Words of Beloveds

After 10 years of knowing someone, it's inevitable that communication changes from new and thrilling stories to...well, whatever the hell we do.
P.S. This man is a magician when it comes to guessing what I'm talking about.

"I need to find someone to play with on Friday."
(Promo plug: Go see Adam and Joel play acoustic guitars at the Carrigan on Friday nights!)
"What happened to Joel?"
"Toronto."
"Uhhh, how about the..guy?"
"What guy?"
"Tall guy."
"Tall guy...?"
"Glasses...tall guy...depressing."
"I don't know a tall guy."
"Tall. Guy. Glasses."
"Steve Sinnicks?"
"Yeah."
"I don't really want to."
"Yes, you do. You played with him all the time at St. George's Arms."
"I never played with him at St. George's Arms."

"Yes, you did. You played that song."
"What song."
"The song...the rollercoaster song."
"Oh, the 'everyday, things are getting closer...'"
"No, not that one. The other one."
"I don't know what you're talking about."

"It kind of sounds like an Everly Brothers' tune."
"Dream?"
"As IF I wouldn't remember Dream."
"...And it goes 'up, down, round and round'...?"
"Yeah. 'Clickety clack...track..something'. That's why I called it the rollercoaster song."

"Is it a Buddy Holly tune?"
"Maybe. Just list all of the songs you harmonized with him on at the pub."
"I don't even remember playing with the fucking guy!"
"Think!"
"Save it For Later? It's not a rollerco-"
"Save it For Later!!! Yes, that one. There. See?"
"It has nothing to do with rollercoasters."
"Doesn't it go 'round and round'?"
"No, it goes 'Runaway'."
"Oh. Well, whatever. Play it with him on Friday."

"It's not Buddy Holly."
"WHAT. EVER."

Listen for yourself. Tell me it doesn't make you think of a fucking rollercoaster.

Juiced

Soooooo taking a trip to the winery is like going to Disneyland when you're five. Actually, it's like being told that you can live in Disneyland if you want to. And then being told that actually, Disneyworld wants me to live at its palace instead and I will be a princess. It's super, awesome, happy day. And my boyfriend gets to be my DD.
This is me and my DD in my car:

We always go to the same winery. Konzelmann Estate Winery, it's called. We love Konzelmann. Well, I love Konzelmann. I am the queen of Konzelmann. I know exactly what to taste test when I get there. My favorite wine is Baco Noir. But you have to pretend like you don't know what it is. You have to be all "oooh, I don't know, they all look so good" and then they give you a lot of stuff to taste and then you can be all "hey, what's this Baco Noir one?" and make sure to pretend like it's hard to pronounce french words because they pour more in the glass if they think you're a retard.

By the fifth or so tasting, the bartenders are on to what I'm up to. But by that time, they feel stupid that it took so long to figure it out, and it's a posh place, so they don't cut me off or anything. It's not like I spill too much wine.



I am a great salesperson at Konzelmann. I drink, therefore I get super social. I am good at drawing an audience (the best ones are the people that come off tour busses) with my rants and advice, especially when they probably feel sorry for me and my problem. I tell my audience how good the wine is, and then taste test along with them so I can explain the process of the experience. I'm proud to say that I've sold 6 bottles.



Then my boyfriend magically reappears again just in time to save the bartenders from having to detach my elbow from the bar table. And then he buys the wine bottles I picked out and have been protecting, because a lady simply never has cash on hand. I promise him that we will go home and drink our lovely new wines. But then I fall asleep in the car. And get a hangover before dinner.

28th time around

I was stuffing Tom Yum soup noodles in my face, trying to talk over the mall noise into my cell phone. Of course, a band below me started to play holiday songs, adding to the volume.

"It might get you in the Christmas mood," Adam said, as I voiced my complaints.
"No." Was my simple reply. Isn't Peace the root of this holiday?

My meal was then interrupted again. 20 kids in santa hats lined up around the food court balcony to sing Jingle Bells. It was useless trying to carry on a conversation via phone.

They looked happy, though. And festive. And when they started marching to the tune of 'I Want a Hippopotamus for Xmas', I fell in. The mood, that is. I wasn't alone. Very soon, the food court diners became an audience, started crowding around the railings, trying to take pictures and see the full view (difficult, since we were surrounded by mall ferns).

As I sailed down the escalator, I saw Santa. I saw the little kids in awe of his presence in their mall. A little girl in red-ribboned pigtails was so starstruck she couldn't even walk past him to line up.

I never know when the Christmas spirit will hit me, but I'm glad that the reason is almost always little kids. Maybe they're not all bad.

:)

I have so much to be thankful for this year. There's a lot of joy and creativity and love and stimulation in my life. I hope I can share it as much as I should this holiday season.

Final Fantasies

I remember when my mind was so full of creativity that it took a bitch-load of chocolate to calm me down. I'm getting there again, thankfully.

It's exciting to imagine what the final art will look like. This year's list includes paintings, jewelry, and chocolates. My last chocolate project didn't go too well. It was an overachieving, underwhelming attempt at trying to make cream-filled bon-bons. With different chocolate colours and embossed Christmas images on the top. If I remember correctly, the version I made in grade 6 looked oodles better. And it didn't look like the chocolates were post orgasm.

Actually, the jewelry didn't turn out too well either. I prayed really hard that the thing wouldnt fall apart as she opened the present. It didn't, but that didn't last very long. Never, ever buy cement glue from Shoppers and try to glue metal to resin on a 20-minute deadline.

I have high hopes this year, because I have money to buy the quality products I need to get it done right. Plus (here comes the jinx), I have way more time than last year.

Letting it Go

We have survived another November, thank god. It ended in rain, which is a good thing - 'At least it's not snow' is the motto that kept me going these last few weeks.

It's times like these when I think about a faraway ex of mine. I remember the huge cube van we used to drive during college (ohhh, the bad things we did to that thing). It was raining one day, and while leaving the campus, I stepped on the gas a little too hard. The van's tired squealed but we didn't get very far. Usually, this wouldn't even be an issue. But I had a particularly bad, bad day.
Everything went red for an instant as I leaned into the wheel and tried to keep from screaming. I wasn't brought up to voice out frustrations. My mother, ever the hypersensitive woman, couldn't stand loud noises.
He reached over and put his hand on my back. "Let it out," he yelled, to show me how, I suppose, "give it a go." So I did. Right in the middle of the intersection, I had my first ever real screaming freak-out.
His lack of reaction made me feel normal, no matter who was honking at us by that time. I was totally fine afterward, and had the loveliest conversation for the rest of the drive while I took short drags of his freshly-rolled joint.

Now the Screamfreak is my secret weapon (only to be used as a last resort, of course, I'm not actually crazy). He wasn't too good to me, in the end, but I'll always be thankful for his therapeutic help in tough situations.

Sloppy Seconds

It was one of those moments. I was screwed. That electric, animalistic and familiar wave of energy that I inhaled through my nostrils as I walked into the mall. My nerves were humming. It was past the point of no returns; store credit only. The crappy part is that I got this craving at completely the wrong mall. I should have headed a little more west. Home of the Forever XXI, and Sephora. Not Sirens and Winners.

Alas, this was where my addiction decided to break out like a rash. I bought shoes without trying them on. I grabbed at jewelery by the handfuls, nodding furiously at "2 for $10" and "buy one get one half off". I handed the cashier armfuls of Cute, seeing some shirts in the pile seemingly for the first time. It was like the best sex of my life on a sugar high. With Jude Law. A chocolate Jude Law.

$700 later, I had to stop. I actually felt like I had been orgasming for an hour and a half. It was time to push the mall out from between my legs. The bags were cutting through my fingers by that point, anyway.

Today, I feel remorse like I've never felt before. I'm such an idiot. My boyfriend's birthday is coming up. I was going to take him on a trip. But can I afford it now? No. I was supposed to go to New York with my best friend, and I told her I couldn't afford it. Well, now that's not even worth a laugh. I'm so selfish and stupid.

I didn't even get pants for all of these fabulous tops (it's the equivalent of fat people being shoe-holics. I hate my thighs, so I concentrate on the parts of my body that actually fit into things)...
No! I'm selfish and stupid. I'm NOT planning another shopping trip to include bottoms. There's nothing worse than being forced to sleep with the part of the mall that makes me feel fat.

Love in Music

So SOMEONE has taken my iPod hostage. As a result, I was forced to buy a cheap $15 MP3 player from Staples.

This MP3 does not allow me to choose which songs I want to hear. I basically upload a bunch of tunes, and then it plays them in the same order, every time. There are a number of problems with this system.

If I turn it off or pause it for more than 10 seconds, it starts from the beginning when I resume listening. From 9am to lunch, I can probably get through about 25 songs. This means that when I come back from lunch, I have to listen to the same 30 songs. Even if I don't like them (because I can't arrange them in any order).

If the battery dies, which is quite often, I start from the beginning again. In a day, I could probably listen to that first song 5 or 6 times. Big, big annoyance factor.

Every morning, I've resorted to filtering out my MP3 player on the computer. I delete 1 or 2 songs that I simply can't stand hearing again.

So right now, my playlist is about 45 minutes long. 45 minutes.

However, I've just realized that this 45 minute playlist has been 45 minutes for the last week. This means that I've finally found my song sweet spot. I can listen to every one of these songs over and over without feeling like I'm going crazy.

Favourites include:

Elvis Presley
Glee
Greg Laswell
Judy Garland
Soko
Lifehouse
Paul McCartney/Wings
John Lennon
Petra Haden
Suzie McNeal
David Cook
Jason Mraz
Morphine
Norah Jones
James Taylor (but only 'Everyday', so don't make fun)

I went from over 40 artists to 15, and they're not the ones I would have thought would make the cut when I began this project. Odd what your self-conscious and your conscious mind prefer to listen to.

Cheers

Pub dinners, to me, are extremely comforting after a hard day's work. I love the low-lit atmosphere, the dark walls, the familiar smell of old beer lingering on maroon carpets. The plush chairs are instantly warming, and you can move the tables around until they're positioned to a perfect fit for you and a date. You won't hear pop or ugly metal music in a real pub - nope, it's all good. Food is cheap and warm and goes great with any beer on tap.
Last night I had the most delightful grilled fish with mashed potatoes and veggies with a house salad to start. $12.

It was rainy and cold, and I had a busy work afternoon, and I stressing over sleeping at my man's house without any change of clothes (Winners saved me, btw). There's nothing better than entering a warm building with people you know serving you booze. One almost doesn't need the pint, if drinking it didn't add to the charm.

I encourage you to visit your local pub today and grab a nice dinner. I'm in the mood for some mushroom and steak pie with a pastry hat. Mmmmmmmmm

Thanks Be

With the holiday of thanks coming up, there are many things I'm grateful for:

1. My little dancers, whose smiles mean the world to me when I've convinced myself I'm a lousy teacher.
   
2. My older dancers, who will always remain my best friends, that have enriched my Sundays so completely that I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
   
3. My friends who are in other countries, most of whom I will be seeing before the new year, and the anticipation of 'I Missed You SO Much' hugs.
   
4. My job, a place I love enough to gladly sacrifice my lunch hours and my sleep for.
5. My boyfriend, who will spend any amount of time necessary listening to my anxiety in order to calm me down with the most comforting and supportive words I've ever heard.
6. My family, the people in my life that I come home to, even if they're not always physically there.
7. New York, I'm thankful that there's a place that reminds me how magical the world can be
8. Girlfriends, who are always willing to listen to me rant about life, never failing in supporting my side of the story, and never making me feel like my heart is wrong.
9. Loves lost, who've made me realize how important self-respect is in a relationship.
10. My Lithuanian peeps, without whom I'd definitely be lost. The people in this community have taught me so much about etiquette, leadership, organization, networking, and how to contribute to society. I have been given so many opportunities to learn and challenge and showcase my skills, never without recognition.
    

At this point of my life, I feel like everything is good (save for a few anxiety attacks). It's been a while since I've been in the green, and I refuse to take it for granted this time. Thanks, everyone. I appreciate your you-ness in my life.

One Touch of Venus

I had a busy and bizarre weekend of events, and part of me (not the part that has to wake up) is glad it's Monday. A part of me (the part that has to wake up) loves the bed I sleep in.

It was a Once sort of weekend. The sort that had me wake up on Saturday with a list already in mind, and adding to it as the day went on. Once we get through lunch we can leave. Once we get to the winery, we can buy wine. Once we get to the restaurant, I can drink. Once we pay the bill, we can shop. Once we find a place to eat our Empire cookies, we can wait out the rain. Once we get to the theater we can forget about the time. Once we get home, we can finally relax. Once he wakes up, I can finally start my cubicle. One of those sorts of weekends.

And yet, apart from a stranger beside me at the theater unblushingly stealing my sunglasses and wearing them on her head for the entire second act, I had a fabulous trip. I slept through the night for the first time in a long time.

It might be a while for both of us

I would have eaten my hand if I had to stay at work any longer. Gym just wasn't an option yet. I needed fuel. I needed Pho.
I was starving enough to decide on a solo dining experience. No time to text people, wait for them, and then watch them figure out what they 'felt like' while I try to suck nutrients out of my cheeks.

Thankfully, I found a book in the car. The girliest piece of gum there ever was (complete with makeup and hair tips weaved into the story). I walked in, sat down, grabbed the Help Yourself order sheet, and wrote furiously. Thankfully the place was somewhat empty, and the nice lady came straight away to pick it up. I ordered a beer, and sat back for possibly the longest wait of my life.

Across from my table sat a family of 5. Perfect soccer mom, sporty dad with a scruffy beard, and three blonde little ones under 6. I forgot about my book for a while and watched the baby consistently throw the car keys on the floor. The two older kids asked an array of irrelevant questions, and made up songs to what sounded like a MadLib gone wrong.

What happened? I was supposed to have that life. I'd planned for it ever since I could remember. Not a perfect wedding. Not the dream job. Not even a perfect husband. A family. 5 kids, ideally. Any woes in my life were easily soothed my fantasizing about coming home to a litter of towheads, making Kraft Dinner for lunch, having Taco Tuesdays, inventing cookie recipes, taking pictures at the backyard barbeque (I was still hungry at this point).

But I didn't have that. No, instead I was sitting by myself, drinking a beer, and obsessively checking my phone for texts. Oh, and reading a book that I imagine tasted like cotton candy. Once the food came, my sighs became less frequent.

As the family passed me in mid-bite - and for those who've had Pho, you know how unattractive this looks - the mom stopped in front of my table. I smiled with full cheeks. She smiled back. "You know," she said, "I couldn't stop looking over here. I don't remember the last time I had time to read a book with a drink. By myself. You are literally experiencing my dream dinner." With that, the little girl pulled her out the door.

I wonder if she remembers what it was like on the other side.

Wine and More Time

I'm crossing my fingers for a chance to escape to wine country soon. While the LCBO is my second home, there's something awesome about buying it fresh of the vine.

The experience is there. The acres and acres of vineyards fading into the lake line. The posh mansions along the water. The people who spend their lives perfecting that bottle of red, sharing their results with pride. The huge selection, and the inner happiness of knowing that the Baco Noir or the Barrel Fermented Chardonnay is only available if you're willing to make the drive. The wine becomes somewhat priceless, and I definitely enjoy it more than a cheap Misterio at the local store.

So that's on my list this weekend. Others include a coffee date, doing laundry, hitting the market for some fresh fish and cilantro (ooh, and lemons and veggies), partying up at the Augusta Street Festival, hanging out with my Colin, and gossiping until the beer's gone with different girls in a few different places.

Anybody who'd like to be included in the mix please text me. I'd be more than happy to fill my weekend with more friends.

Stuffings

It's hard to be blue in July - I mean, I manage it, it's just hard - especially when I finally started half of my detox yesterday.

I say 'half' because technically I didn't give up coffee or cigarettes. But since I didn't pig out on crap for the first time in a month, and I didn't have any alcoholic yumminess, I'd say it was a success. It's important to revitalize every once in a while. I imagine it's like lying in a bathtub for months. The system naturally changes the water regularly, but on occasion it's a good idea to stand up, shower, and scrub off the dingy residue.

I haven't driven my car since last Tuesday. My brother stole it and hasn't been back yet to return my freedom. I finally gave in and borrowed my mom's Honda to drive into town (craft supplies, reading at Chapters, gym, and flower shop because I think there's nothing better for the soul than fresh flowers). The pure joy of being able to put on my radio station in the car and sing along to good songs was the best thing about my yesterday. Well, that, and snuggling into a new Sophie Kinsella book.

Today I'm itching for a really good girlie movie - gloopy with estrogen, like an epic film about a queen. I want to eat popcorn and fall in love with someone on-screen and wish I was as skinny as the heroine and plan on what I'll do with my hair if it ever grows out and dramatically change my mind about the whole romance thing.

That or Shrek 3.

Pretty in Show

I'm pro-romance, anti-marriage, so when my old way-back-to-diapers-days friend invited me to her bridal shower, I thought of about 400,000 things I'd rather do. I love her, really, but seriously. Standing around at a girls-only fest, opening presents with the word 'bake' on every box? Is there enough wine in the world? I can't giggle that long without help.

Thankfully, there's a reason she's stayed my old way-back-to-diapers-days friend. She didn't want to be there either. But she got presents and a fiancee, so I told her to shut it and take it -which she did, though we poured each other's glasses regularly.

Loads of stories, laughs, and in-sync eyerolls later, I was drunk. I've been wearing the same clothes for 36 hours (it's been a long 2 days). I was surrounded by pretty things and napkins and date squares and candles, inhaling about 30 different perfumes, and thanking my smart self for ditching the heels for flats at the last minute because teetering on a lawn is impossibly hard to do gracefully. In the end, I had a blast. I can't wait to see her walk down the aisle.

Oh, plus I got to wear a flower wreath. Not the worst thing to do on a Monday.

Van Gogh Times

My new art project is a secret because I'm making it for a good friend of mine and I'm pretty sure my good friends read this blog. But I need to say I'm excited.

My creativity comes in spurts (thankfully, usually around her birthday), and it's never something I've been able to ignore. Sometimes it's an idea I've never seen before, never thought of before, and sometimes I don't know if I can pull it off. Friends are used to hearing "Here's what I see happening, tell me if it's impossible...", to which their response is sometimes wary, but always supportive.

Because they know. I'm powerless. The project will go ahead, no matter what anyone says.

It consumes all of my focus. I'm under some sort of crazed unstable state of mind, talking to myself, not eating, listening to weird jazz music, and snapping out only for a cigarette. Even wine provides little distraction, although I drink heavily during this period.

I'm also a purist, which means what I imagine during step 1 doesn't waver too much from the final result. I'd be lost if I didn't have the original picture as a home base, so there's no room for adjustments. I'd go nutso.

There's a little insight into my world. Are all the good artists crazy artists? I damn-it-all hope so.

Hello Goodbye Hello Goodbye

I saw an old friend last night. He greeted me as soon as I entered the apartment...or, rather, I greeted him with a drunken smile and kiss that might've lasted a little too long. But you can't blame me - I'd been sitting at the pub since 6, it was midnight, and I was still shaking the glitter off from a night of social chaos.

"Do you remember what you used to call me?"
"Tex. I'd never forget."

In any case, it was a blast seeing him. Old friends remind me of better times, even though in reality those years weren't exactly better than my present is. They were just...different. I often wonder about the way we tend to idealize our past. I suppose doing so gives us the right to complain about what's happening in the now, since it's the only thing we can really compare today to.

"You're a very cool woman."
"Cooler than her?"
"You're different."
"Well, what am I 'er'? I want to be something 'er' than her."
"You're younger."

So what about my mission to make Today better? Well, it's a delicate balancing act. While I remember the past fondly, I also remind myself that Today will be part of the 'good old days' soon too. It avoids wasting time thinking that my life sucks, since I know I won't look back on it that way anyway.

"I remember how flustered you got when I beat you at pool."
"I never flustered. I let you beat me."
"You're a big liar."
"Yes, dear."
"I hate how those words always work on me."
"Yes, dear."

Seeing him brought back really great memories.
Being with him made some pretty good ones, too.

it's a Bob Ross kind of morning

"When you look to find the bad in people, you most certainly will find it."

These past few weeks, I've been trying the opposite. It's so much easier than I thought. So easy, in fact, that I've extended this mantra to pets, objects, weather, food, and days in general. I'm very lucky to have done this in the summer, of course, since I doubt I could think of good things about November or something. But, I digress. There is no reason on earth to have a down day today.

I've learned a lot from Gir already. The way he looks outside in the morning (as much as I want to kill him for waking me up with the sun), makes everything seem so wondrous, so exciting. My driveway is as magical to him as the entry to Disneyland. I sip my coffee and suddenly see it through his eyes. There are trees on rolling hillsides as far as the eye can see; a perfect example of depth perspective, and I want to paint it. The grass, not yet burnt by the summer heat, is so green you can barely tell where the leaves begin. The birdbath is occupied by excited feathered friends awaiting a new day. Every so often a chipmunk or a cat strolls by on the black pavement. I smell the lilacs by the side of the house, and listen to Gir try immitating a variety of bird calls. I can't help but feel excited along with him.

And yes, MAYBE I feel like the things that would make it even more perfect are a smoke and a him. Not exactly something that would complete this dreamy scene, but it's a process, and I don't mind practicing patience.

My heart is ok today.

Love...now with wings!

Last night we welcomed a new addition to the family: Gir (a.k.a. Patriot, a.k.a. Wally, a.k.a. Mango, a.k.a. Tommy, depending on who you ask in the family), the blue-crowned conure.

Birds soften the very soul of me. Whatever the pain in my heart, it's nothing a pair of wings can't heal. They are our angels on earth, making you feel like you're worth the time. I challenge anyone to stay crabby while being delicately preened by a meek beak.

Having always had cockatiels, it's a bit of an adjustment dealing with a parrot of Gir's size. Everyone has fallen in love already, though. He's extremely curious about everything and everyone, stopping his activities only when a mango or piece of steak catches his eye. I'm excited to learn more about our new friend; no doubt there's much more to his personality than one day can portray.

It will be a lovely, warm week. Please sit outside today, have a beer, and breathe.

Girls Night...and Day.

I've never been a girl's girl, sitting with a pack of little misses at lunch, or going shopping in giggling flocks. I was never one for talking on the phone for hours, or boy bashing (I liked them), or doing makeup together. My mother warned me against keeping my girlfriends at arms' length because I will need them someday.

Thankfully, my girls are pretty loyal and dedicated to me. Years without contact can go by and when we meet it's as if we never grew apart at all. Lately they've been absolutely priceless to me. My phone's boy texts have been replaced by ladies giving me support and making new plans. I have messages about hair appointments and bar locations and song lyrics that make me smile. It seems a simple thing to those who've always had girlfriends around, but I'm still getting used to it and refuse to take it for granted.

I feel like I've got an army on my side. A vicious, female, rawring army. And yet, after a few drinks and countless laughs, I feel like I don't need one anyway. It's good to keep in the back of my mind, though. Just in case.

Here's to girlfriends everywhere! Bless y'all.