding ground for swarms of mosquitoes. The air would be heavy with the scent of alpine flowers, low bush, and moss.

That's what this tea smells like and when I drink it, I am instantly transported. I can feel the hot mid July sun on my arms, and the icy breeze (due to the altitude) blowing down my neck. I can feel my ten year old calves burning from the hike I have just taken with my family, and my ears need popping from the uphill drive to the trail head. The ground is crunchy yet cushy with dried moss and flowers. I am eating a sandwich and I feel as though I can fly because I've just taken off my backpack. I can hear trout splashing about in the lake and mosquitoes buzz in my face. I swat. My butt hurts from the rock on which I am perched but I am deeply engrossed in a novel so I don't notice. I am also ignoring my brother. I smell like bug spray and sunscreen.

sigh

It's strange how much a scent can take you back. Way more so than a sound or a sight. It's almost magical. It can induce feelings and emotions, and most of all, nostalgia (was that redundant?). The other day, I was walking across the Georgia Viaduct behind a woman who had recently sprayed herself with Hawaiian Ginger and I was jolted back to the hallways of grade nine. Calgon, take me away!

It's been dead all week at work. I've done a total of six jobs (most of you wouldn't know the difference, but that is not a lot), four of which were yesterday. I have yet to receive one today. We've had warning of a large job coming in, we are just waiting for it to show up. 100 sets of drawings and 80 books (most of you wouldn't know the difference, but that is a lot). I think they want it for Monday. I refuse to come in to the office this weekend. Kate Swaney is going to be here and staying at mine and it's the last time I'll see her for who knows how long. I'm going to miss having her in Canada.

I'm also going to be working on a potential new project with Amber. I am not at liberty to say what it is, but it could be pretty cool if it all goes down.

BRING IT ON WEEKEND.

Bring it on.

Here's a cartoon of a renaissance fair pick up artist from
Toothpaste For Dinner

questionable choices

2009-11-04T20:34:00.000-08:00

I went for a little walk this evening in support of my new 'non-spending, entertain myself' ways and decided I needed to stop by Super Value to pick up some eggs, peppers and salt and vinegar chips (obviously). I was busily perusing the produce section when who walks in, but my worst decision ever in the world. I avoided eye contact (I'm not sure that he even saw me) but then didn't manage to dodge a second run-in in the rice aisle while he was on a mission for shake 'n' bake (typical), and I, boxed curries. I got to meet the new girlfriend, and dog which he, hilariously, had zipped into the front of his jacket. I walked away feeling dirty and slimy and wondering what kind of a skiddly phase I was going through and what state of mind I was in last summer.

I'm not sure at what point I snapped back to reality and realised I was hanging out on the corner of Princess and Cordova, in a house with no panes in the windows, with a guy who slept on a couch. I somehow got charmed into spending the better part of about 3 weeks there with the formerly mentioned shake 'n' bake eating dude, who said I was a comfort to sleep with, inducing dream filled peaceful snoozing (no, I did not perform any acts with him. Thank god. Sleeping only), and also a guy who had a hard on for me and my ass(ets). This second dude was literally obsessed with me, once threatening to kidnap me and take me to Kellowna. I still receive the odd message from him. There were a couple others who resided in said shack, one, a heroin addict (no kidding) and the other...was dating my friend.

I still shudder at the thought of my time spent there. I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was the attention I received or the free drinks. Who knows, but my confidence level hit the roof in those weeks. Now though, looking back, I realise that this particular group of guys would have been impressed with any "lady" (I use the term loosely) who set foot in their hovel (especially, I learned from over hearing conversations, if she happened to be wearing clear heels). While there, I managed to feel both my best, and my dirtiest. Three weeks I can't get back. I wouldn't do it again for all the tea in China.

The last time I saw Shake 'n' Bake, he was wearing a toque and matching scarf (what finally turned me off. You'd have thought it may have been the overt cocaine abuse to which I chose to turn a blind eye.), and was about to take off to Montreal for the winter (who goes to Montreal for the winter?). Over the next couple of months, I received the odd text message from him, usually saying how he missed BC and his friends (of which he apparently still counted me), and then, more than twice, asking me for money. You can guess how I chose to respond. The last time I heard from him, was at the end of last winter sometime. He sent me a text message saying that he would be back the next month and that if I were still single, he would love to take me out. I restrained from asking if he'd need to borrow money for said 'taking out', and instead answered "I am still single, but I'm not promising anything" with "No fucking chance" written between the lines.

I, thankfully, haven't heard from him since, and though I'd heard, through the grapevine, that he and his newly acquired dog and girlfriend had moved to my neighbourhood, I had, up until tonight, managed to avoid any encounters (other than a spotting on the bus, to which I quickly picked up my phone and dialed a friend so as not to feel obligated to converse, though I'm not sure he saw me).

Tonight, as I was standing in line at the til behind an unquestionably single man (I could tell by his grocery list: 3 cans of Campbell's Chunky soups, a few Sidekicks, a two litre bottle of coke, a 24 pack of pepperoni sticks, and four breaded chicken breasts, which he ran back to grab at the last minute), Shake 'n' Bake, the girl, and the pooch walked out the door, wishing me well on their way. I felt like yelling out, "He smokes crack!" to warn the girlfriend, but I didn't. (It wouldn't be a lie, I only found out about the actual extent of his drug use after I kicked the idea of him to the curb.) Maybe she knows. Maybe they're totally honest with each other. Maybe she hits the pipe too? She didn't look the type. Maybe, I hope, she's keeping him straight. I hope he's at least getting something because we all deserve the chance to get back on track. He seems happy which was, I think, his biggest struggle. So, instead of shouting unnecessary obscenities, I waved goodbye to the couple and their dog, picked up my bag of groceries, walked home and devoured my entire bag of salt and vinegar chips.

Maybe I'm the one who needs help?

a good way to start the day...

2009-11-02T09:39:00.000-08:00

...is being stuck on the viaduct walking behind an old man who keeps stopping, every ten steps or so, to scratch his butt good and hard.

happy halloweenie

2009-10-31T09:47:00.000-07:00

hansel und gretel oder irische lesbier?

2009-10-29T15:57:00.001-07:00

Hansel and Gretel or Irish Lesbians?

watch this

2009-10-24T12:25:00.000-07:00

Bring it back

2009-10-21T15:10:00.000-07:00

Although this particular blog is relatively new, I am not new to the blogging world.
I first started blogging when I was 18 and living in Whistler in 2003 under an alias I won't mention because if you typed it into a search engine, my old blog may come up, and we wouldn't want that. I blogged my way through at least half of my Whistler stay and all of my nine months of European adventures, and although I no longer remember my log in information, my electronic journal is still out there in the world of cyber, circling around (is that what things on the internet do? circle around?), probably never to be read again. While I am a little ashamed of some of the things I chose to share with complete strangers, there are a few gems on said blog and so, I've decided to give y'all an occasional taste of who I was when I was 18-20. In no particular order.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005 (after recently having returned home to the Sunshine Coast after being in the UK for the better part of a year)

Planet Earth, Milky Way, Universe...etc.etc....
Today I started my new job. I am now officially an employee in the garden centre at Canadian Tire, Wilson Creek, Sechelt, British Columbia, Canada, North America, Northern Hemisphere, Planet Earth, Milky Way, The Universe...and whatever else goes beyond that, because that can't really be it can it?

This is my first step to saving money to go to another part of this 'one and only' Planet Earth, Milky Way, Universe...etcetera, etcetera... Although with my wage starting at only $8.10/hr and them 'never hiring full time' I'm not sure how realistic my goal is for September of this year.

I got to Wilson Creek early due to the fact that the local buses do not cater to my needs and found myself sitting in the plaza of the Inernational Grocers Association (more commonly known as IGA) outside the local coffee shop. I sat there, non fat, large latte in hand, listening to Bob Dylan sing about...I don't remember what he was singing about, and let my mind wander, as I often do. I was thinking about...I don't remember what I was thinking about, when I noticed the bees. Or Bee, singular, rather.
Next to my right foot sat a pot of flowers. I should probably be able to tell you what kind of flowers they were see as I work in the garden center and should now be an expert, but, my mind was not geared the same way that it is now, 10 hours later. I watched this bee frantically going from flower to flower, transferring pollen as if it's life depended on it. Did it know that my life depended on it, I wondered?
Do bees know that the whole world depends on them?
Do they know that they are serving a purpose?
Do they realise that if they did not pollinate then there would be no world as we know it?
Or are they only doing it for one purpose, to make honey?
(Which, ultimately seems to be for us anyway).
Do they actually eat the honey?
Or is it for the bears?
Do these little creatures do anything for themselves?
Or are they completely selfless?
Does everything serve a greater purpose other than living for themselves?
Even humans?
Maybe everything we do, the fact that I just put my coffee mug down, the way I just shuffled to the right to make myself more comfortable, serves some greater purpose in the universe. Maybe everything we do is driven by something other than instinct and intuition, some greater power and I don't mean God, because if we didn't take that extra step to the right, the world would end.
The survival of the Universe and the etcetera etcetera may depend on this little planet and me, and the bees, and the honey. The thought that so much could possibly be riding on my shoulders is kind of scary. What if I do something wrong? But maybe I'm supposed to make a mistake. Maybe I'm supposed to fuck up because if I did everything perfectly, then maybe we wouldn't exist. So, maybe what I do wrong, I'm actually doing right?

I looked at the book that I had in my hand in mock-peruse, How To Be Good by Nick Hornby, and thought, "Do I really need to learn how to be good, or is it already in me. Natural instinct?"
I placed it down on the cold metal table and looked around. People brushed passed me like worker bees, doing their job, because something other than their brains were telling them to. Then I crossed my legs, uncrossed them, crossed them again, because it felt natural. Then I picked up my coffee, turned up my music to who knows what, and drank like the survival of the universe and what lay beyond depended on it, because who knows, maybe it does.

Who's got talent?

2009-10-18T16:53:00.000-07:00

Who knew there even was an 'Ukraine's got talent'?
This girl won the most recent contest by preforming live, a sand animation of the invasion of The Ukraine in WWII.
Ukraine HAS got talent.

>

riley was here

2009-10-12T13:17:00.000-07:00

cheats at puzzles

2009-10-11T13:56:00.000-07:00

I knew I was running the risk of ruining our friendship when I got Allie a job at my work. People warned me but I heeded none and proceeded to tell my boss she was the best candidate for the position.
What a mistake that was.
I now fucking hate the bitch.
Best friends no more.

Top ten reasons why I hate Allison Ainslie:

1). Smells
2). Lazy
3). Mouth breather
4). Bad taste in food, music, and life.
5). Ugly
6). Girthy
7). Wench
8). Slut
9). Self centered
10). Cheats at puzzles

Basically she all round sucks at life.
I can't surround myself with people who are going to hold me back any longer.
I need to soar.
As Chanel once said "Yeah man, you gotta cut the fat."
So Allie-san, this is it.
It's over.
I will cut up our photos, light them on fire, and flush them down the toilet along with our memories.

Oh yeah, and she steals.

Okay. I was lying. Except number 10. She definitely cheats at puzzles. So does Tara.

She did steal a pen she liked from work once. Then I stole it from her. Who's the bigger criminal? The one who steals office supplies, or the one who steals from her best friend?

Allie-san is top notch, best friend material. We work and play together and I have not yet gotten sick of my fine feathered friend. (I can't speak for her. I annoy myself most of the time so I can only imagine how she feels being stuck with me for 8 hrs plus a day) In fact, I haven't gotten sick of any of my friends.

A while back, I decided I needed to tighten up my social circle. "Cut the fat" as previously mentioned. I did this by not calling people, and only keeping my real close friends around. I now currently have about half a dozen people I hang out with, and I like it that way. It's easier to spend quality time with people when you're not spreading yourself thin.

Remember when you were in grade school and you ranked your best friends?
"Well, Sally is my first best friend, and Julie is my second best friend, and you're my third best friend."
What a way to make an eight year old feel like shit. Nobody wanted to be the third best friend. I remember I was once told I was someone's eleventh best friend. That stung. We are still friends to this day, but I doubt she remembers that specific conversation. I don't hold it against her.

And so, this is yet another thing I'm thankful for this beautiful fall day we call Thanksgiving. My friends. You know who you are.Particularly the besties. You make my life worth living. Sap fest. But for real. You make me complete. I love you all so much. And I know you love me too.

It's a really good feeling, to be loved.

Thanks for that.

waack you

2009-10-11T13:36:00.001-07:00

So, I just can't get enough of these people.
Tara Hare wants to take classes.
Ya she does!

stuff i like. i like stuff.

2009-10-11T13:09:00.001-07:00

My friend Kate Swaney is friends with these people.
They are really cool.
I wish I was this cool.
The second one is stopmotion. All photographs.
Again,
how cool?!?

help wanted

2009-10-11T13:02:00.000-07:00

There is nothing worse than dreaming about work. Last night, maybe due to all the cheese I ate at a party, I could not stop dreaming about binding books. I was binding, and binding, and binding, and then it turned out I had bound a bunch of books together, and I had to unbind, separate, and bind again.
I think I need a new job.

LOVE

2009-10-10T18:41:00.000-07:00

Today is Canadian Thanksgiving. For those of you who know how much I love fall, you'll also know how much I love Thanksgiving.

Growing up, Thanksgiving in our house was mostly a huge family jam. We usually wound up going to Galiano to my grandparent's house with the rest of the family. The cousins would spend the day playing croquet in my grandparents mushy back yard (the backyard of their (then) restaurant was always super swampy) and then we'd come in for a huge feast cooked by my cuisinely apt mother, uncles and or grandmother, usually opting for ham instead of the traditional turkey. In later years, as a teenager, we would end up in Oliver at my uncle's orchard. My two uncles had made some sort of deal in that one of them bought industrial apple juice making equipment which he traded unlimited use for unlimited apples and so it was a festival indeed. The most amazing apple juice is the apple juice you get when placing your glass beneath the spout of an industrial apple press. There was drinking, there was eating, there was laughing and lots of arguing (my family is never short on something to say to get someone going). Needless to say, our thanksgivings had everything a thanksgiving would require short of a cornucopia.

This year, my parents and I were going to Oliver and Tara was coming with us. It was going to be great. But then, one of Tara's staff contracted what could possibly be swine flu and so Tara had to cover and our plans were thwarted.

So she and I are on the coast.

It's beautiful.

We've been invited to Johanna's house for Turkey dinner. Friends were concerned I wouldn't be with family for the big day, but they don't understand the extent of my family.

I grew up in a very small very tight knit community and I've only just begun to realise how unique and unusual my upbringing was. Not just in the way my parents raised me (which in itself was something to write home about), but also in the "it takes a community to raise a child" attitude in my small seaside town.
My parents friends were not just "my parents friends", nor were their children "my parents friends kids".

They are my brothers, my sisters, my cousins, aunts and uncles.
They are my family.
We are old school creek (none of this new age trust fun hippy shit that seems to be happening in my beloved home town).

We stick together.

And it was because of this that I knew there would be no problem getting invited for turkey dinner tonight because there was no way any of them would let me be alone for Thanksgiving.
And this is what I'm thankful for this year. My family. They say blood is thicker than water, and although there is no blood here, there is something just as thick. My heart swells for all of you.

I love you all.

Thank you.

just so

2009-10-07T13:57:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, my family (mainly my mum) was really into books on tape. We had everything from Mozart's "The Magic Flute" to a story about a boy who could talk to whales (who's title has escaped me). When I was 17, we went on another (as always) "Searle family road trip" ('destination vacation' was a regular activity in my family, my mother choosing a different remote location for us to trip up a mountain and either rent a cabin, or camp for every holiday you can think of) across this great nation of ours, and we listened to the entire 4th book in the Harry Potter Series (The Goblet of Fire), read by Jim Dale. My dad got so into the tapes (of which there were 11, double sided), that when we reached a camp ground, nobody was allowed to get out of the car, and he would not turn off the engine, until a chapter break.

Another book on tape that my mum found somewhere was "The Elephant's Child" by Rudyard Kippling, narrarated by Jack Nicholson with music and sounds effects by Bobby McFerrin. Last year sometime, I conjured up the memory of this story and decided to look for it. It took me ages to find, and none of my friends had ever heard of it (same goes for most things I had or did when I was a child). I finally located the torrent and downloaded it, but I also found this video on youtube in three parts.
If this doesn't make you smile, I don't know what will.
Narrarated by Jack Nicholson, Music and sound effects my Bobby McFerrin and illustrations by Tim Raglin.

lipo?

2009-10-07T09:02:00.000-07:00

This morning, Allie said to me, "Woah! Gastric bypass?"
Apparently my shirt is slimming
Thank you Allie-san for boosting my confidence?

sometimes i'd like to watch myself explode

2009-10-01T19:34:00.000-07:00

This is my horoscope according to Ion Magazine.

You are like a floating Esso gas station located on a lake. Boats use you to refill their tanks before heading back out for more non-stop water sports action. You're charming. People without boats look at you from the shore and daydream about what it would be like to be onboard, but they can't help thinking how awesome it would look if you were to explode.

Woah. What does that even MEAN?

2009-10-01T14:59:00.001-07:00

Did Tara sing 'Soul Man'?
I wouldn't know.
I wasn't there.
BAAAAIIILLL OOOUUUT

writing for children episode 2

2009-10-01T14:25:00.000-07:00

A timed exercises with prompts.
Write about a disastrous family picnic.
Prompts:
1). Uncle Billy's toupee flew off.
2). The ants got into the mayonnaise
3). (someone/thing) ended up in the lake.

__________________________________________________________

Drake threw the checkered table cloth on the lush green grass and on top of that, the potato and pasta salads and condiments for the hot dogs that were soon to be cooked on the grill. Then the napkins were placed smack dab in the centre of the makeshift table.
Drake turned his back to grab the cutlery, when a huge gust of wind came along and picked up the corner of the table cloth, upturned the salads and condiments and blew the napkins in every direction. Everyone ran to help clean the mess when another gust came out of nowhere, and uncle Billy's toupee flew off. It glided through the air and into a nearby willow tree. Billy stood frozen to the spot. Nobody knew he was bald. Not even Aunt Nancy and they'd been married fifteen years.
while everyone stood in shock, the ants came. They scurried so quietly that nobody noticed until cousin Mikey shouted, "Quick! The ants are in the mayonnaise!"
Uncle Billy used the momentary distraction caused by the insects to make a dash for his toupee, hoping he could go unnoticed. He grabbed at the branch which was holding his hair captive. He held on tight and reached. Just then, the branch slipped out of his hand, whipping upwards and launching his treasured possession into the air. His toupee landed in the lake and Billy dove in after it.
And I sat in my car seat and observed the whole event wondering if, when I grew up, I would be just like them.

blues brothers 2009

2009-09-30T11:17:00.000-07:00

Who's in for karaoke at the Biltmore tonight?

If you come, Tara Hare will be singing "Soul Man".

today

2009-09-29T16:08:00.001-07:00

It's Tuesday and it's raining in Vancouver.
From my 11th floor office, it looks like snow.
It isn't.
I went downstairs to check.
A girl can dream, can't she?

It's so dead in here today, that I read the blog of a girl I barely know, from beginning to end.
I am also a secret follower of said blog.
I feel like a stalker.
I hope she doesn't find out.

crumbs in my bed

2009-09-29T13:17:00.000-07:00

On Friday night, I went to the Bourbon with Tara Hare and Jeff (also Jess and Dom were here from Calgary, but they sat and were all romantic and shit in a booth the whole time "wah waaaaahhhhhhh!!!"), danced to shitty (awesome) music all night, fought off male suitors (one who tried to win my affection by telling me I was "the angriest looking girl on the dance floor" and then proceeded to follow me around like a lost puppy, forcing me to resort to, "Dude, you really need to fuck off!" after he refused to acknowledge my rejection or Jeff's interception. I can't imagine this has worked for him before? It reminded me of the African musician at the Vancouver Folk Music Festival who said to me "You're beautiful. Will you sleep with me?" to which I responded "Ummmm...NO!" and he "Why not? I will pay for your cab home!?!". Barf!) and drank many a beer (three of which were bought with $15 found on the floor. Last time I was there, Allie and I found a 20. That place is a GOLD MINE!).

I arrived home at 3am inebriated and hungry so I made popcorn (HPC for those who know) and clambered into bed where I ate said snack and streamed The Cosby Show.

I wish every Friday night could end this way.

I also wish to, one day, be a part of a family like the Cosby's.

Saturday night went somewhat the same way except it ended with soup, in Amber's bed, and her offering me the world in her drunken stupor (Why thanks, I think I will.).

Being a good friend is really tiring sometimes.

Sunday afternoon, after having a nauseating pho experience (I'll be taking a break pho a while), I decided I'd had it with being social and so I locked myself in my room, and watched the office in my nightgown, wool sweater and alpaca socks, read the same book I've been reading for six months, napped, wrote, and thought about a boy who I don't think thinks about me.

That hurts, but tea heals everything.
Apparently so does a whole bag of Kettle chips.
The two of them together could cure a whole army of heart broken soldiers.

At least temporarily.

This coming weekend, I begin my week long stint as Tara's roommate.

Party on Wayne!

hot peppers and toilet paper

2009-09-28T23:27:00.000-07:00

This evening, I put on my old MEC fleece to head out to coffee with Tara Hare and Vader. I guess I have not worn this particular jacket in a while because as I was gathering myself to leave, I felt something in the pocket. I reached in to see what it was (hoping it was long fogotten and much needed money), and pulled out a crisp, uncrinkled receipt. I did something I don't normally do, and instead of just throwing it straight in the trash, I looked at the date.

The receipt was from this date exactly a year ago.

C'est mystérieux non?

Here is what I bought from Santa Barbara Market on September 28th 2008
0.34 lb @ $2.09 / lb
Pepperoncini (pickled hot peppers) Bulk $0.71
Cascades Bathroom Tissue 24r $9.99

For a grand total of
$11.90
on my debit card.

Funny thing is, looking at what I bought, I remember this day very clearly.

Word.

2009-09-28T22:43:00.000-07:00

a children's story

For my first assignment, I had to write a picture book. I wrote this in about ten minutes.

Here it is.

My titleless picture(less) book.

___________________________

When Maximo woke up on Saturday, it was raining. He sat on the couch by the window, with his knees under his chin all morning, watching the water run down the glass, making it hard for him to see the outside world.

“I guess summer really is over.” He heard his mum say to a friend on the phone.

Maximo sighed.
He knew what that meant. No more trips to the beach. No more hot sun. No more swimming and, most of all, no more sand castles.
Summer was Maximo’s favourite season.
What was he going to do with himself now that summer was over?

“Cheer up Maximo.” His dad said, “It’s not the end of the world.”

It sure felt like it was.

On Sunday, Maximo woke up to the smell of pancakes wafting into his room. He walked into the living room rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, surprised by the sun streaming in through the windows.

“Good morning sunshine!” his mum exclaimed as he padded, bare foot, into the kitchen, “What a beautiful autumn morning! Today, would you like to help rake leaves in the garden?”

“Leaves?” Maximo asked.

“Look outside sleepy head!” His mum pushed him towards the window.

Sure enough, over night, the leaves had started to fall. The trees were glistening from left over rain, and the previously green lawn in front of the house had been covered with what appeared to be a brown blanket.

“Go get dressed!” his mum said, “And don’t forget your rain boots!”

Maximo spent the whole afternoon outside with his mum, his dad, and his older brother, Sacha.

Maximo tried to rake leaves at first, but the rake was too big for him, so he jumped in puddles left by Saturday’s storm instead.

“Hey Maximo, watch this!” Sacha said.

Maximo turned around, just in time to see his brother run full speed towards one of the neat leaf piles, and jump right in, giggling as he did so.

“Now you try!” his dad said.

By the end of the day, Maximo had almost forgotten about summer.
He played for so long that when it was time for bed, he was almost asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Over the next few weeks, Maximo spent his days jumping in leaf piles, carving pumpkins, and playing in the rain.

He even dressed up for Halloween.

“Autumn is my favourite season.” Maximo said sleepily one night, as his mum tucked him in. She smiled and turned out the light.

Then, one Saturday, Maximo woke up and before he even left his room, he dressed himself in his boots and jacket in preparation for playing in the rain that was sure to be falling.

He ran into the living room, but stopped in his tracks when he tried to look outside, but couldn’t see anything.

“Mum!” he cried, “What’s wrong with the windows? I can’t see outside!”

“That’s frost Maximo. It’s winter now.” His mum explained to him.

Sure enough, when Maximo opened the front door to look outside, there were no freshly fallen leaves to rake from the grass. They were all frozen to the lawn.

There were no puddles for him to jump in either. They too, were frozen.

Maximo could see his breath as he slumped his head and closed the door behind himself.

He walked slowly over to the couch by the window.

As he was pulling his knees under his chin, his dad walked past him.

“Cheer up Maximo!” He said. ” It’s not the end of the world.”

It sure felt like it was.

The next morning, as he walked into the kitchen, everything seemed quieter than usual.

He sat down to his hot cereal a little bit disoriented.

“Good morning, Maximo.” His mum said, “Would you like to help shovel snow this afternoon?”

“Snow?” Maximo questioned.

His mum pushed him towards a cleared spot in the frosty window and sure enough, a new blanket had covered the lawn and trees.

This time, it was a white, glistening layer of snow.

“Go get dressed!” His mum said,

“And don’t forget your snow boots!”

8-holed cherry red docs

2009-09-25T15:07:00.000-07:00

When I was 7 or 8, my mother took me to visit family friends on Orcas Island, just across the border in Washington State. It would have been late 92 or early 93, right at the height, and what was also the tail end, of the grunge era. Nirvana's Nevermind had been released only one year earlier and they were probably the most popular band at the time.

My mum's friend had a daughter, Simona, who was about five or six years older than I and was, in my eyes, the coolest (she and her friend thought I was 12!!). I remember lounging on the sofa in their living room, with her, her boyfriend (who was 16 and drove a van) and her best friend (with whom she had snuck out with all night and confided in me), all clad in plaid flannel, baggy, torn jeans, doc martens and long, greasy hair (I was even jealous of Simona's acne, (which she blamed on Dove soap), not realising that there was, in fact, nothing desirable about a whitehead). We watched "Look Who's Talking" and the next day, with her three brothers (two older and one younger), had, what remains to this day, the most memorable water fight I ever partook in.

I didn't have older siblings to look up to, but from that weekend on, my elementary school years were plagued with Nirvana, Hole, Greenday, Pearl Jam and Rage Against the Machine. I even had Guns 'n' Roses' "Use Your Illusion II" on cassette (much to the distaste of my parents).

I remember when Georgia's older sister was planning on going to the Guns 'n' Roses concert in Vancouver at, what must have been, about the age of 14 and I remember my mum saying "I would never let my 14 year old daughter go to a rock concert! Concerts are not the same as they used to be!" (she had not yet, of course, had a 14 year old daughter).

I didn't, by any means, morph into a grunge rocker. I didn't have the influence or motivation to do so entirely. I didn't start wearing plaid, although I did get a pair of doc martens in grade three, and I probably didn't wash my hair (just a guess). I remember when Kurt died in '94 and being at my friend Melissa's house when I found out. Her older brothers sat in their basement bedroom blasting Nirvana all night while she and I attempted to sleep.

With all that far behind me, I still enjoy listening to the odd throw back track and I was ecstatic when I got to see Tom Morello's new band in May.

In celebration of Pearl Jam being in 'Vangrity' tonight (I say 'Vangrity' purposely for the grungeness of it), and in lieu of tickets I do not possess, I decided to make a new play list (I even created a second songza account so as not to erase my previous electro list which I only added two days ago. How's that for dedication?).

As previously stated, I'm not going to the show tonight. I had actually completely forgotten that Pearl Jam were coming to town until Allie mentioned that she and her boyfriend (who is a couple years older than us and so is allowed to call himself a product of the 90's) were going to try and get tickets. It was then that I realised that I had subconsciously worn a plaid shirt and also not washed my hair and probably should be going but then I also realised that I have only eighty dollars to my name until Wednesday and should maybe just stay home with a bottle of Listerine instead (I'm kidding! Fuck!).

The long and the short of it is, I made this list.

It's not all 'grunge'.

But it's from the era.

Cummon! Tell me The Cranberries don't make you want to haul out and lace up your 8-holed cherry red docs?

Grunge is not dead...yet...

(keep in mind, this is probably the least amount of effort I've put into a playlist so it's not top notch...but part of Grunge is about not caring...isn't it?)

1). Pearl Jam- Jeremy
2). Nirvana - About a Girl
3). Live - Lightning Crashes
4). Soundgarden - Outshined
5). Stone Roses - Love Spreads
6). Guns N' Roses - Don't Cry
7). Nine Inch Nails - Gave Up
8). Alice in Chains - Man in the Box
9). The Smashing Pumpkins - Cherub Rock
10). Metallica - Master of Puppets
11). Rage Against The Machine - Killing In The Name
12). Tool - Undertow
13). Sonic Youth - Dirty Boots
14). Pixies - Wave Of Mutilation
15). Dinosaur Jr. - Keep The Glove
16). Screaming Trees - Where The Twain Shall Meet
17). Stone Temple Pilots - Crackerman
18). The Cranberries- Zombie
19). Gin Blossoms - 29
20). Mudhoney into the drink
21). Green River - Queen Bitch
22). The Melvins- Cow
23). Jane's Addiction - Been Caught Stealing
24). Temple Of The Dog - Pushin' Forward Back
25). Mother Love Bone - Captain Hi-Top

things to get

2009-09-24T15:31:00.000-07:00

Where would I be without Allie to remind me of what I need to buy?