Where I came from Part I

This was me, 14/15 years old, holy crap.

Lately, if you haven't noticed, I have been feeling very nostalgic. It has a lot to do with the whole, going back to the music I used to like when this picture was taken, being friends with a lot of people again that I was friends with ten years ago, hanging out in my hometown (well, where I went to high school) a lot - due to said people who still live here and the fact that my boyfriend lives here...well, until he moves out on Sunday to his new place downtown, and generally being surrounded by an ongoing sense of Deja Vu.

On my Facebook account, I recently frightened a lot of people by posting photos taken ten years ago (btw, for people who are trying to add me on Facebook, I'll totally accept however the email address that I have linked to this blog is NOT the one that I have linked to Facebook). I've taken to looking through old yearbooks and laughing at the crazy stuff people wrote in them (also looking two grades back and laughing at boyfriend's geeky grade 10 picture), as well as perusing old art sketchbooks from Grade 9. In one book, I found an assignment where I had to describe myself in a brainstorm of words:


Who was I at 14 years old?

-Imaginative

-Romantic

-Kind

-Moody

-Creative

-Sensitive

-Thinks too much

-True Sagitarious

How much of that can be applied to me today as a 25/ 26 year old? I think pretty much all of it. Mind you, the teacher only gave me a 6/10 on that.

Then I ended up finding my diaries from 95-98. OH MY GOD.

It's interesting to me though, why I suddenly have so much interest in my past. Perhaps because I am looking for a peice of myself - as corny as that sounds. I mean, in order to know where you are going, you have to know where you came from - at least, I think that's a saying. Regardless, it's like I am taking stock of my life, comparing myself to the way I was ten years ago and wondering if I had thought I would be where I am today (well, I'm not driving a porsche and I'm not a Hollywood actress, so probably NO). And because I am surrounded by people and places of my past, I am reminded of the person I once was, the person who is probably still a huge part of me (as my head banging at the Pumpkins concert on Monday can attest to).

Luckily though, all this re-examination of who I am is not hindering me in anyway. I used to think I hated high school in all it's glory, and I know I did at some points. But I also hung out with a group of renegades and our hatred of the norm and the school and the conformities were what made us unique. We were looked down on, we were different and looking at everyone as they are today, I can still see that there is a touch of rebellion in everyone of us. I can wear my fancy Italian boots and my lady like dresses but underneath there is the cargo-clad, chain wearing teenager that is just dying to get out. And sometimes, I let her.

Stay tuned next week when I publish some of those diaries. Oh my goodness, the embarassment will be all mine but the laughter will be for everyone.

Pumpkin Smashing Comes Full Circle

Laaaame. Sounds like a totally lame headline I would have had to think up in totally lame journalism school.

Anyway, before I get into that, this is a question for all the women out there (men quickly scroll down until I get to the good stuff): are there certain birth control pills that make you crazy?

I recently switched to a monophasic pill because on Ortho-tri-cyclen - which I have been on for like 10 years - my period has started to come a week early. Apparently that means my pill isn't working as strong as it should...and let's face it, you don't want your pill to be working at half-capacity. So I switched, though I wasn't happy about it because my body was used to the other one and I didn't want to gain weight, get mood swings, etc.

Anyway, I have been going through a rough patch in my life. Family problems that are getting worse, being unemployed, unable to find work that suits my degree and being broke. Not sure what to do with life...etc.

So, I'm kinda depressed. The kind that you sleep all day cuz you don't want to face your crap life - it'll pass though. BUT is it the pills that are making me sad, or is it the present circumstances in my life? I mean, I can't be freaking Pollyanna Positive all the freaking time...or can I, and it's the pills that are making me more negative? Meh, who knows. Just wondering if any women out there had similar problems with their pills, tis all....

ENOUGH ABOUT THE WOMEN PROBLEMS! ON TO MANLY THINGS!

Sorta.

You may recall a post I did about the Smashing Pumpkins concert I went to 11 years ago. 11 years ago when I looked like this....


And was a "skid" as they say. Anyway, you can read that post here, I am not going to get into but anyway the point is that 11 years later, I went to see the Smashing Pumpkins...again!

What was weird is that I went with the Rockstar (who, as I have mentioned, is as big as a fan as I was way back when) AND Kelli, the girl I had gone to the concert with 11 years ago. See, it was only 6 months after the concert or so that Kelli and I stopped being friends and we only started being friends a few months ago now, so you can understand how weird it kinda was. Especially since the Rockstar and her have been friends for about 6 years and we were all there together...ahhhhh all sorts of weirdness.

Anyhoo, the concert was pretty awesome. I know that the one we saw in Seattle was better because the sound was awesome, we were at the front and it was only 2000 people there but I can't really remember much of the actual music, whereas on Monday night I totally did.

And yeah, they are missing D'arcy and James Iha but all they did was stand in the opposite corners of the stage and not move. Here we had Jimmy and Billy and they are pretty much the whole band anyway. Fuck me, Jimmy has to be the best drummer alive!

Sweet part of the night was during the awesome song 'United States' (off their new album, which rocks like it's 1993) he started soloing the Canadian Anthem. Pretty cool that he learned that.

He also took time after the show to thank Canada for being such great supporters of the band and for making the album number one here. In the States, they lost the primo spot to Bon Jovi, lol. I guess he does have better hair...

Of course, no concert can go without controversy. Though we were smack in the middle, we were thankfully out of the way of crowd surfers and moshers (though I didn't notice too much of that). Turns out (well, I found out today after reading Perez Hilton of all things) that a person actually died at the concert. Isn't that twice now?


******

Oh yeah, and to leave on a lighter note, the bf and I went to the Death Ray Global Comedy Fest on Thursday and it was amazing. Fucking hilarious performers like Bob Odenkirk from Mr. Show, Bob Posehn from pretty much everything and, the crown jewel, David Cross.

David Cross, if you don't know, played Tobias Funke on Arrested Development and is one funny motherfucka outside of the show. He was bloody brilliant.

Oh and look who I ran into after the show...



I went to the bathroom and as I was coming down the stairs I noticed that David was standing right beside Rockstar. Only Rockstar was busy watching me coming down the stairs (he wanted to see how I was going to gracefully manuever getting over this velvet rope) that he didn't even notice he was standing right beside him.

"OMG! Let's get his picture!"

"Whose picture?"

"You're standing beside Tobias!!!"

If you are wondering why I have a nervous expression in the photo it's because my camera kept dying just before Rockstar took the picture. Thankfully David had the patience of a saint (probably helped that no one else was bugging him) and when I told him he was awesome, he seemed really humbled to hear it.

Though he was probably just glad I didn't ask him if he "blue" himself.

I get by with a little tact from my friends...

I saw the movie Across the Universe the other day and it was AMAZING! If you like Moulin Rouge AND The Beatles (and trippy musicals in general) you will love this film. I thought the cast was brilliant, even Evan Rachel Wood (whom I don't really like due to her "I'm so cool cuz my boyfriend is Marilyn Manson" thing) was fantastic. Most of the songs were recorded live as they were sung which is a testament to how well the actors did their job. The guys who play friend's Jude and Max in the film are cute as hell and how much more do guys get sexier when you find out they can sing? Raaaaar! I expect to see more of those actors in the future.

Anyway, quite a crap review but I just wanted to tell you all to see it - however, if you don't like The Beatles, don't like musicals and don't like films that are a bit trippy and out there, stay away. You'll probably hate it :)


*****


So, my boyfriend is moving out (thank God, though I will miss his mom's brilliant meals) with two friends. So far it's been kind of a struggle to convince landlords to give three young guys a chance so they've been kind of missing the mark. However, I went along to look at a place on Saturday and his friend's girlfriend was there as well.

I was kinda of dressed like a bum - and when I dress like a bum, it kinda means I am dressed like everyone else in this town. Yoga pants, a ruched, fitted Bench hoodie and flip flops. My hair was in a ponytail, I had no makeup on my face but didn't really need it so that was fine.

We went to the apartment type thing and had a little tour. While the boys were being shown around, I got to talking with the other girlfriend. I had never met her before but she seemed quite sweet. An American too, but let's not hold that against her ;) Honestly though, she was from Portland, Oregon which is a rad place, and in general I think everyone from the entire West Coast of North America are all kinda similar anyway. We should have our own country.

Anyhoo, she seemed nice, let's call her M. And she seemed good for her bf, S, because she was pretty much his first girlfriend even though the guy is 24. Of course, it was quite long distance, her being from Oregon and all, but anyway, he looked happy.

Cut to: later that night, I am in Tsawwassen and going to watch a friend's soccer game. The bf and I pick up his friend (and Ex from like ten years ago...but it's OK, she's super rad) J and head out to the game.

"Hey J," says the bf, "you get to meet S's girlfriend."

"Oh yeah, what is she like?"

"She seems really sweet...."he kinda of let the last part hang in the air, so I added to it.

"Yeah, laid back and easy going, nice girl." I say.

We get to the soccer game and see M and S embracing by the dugout. We all say hello again and introduce J to her.

M smiles politely and then looks me up and down.

"How nice of you to dress up."

I look down at what I am wearing, jeans, boots and a nice top. That wasn't me dressing up, that's how I normally dress. Then I got what she was trying to say. I looked like such a bum this morning, it was nice to see I could fix myself up. Nice, in the sarcastic sense.

I looked at my bf and he looked totally taken aback. Was she just trying to insult me? Regardless, I just laughed it off, exclaiming to him "I told you I looked like a bum this morning!" (it's true, I did say that....fuckin last time I wear yoga pants out of the house).

Later, J and the bf and I headed to the pub.

"Um, the other thing I was going to say about his girlfriend is that she sometimes blurts out really innapropriate things. I had never seen it happen before but I think it just did," he said.

"No kidding!" I exclaimed, "I meet her for the second time and the first thing she is does is insult me?"

"Yeah, it's not like you guys were even talking about clothes earlier."

"You weren't?"asked J, "so she just said that out of the blue?"

"Pretty much."

Then J got excited because she wanted to hear the girl say more innapropriate things. She wasn't dissapointed.

We got to the bar and of course M and S showed up like they said they would.

I finished my first rum and coke pretty fast so I asked for another.

"Holy you lush, you sucked that back fast,"M commented. "In a hurry to get drunk or do you always drink like that?"

Once again I wasn't sure what to say. J started to laugh and my bf came to my rescue, "well she's going out with me, isn't she? I'll drive anyone to drink."

Awkward laughter followed. The bf and I exchanged a look. Then the bf and S exchanged a look. S looked pretty embarassed.

Soon, M got up to go to the bathroom. J looked over at S and said, "Your girlfriend seems pretty cool."

He breathed a sigh of relief, "Oh good, I'm so glad she's nice to you."

And of course I get insult central.

Now, I don't think this girl was trying to be mean or anything or like purposefully being a dick ("funny how she insults the way you look when you are absolutely stunning all the time and she looks like that" my bf told me) but she seemed like she absolutely lacked any tact. It's not like she blurted it out and then was like, "Oops, didn;t mean it like that." She totally meant it like that. I mean, how can you just say stuff and just think it's OK? The bf and I came to the conculsion that she is a psychopath. And what's worse is that his friend S totally knows but since it's his first gf and all, I don't think he'll be going anywhere.

Thank God she lives in Portland, though even a once a month visit will be too much once the guys are all living together. Regardless, you can be sure I'll be blogging/venting/bitching about it :)

The Merits of Dating a Younger Guy

Okaaaay, totally promising to not get mushy here. My day of mush is over, whoooo-boy it was bad though. Gee golly, golly gee. Seriously, Monday I was just useless. You know when you get really depressed and all you want to do is lie in bed and think about how sad you are? All I wanted to do was lie in bed and think about how happy I was. It was disgusting, really, like I was on some weird heroin high (never done heroin but I am just assuming here).

I have to say that as much fun as the loved up, head over heels, gaga stage is, there IS a reason why feelings fade a little bit over time...I shouldn't say fade, but the passion meter is turned down a notch.

BECAUSE IF WE WERE TO GO ON IN THIS LOCO STAGE FOREVER, NOTHING WOULD EVER GET DONE!

We would all be unemployed, broke, fat etc, sitting around on our large asses and sighing. The world would fall apart.

I am, of course, not at that stage yet where the passions are tempered (I give it a few years - damn, a few years of uselessness?), so I am trying to make do.

Here are some reasons why dating a younger man is great (lol total non-sequiter, but whatever, you'll require that a few months ago I had a post about dating a younger guy and my "problems" with it, so here is how I was so very wrong):

1.Dating a younger guy means you get to party all the time, party all the time, party all the time. I have noticed cycles in my life, I'll party when I'm in college (Auckland, Kamloops) and then there are periods where there is no partying really...like since May last year till three months ago.

The thing is, as ashamed as I am to admit it, I do like to get my drink on and have a good time. So it's beyond cool, to me, that I found someone who is as up for it as I am. No longer do I feel like a lush at lunchtime when I order a ceaser, cuz he will order a beer. When I suggest "Jagerbomb? Wanna do shots? Wanna get shitfaced?" he just nods and does it. And he WANTS me there with him, shooting those things back.

I guess it comes down to the fact that he is also a Rockstar and well he parties like a Rockstar, as does the rest of his band. Good times and it keeps me young lol.

2. When you date a younger guy, you are the older woman. This usually means (at least in my case it does) that they think it's super cool that they landed a really hot older woman (yeah, yeah just two years, but give me a break). Which in turn means they revere you and are in awe of the fact that they even got a smoking hot babe like yourself. Very important.

3. When they complain about how they are getting older and don't know what they are doing with their lives, you can just pat them on the head and give a knowing sigh.

4. Sex. Is. Awesome. It's all the time, constantly and there is energy like no other. No wondering here whether you are sexually desired or not, it's pretty darn obvious and obvious all the time. Wheeeeeee!

5. There is no pressure from outside sources and therefore less pressure on the relationship. No one talks about big scary issues like marriage when the guy is 24. He's got 4 more years of ignorant bliss before those talks start to come.

6. Though people are jaded at any age - in fact I was MORE jaded when I was 24 - the fact that he has two LESS years of being screwed over makes a big difference.

So tell me, women, do you agree with this? And men, any positive perks about dating older women (aside from the fact that we can teach you some pretty cool sexual things ;)?

Shouting from the top of a mountain

Please forgive me, I am slightly delirious as I write this and I am afraid this blog is going to be a tiny bit self-indulgent. But I can do that, you know, cuz it's my blog and all.

First off, my haircut went great. Maybe too many short layers near my face but in the end it was what I wanted. The hairdresser was sweet and she didn't lecture me or say anything derogatory about my hair...the closest thing was "perhaps more long layers since your hair is quite fine, you don't want to lose volume." I could totally live with that. Anyway, here is a pic. It really does not look any different from before but whatever. I like it.






Anyway, I had to just throw a picture of me and my boyfriend in there as well, for the reasons that are about to follow....

The other night, I did something which I have never done before.

I told my boyfriend (AKA the Rockstar) that I was madly in love with him.

This might not sound like a big deal, but since not only had neither of us said it yet, I had also been feeling this way for the freakin' past two months.

I don't know how love works, but when I got into this relationship, I did have my doubts. Not about him, but about the timing. I had just gotten out of a relationship, was I really ready for a new one, was it just a rebound, etc.

Also, because he had gotten out of a bad breakup too and was single for many years before that, I wasn't sure about that. I had so many testimonials from people who know him saying what a fucking awesome guy he is...but there is a difference between being a good friend and a good boyfriend. Even his best friend didn't know how he would be as a boyfriend.

Well that answer is he is a fucking awesome boyfriend and it's pretty much impossible to NOT fall in love with the guy.

(For those who are wondering, yes he does know about this blog but for his own reasons he doesn't read it...at the same time he doesn't care what I say about him, so as long as it not intentionally mean. And like I could even say a bad thing about him).

OK, I realize that I am veering dangerously close to inducing nausea in a lot of you. But since I have never been this happy before in my life and have never felt THIS way before, you are just gonna have to bear with me (or click the Next Blog button).

Yeah so basically I knew I loved him not even a month into our relationship. I didn't think it was possible to fall so fast (nor did I think it was healthy) but suddenly he started occupying every thought in my head. Everytime I was with him I had to bite my lip from saying it. I started telling everyone that I knew that I was in love. And I even started thinking that for once in my life I was going to say it first. I didn't need to hear it back, I just wanted to be able to say it, to scream it, to yell it, to let him feel it.

It's obvious I completely lost my head. People in Italy would comment on it ("you are so very in love, aren't you?"). Friends would comment on how blissed out I seemed. My mother even told me just the other day, "You don't look like you anymore. You look so happy. You are glowing all the time." Even my boyfriend said at one point, "I see these old pictures of you when you don't look all smiley and happy. It's hard to imagine you without a smile on your face. I would assume you were always like this." ...... And the thing is, I don't think I was always smiley. He thinks I've always been like this but I've only been smiling like an idiot because he is in my life. It's all totally him.

Anyway, I had kind of given up on letting him know though and just decided to wait till he said it. I was putting way too much pressure on myself, better to just leave things be.

Well, that was until Friday night. He had a party and for a certain reason, I was a bit put out (a familiar situation that I had been in a past relationship). He noticed this, asked me what was wrong. I told him that it had absolutely nothing to do with him (cuz it didn't, it was someone else...when your boyfriend really is that awesome, it's only natural for some biyatch to think so as well) and that I would tell him when the party was over cuz I didn't want to bother him with it.

The problem didn't go away though, but I dealt with it the best I could. Then at the end of the night, he suddenly kicked everyone out. It was late, but I thought it odd considering he wasn't like dying to go to bed and there was like 10 people still there. But he got them to leave, then took me by the hand to his room and sat me on his bed.

"OK, so what's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"Earlier, you said there was something you wanted to talk about when the party was over. Well, it's over now, what's wrong?"

"Did you just cut your party short so you could ask me what's wrong?"

"Yeah. I didn't like knowing there was something bothering you. I didn't like to see you upset. I don't care about anyone else."

Right. So this is the part where I started to feel bad because it honestly wasn't that big of a deal and I didn't want to cut his fun short but then I started to feel softer than butter. I couldn't believe that he did that just because he didn't like the fact that something was bothering me.

So, after I told him about my problem (and of course, he was beyond supportive), I lay there thinking about how impossible it was for me not to tell him that night. I had to do it. I decided to take the plunge.

Of course, I was drunk and nervous and taking the plunge lead to me laughing maniacally for about ten minutes. Then I let it spill...."There is something I have to tell you and I'm not sure if you are going to like it or not. So please, just promise you won't respond to it or comment on it for at least a few weeks. Can you promise me that?"

He nodded, I could tell that he was freaking the shit out, thinking it was something horrible.

"I'm desperately in love with you. I love you. I've been waiting so long to say it and I just couldn't keep it in anymore. I just wanted you to hear it, that's all."

He breathed a sigh of relief because he thought I was going to tell him that it was over or something stupid (ha ha GOTCHA!) and then fell silent for a few seconds.

"Well, it's not really fair that I can't say anything in response to that."

"Yeah, well you promised."

"Yeah....well Fuck that! I love you too!"

"No, don't say that because I said-"

"SHUT UP! I LOVE YOU!"

And so on...

What's funny was once we got talking about it, he had been going through a very similar thing. We both brought up the fact that when we were watching Paul McCartney's Back in the US DVD the other day, everytime a love song came on (most notably our favourite, "Maybe I'm Amazed"....at the way I love you all the time) we both wanted to sing it but we were afraid to without scaring the other person. He also told me that he felt this intense connection to from the moment we first met and I know I felt EXACTLY the same thing. And the sex, MY GOD! But I won't go into that haha :)

Anyway, that is that. Now I sit here, almost crying while I write this because I don't ever think I have ever been this happy in my life. I don't care that I was just fired. I don't care that I am jobless and that my future is uncertain and I have no money. I've got everything I need to feel like the Queen of the World.

Fuck, I am so cheesey. Promise it won't happen again.

To Hairdressers Everywhere...

I am going to get a haircut tommorow. I desperately need a trim (and when I say trim, I mean it, take off as little hair as you can, don't whack off three inches because I "needed it") but I keep putting it off for one reason: everytime I go to the hairdresser, I get a lecture.

It doesn't matter which hairdresser I go to, whether they are students or well-known, first visit or billionth. I keep getting the same lecture.

So please, Kristin, I hear great things about you and what you can do with hair. I want a trim, and I'm going to say half an inch because I know you will double it. I want my bangs trimmed, if you think I can pull off shorter, go for it, but ONLY if you think it will look good. And I want some long layers. Nothing choppy.

I also implore you to please refrain from telling me the following because I already know it:

"You have very dry hair"

"Being blonde is quite damaging"

"Have you always been blonde?"

"How about letting your natural color (dirty blonde) grow out and getting blonde highlights?"

"Your hair is breaking at the back. Do you wear a ponytail?"

"Promise me you'll never wear your hair in a ponytail again"

"It's so damaged. I don't know what I'm going to do with it"

"See this! It's breaking off here!"

"Do you blowdry or flatiron?"

"Never blowdry or flatiron your hair again"

"Your hair is so dry, it's hard to comb"

"Do you want to try our $100 deep conditioning treatment?"

And so on.

The thing is, I end up sitting there and either defending me and my hair ("Actually, I only blowdry once every few days, I always let it airdry first, I use moisturizing shampoos, when I dye my hair I ONLY do the roots, I wash my hair every other day, I try to not wear it in a ponytail, I have been other hair colors and it just wasnt me, I was born with this hair color damnit!) OR I just sit there and meekly apologize.

After all of that you would think I have the worlds worst hair. I don't. I sometimes get compliments on it. Yes, it is fine as shit and greasy at times and is often too flat. But it's manageable, it's very soft and it's very shiny. GIVE ME A BREAK!

So, you can see why I avoid the hairdressers like the plague. Hopefully Kristin will stumble across my blog before she does my hair and I won't have to lecture HER on not lecturing me.


BTW - for those who care (Simon), I have updated my other blog (see sidebar) with my review of my hotel in Rome. Ciao!

More Mishaps

I've never been very good at telling time with the 24 hour clock. Maybe because it involves adding and subtracting, I don't know. What I do know is that 1600 is 4PM (because 4x4 is 16) and that 1PM is 1300. That's about it.

Anyway, I had just taken a HELL-iSH plane ride from Italy to Toronto and totally underestimated how long the flight was going to be. See, going to Rome, I flew Vancouver to Frankfurt and that only took 8 or 9 hours because of the whole arctic circle route and the going with the wind thing. Then from Frankfurt to Rome was just a quick hop.

But my return ticket was brutal. I didn't find out until I sat down on the plane (in front of a woman who was coughing up a lung the whole time which might explain why I have had the flu since Saturday) that the flight from Rome to Toronto was TEN hours! And then the flight from Toronto to Vancouver was FIVE! Holy crap, why didn't I just fly to New Zealand if it was going to take this long?

To make matters worse, I had the middle seat in the middle of the plane. Lucky a nice Torontonian wanted me to switch seats with his wife who was seated by the window at the back of the plane. SCORE! Other than that though, the flight was hell...as most flights are.

We were even late coming into the airport ("I'm sorry, there is a slight delay, some plane is in our gate"...WHY are they in our gate? IF they know we are coming, why are they there? JERKS!) which made me worry abit about catching my connecting flight. But as it was 430PM and my flight didn't leave till 1725, I figured I had PLENTY of time.

Time to go through customs. Time to get my backage. Time to cram my duty free lemoncello back in my luggage. Time to check that luggage. Time to go through security again. Time to find my gate. Time to buy magazines. Time to go to the bar?

I just about had a drink and some bar food when I decided that I should plug in my cell and charge it, in case the plane was delayed or something and I had to text my much-missed boyfriend (he volunteered to pick me up from the airport, which was very nice). So I went to a gate that had an outlet, sat down and plugged in my phone. The phone showed the time as 530. My boarding time for plane was 1725.

"I have plenty of time!" I thought.

A few minutes later I looked back at the clock. "Wait...if it's 535PM now. And I board at 1725....and 1600 is 4PM...which would mean....OH MY GOD!"

I yanked the phone from the wall, jumped to my feet and ran down the hall towards my gate. Luckily they were just calling my row, so I composed myself as if nothing had happened and strode on to the plane.

That was freebie.

******

Eventually the plane did land, and I couldn't have been happy to run out of it. I made my way to the baggage claim area (after ducking into the washroom to pretty myself up...hello, I hadn't seen my man in two weeks and I was definitely in need of a little something something).

I, of course, had been up for 30 hours or something retarded and my Italy-synched body thought it was 5AM, not 8PM. So, I was a little out of it.

Luckily my boyfriend was understanding of my scary dazed state and we drove back to his house, stopping by my parents place on the way to drop off some bags.

My family friend Rick came running out of the door as soon as he saw me (my parents are away and he is looking after the house).

"Do you have your passport?" he barked at me.

"Yeah, it's in my purse."

"Is it really?"

What was he getting at? Of course, it was in my purse, "It's in the car, do you want me to go get it?"

"Well, it's just that some man from the airport phoned, saying you left your passport in the seatback pocket. Does that sound like something you would do?"

Actually, that did sound like something I would do. I didn't even bother checking my purse.

The man had left a number so I called him. He was in charge of checking the planes afterwards and had stumbled across my passport (luckily I had my address and tel number written in there). And even more luckily, he happened to live 10 minutes away from where I was and was happy to drop it off the next morning.

At the time though, I was too out of it to really comprehend that I had nearly lost my passport for the umpteenth time, but judging from the humourously exasperated looks that my boyfriend and Rick were giving me, they totally got it.

That, also, was a freebie. The man upstairs really loves to give me a break sometimes.


Next time, I tell you how I lost a pair of 200$ boots on an Italian bus!

If Nuns could fly

OK, this is totally out of order, but this is Italian Mishap #2. It happened about a week before Mishap #1 and pretty much involves the same specifics.

The picture above is the view from my teeny tiny hotel room (yes, Simon, I will be blogging all about the travel specifics of my trip in my other blog, in due time ;). It looks down onto the courtyard of an old, beautiful church. The view isn't pefect though because there is some sort of low roof between my hotel and the courtyard, but that at least means that I have some privacy and don't have to worry about closing the blinds when I get dressed because whoever is in the churchyard can't physically see me over the roof.

So I languish around my room, curtains and windows open, head heavy with jetlag, body drenched with the 100% humidity and thus sporting only underwear (no thongs this time).

I sit at my wee table and starting painting my toenails with this shocking blue nailpolish that I snagged at Sephora down the street.

By the time my nails are done, I look down and admire them. Odd, but pretty.

Then I look up.

There is a NUN, on the roof, looking in my room with a look of shock and horror on her face. She has a broom in hand and has obviously noticed me in my underwear during mid-sweep.

Problem now is, I don't want to further scare the lady by acting mortified and embarassed and indignant (which I was), so I smile and continue to sit there and redo my nails like I am so totally used to having Nuns see me in next to nothing.

So for those of you who have access to my Facebook, THAT is why my status was "Is sorry that a Nun had to see her in her underwear."


I'm starting to think my subconcious is an exhibitionist.

Two Weeks Later

Well folks, so much has happened in the last two weeks, some good, some bad. Mainly good though and the bad isn't so bad (just involves my usual travel mishaps and fiascos ala THIS). Most importantly though, my trip to Italy gave me time to think, reflect and relax and I couldn't feel better about being home and starting new. But because I have so much to tell you, I will just do it in short little increments, one day at the time.

Today I will start with Mishap #1.

Yesterday I got up bright and early in the muggy Rome heat and made my way with my huge and extremely heavy backpack to the train station. You see...I bought a lot of clothes and shoes in Rome (as you do, or as I do anyway) and I was straining under the weight. To make matters better (ish) I wore a dress I bought and these heavy combat-ish boots (though of the elegant quality). Yes it was WAY to hot for the 30 degree morning but it was better I wear my heaviest items than pack them.

Do I need to tell you that I have never gone backpacking with a dress before?

Hard to believe considering but true. And thus I did not understand the hazards of wearing a backpack with a dress.

After boarding the Leonardo Da Vinci Express for the the airport, I sat daintly on my backpack, careful to not give anyone a peepshow of my leopard print thong underwear. I am a lady, you see.

When the train arrived at the airport, I hopped off and strode purposefully through the crowd of people, towards my gate. Now there is a fair bit of walking involved, including a few trips on the moving walkway. But I wanted to get to check in on time, so I went forward with force. I must have been walking for about 10 minutes or so, passing people left and right and leaving them in my wake when three giggly American girls passed by me.

"Scuzi?" said one. I turned to her cautiously and seeing that I was not Italian, she said, "Excuse me?"

"Yes" I said, still walking forward.

"We just had to tell you but the back of your dress is hiked up. It's caught in your backpack."

My heart froze. "Hiked up all the way?"

"Yes. All the way."

I think I muttered thanks, or shit or something. The girls ran off towards their gate, laughing their heads off (despite that, I am so grateful that SOMEONE had the nerve to tell me).

So yeah. I had just spent 10 minutes walking through the airport with my bare ass and leopard print thong out for all to see, passing by hundreds and hundreds of people.

To make matters worse, I have a mutilated, red mosquito bite the size of Spain on my ass and my ass has expanded over the last two weeks due to overeating pasta and wine.

And that, my friends, was my last minute on Italy soil.

My Secret Shame

So, there is something about me, actually two things about me, that are actually quite odd. Or, they were quite odd, until last night. Regardless...

I've never been able to whistle or snap my fingers.

OK, on occasion, a whistle has managed to sneak out of my lips, but this is rare and not without a lot of effort on my behalf.

And snap fingers? Forget it.

25 years of not being able to do it. Can you imagine what that's like? I would gawk in awe at people striding at the street whistling and snapping their fingers to some jolly tune. Meanwhile I'm just blowing air and wailing my hands about like an idiot.

I couldn't figure it out but didn't really put much thought into it either. Until I told my boyfriend last night.

"Well, everyone can snap. It would be physically impossible not to."

There's a lot of impossible things about me so I just chalked it up to that. But I still jumped on the net and started searching to see if other freaks like me couldn't snap or whistle either. Meanwhile, the bf was on a mission to discover exactly what it is about snapping your fingers that makes the "snap" sound.

Eventually, I found out that there were some people out there who couldn't do it either, but they too, were labeled freaks of nature. And the Rockstar discovered the possible source of the sound.

He positioned my ring finger so it was resting high on the palm of my hand, near the thumb, confident that the snap was caused by the compressed air of the two other fingers and thumb hitting the third finger (or the palm, whichever).

I raised my hand in the air and...

***SNAP!***

My eyes nearly bulged out of my head. It took me 25 years of calluses and sore fingers and then he just comes along and teaches me in five minutes.

Enamoured and exstatic I started snapping my fingers like crazy (OK, it still only works 10% of the time, but still).

"If only I could learn to whistle now," I cried out, putting my lips into the position. I blew, expecting a pathetic stream of air.

Out came the most perfect whistle you've ever heard (well, to my ears).

So, my secret shame is now defunct. I can snap my fingers AND whistle.

Now I just have to figure out how to curl my tongue, juggle and wiggle my ears...all at the same time. Then I'll REALLY not look like a freak of nature.

Feminine Guys = faithful partners?

There was a study done recently by some British scientists at the University of St. Andrews, which found that women are drawn to more "feminine" looking guys when it comes to long-term love.

Apparently, "Men with square jaws, larger noses and smaller eyes were classed as significantly more dominant, less faithful, worse parents and as having less warm personalities.
Those with finer facial features, fuller lips, wide eyes and thinner, more curved eyebrows on the other hand were viewed as a better bet for long-term relationships."

Now, I actually found this to be quite interesting, mainly because I think it's true. However, what I don't know is whether more feminine looking guys really ARE better as long-term mates or if women just think that they are.

Looking back at the guys I have dated...well, yeah, a lot of them looked very feminine. There was the guy who wore makeup and vinyl pants and made out with guys, and the guy who had very pretty eyelashes and liked to wear tight shirts.

Both of these men, though, turned out to be absolute nutters AND jerks and were definitely not around for the long haul. They might have also been a bit gay.

Now that I think of it.

But I do seem some merit in this study and of course I think it comes down to stereotyping (something we all do). We see the studly men and perhaps dream about them but at the same time, we know they are no good. These are the men who sleep around, have too much testostorone, act like dumb brutes. Sooner or later, we learn to look past looks and see the real potential underneath. Which might explain why I spent the early half of my twenties lusting after Russel Crowe and my later half...well, I'm not there yet.

What I think it really comes down to, for me, is realizing that you just want "the nice guy." And perhaps, more often than not, the nice guy is not the stud.

Take my ex, for example. He was a nice guy - well, not that nice, considering the way things ended but all in all is a genuinely good, sincere and faithful person. I often have to remind myself of this since it ended so badly but that aside, it's still true. He was also, uh, not a stud. Not feminine looking either, although he was very pretty and looked nice in a skirt (sorry, kilt).

My boyfriend now is also not what you would call a "stud"...although he does have a nice bum...and an amazing smile....and is so damn cute, I just want to - ARRRG! Lost my train of thought.

Anyway the point is, he may not be some beefy, muscley jock dude with Hilary Swank's jaw, but he is a "nice guy," the kinda of nice guy that got overlooked in the past by shallow or naive girls who just want what they've been told to want. Luckily, in the end, it's the nice guy (whether he be feminine looking or not) that smart girls want.... proving that they don't always finish last.

So what do you think? Is there any truth to this? Do you (as women) really believe the nice, feminine-looking guys to be a safe bet? Are they more often than not? Would you feel safer in a relationship with the Mac Guy (Justin Long) or with David Beckham?

Actually, ignore the David Beckham question. It's fairy redundant.

I mean, fairly redundant. But I'll just keep that Freudian slip in there.

Long Weekend Weirdness

The Rules: Each player lists 8 facts/habits about themselves. The game rules are posted at the beginning of the post. At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment to let them know they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

The bastard that tagged me was Mitch. BASTARD! I have actually done this little questionnaire thing before and for the life of me I can’t really remember what I said. I can only hope I don’t repeat myself, and going with that, can only hope there are enough random things about myself.

Who am I kidding, though?

1. I HATE it when I go to a restaurant and someone orders the same thing as me. Can’t freaking stand it. Everyone thinks it’s weird and maybe it is weird, but I don’t know. I mean, imagine going to a nice place where the menu looks great and there is so much variety and you can’t figure out what to choose. And finally you settle on something and EVERYONE else orders the same thing. Where is the fun in that? I need variety, we can’t all have chicken quesadillas! I wanna see what the butternut squash looks like, what the halibut looks like (and by “see,” I mean “eat”).

2. I pick off my mascara during the day. I don’t know why, but I do know that I’ll have a full-face of makeup on in the morning and by the end of the day, my eyelashes are bare. Maybe it’s a nervous habit, but it does leave a lot of yucky mascara under my fingernails. Which leads me to…

3. My fingernails. They are quite a mess. As someone who takes a lot of pride in their appearance and who makes sure to take good care of every part of their body, my fingernails are shocking. Chipped polish, mascara under them, hangnails chewed off. Yeah. Ew. I don’t know, I just can’t be bothered to do anything with them.

4. I like to pretend my life is a movie, especially when music is playing. Just sit on a bus, listen to “Teardrop” by Massive Attack on your Ipod and you’ll see what I mean. Suddenly the most mundane thing is dramatic and brimming with meaning.

5. I sucked my thumb until I was ten years old. I quit cold turkey because I got impetigo, which is some weird chicken poxy kinda thing. It was disgusting and I obviously caught it because I sucked my thumb… and horseback rode a lot.

6. Speaking of horseback riding, I think I had mentioned before that I had a horse for about a year and that she hated my guts. Well, I never mentioned the most “difficult” thing I’ve had to do with a horse before. If that sounds suggestive, well, it kinda is. I’ve had to clean a gelding’s sheath a few times. It’s not fun. It basically comprises of putting on gloves, sticking your hand way up… it’s…well, sheath…. and pulling out all sorts of goodies (see a horse will often have it’s little general hanging out after it goes to the washroom, or just for fun, and during this state, sometimes it lies down on the ground. And when that happens…um, things can…stick?) Anyhoo, I’ve found gum wrappers, apple cores and wood chips. No wonder the horses look so uncomfortable sometimes.

7. I was born with club feet which meant for the first six years of my wee life I had to have two casts on my feet from toe to knee, 24/7, 365 days a year. It felt normal to me because I was born into it and didn’t know any better, but I do have not too fond memories of being in the Children’s Hospital for very, very long periods of time for many years. Now I can walk fine and run and do whatever the hell, although my heels hurt if I stand for long periods of time (one of the reasons I was never able to become a flight attendant), I have scars on my ankles which are the bane of my existence and the biggest thing affecting my life (and always has been), and my gait is affected by the fact that I have loose hips (hee hee) and short, tight hamstrings. But whatever, I can’t change any of it, all I can do is try and make peace with it (and I’ll let you know when I have).

8. When I was 13, I told everyone that Sam Neill was my neighbour and I threw up on his shoes. Don’t ask.

All righty, it’s the long weekend, BC Day, which generally means going camping and drinking Kokenee and a hell of a lot of weed but I am taking the classy route for once and I’m off to Whistler for one night with the Rockstar – Pan Pacific Hotel baby! Hopefully, this trip won’t turn out like last year’s trip with the ex… as funny/unfortunate as it was.

Adios!

Oh fuck and I have to tag people too. Arg. OK, I tag…NO ONE! Ha, you are all off the hook.

Except for Memphis Steve and Peter DeWolf, because I love them/love to torment them. And Adjil and Kass though I don't like to torment them. HA!

The Blogging Breed

It has come to my attention recently that, perhaps, us bloggers are a rare breed of people. After all, even though I blog and I read blogs and sometimes by scanning the seemingly fathomless scope of blogs out here in the blogosphere, you start to think that everyone blogs.

Wow. Totally overuse of the word “blog” there.

Anyhoo, this is simply not the case. It may seem like everyone is blogging but I am sure that if you started to look at number of blogs vs number of people capable of blogging, I’m sure bloggers would top out at 1% or something of the population.

This becomes apparent on some days when you peruse new blogs and see your “circle” of fellow blog friends leaving comments or being included in the links. It is indeed a small blogging world after all.

Besides, the whole “blogging phenomenon” has kind of gone way of the other techie phenomenons. Can anyone remember how “cool*” it once was to use a chat room? Now, that has gone to the wayside, just as blogging has. Just look at the number of people who USED to read your blog, who have fallen off the face of the earth or indeed your favourite bloggers who one day just stopped for whatever reason (Wombat, anyone? Where are you btw, we miss you!).

I put a star next to the word cool because, well, like chat rooms, blogging is not very “cool,” is it? I mean, to people who don’t blog, is it possible that we do is quite “nerdy” and “lame?” The thought never crossed my mind until recently, when I suddenly became aware of how potentially stupid it is for me to have a blog. OK, maybe not stupid, that’s a bit harsh. But how about dorky, geeky and nerdy?

Why, I am not too sure, but I think anytime you get a whole bunch of people together on the internet, for whatever reason, there is a huge NERD stigma attached to it. After all, we start to befriend each other, email each other, facebook each other and the “blog world” slowly becomes the “real world.” I know it did for me awhile back and once my therapist pointed that out to me, I slowly weaned myself away from the fake world.

But that doesn’t mean that the friends you make, the opinions you hear and the comments you leave don’t mean anything. It’s still real. It’s just maybe…not that cool?

Or maybe, just maybe, WE are the cool ones and everyone else is just technological pariahs.

Of course, this was the same kind of reasoning I used back in high school when I had a penchant for chain necklaces and guys who wore makeup.

So why do we blog? What makes us “bloggers?” Why do we do blog while many, many other people don’t?

I know with me there is no clear-cut reason. Just a few:

*Being a journalist (well, going to journalism school) is what opened my eyes to this medium in the first place (because, let’s face it, blogging/internet is a media outlet)

*I am a writer. That is what I do; it’s my passion (at times, I guess, like many writers) and is one of the few things I have been told I am good at. At any rate, blogging keeps me writing, and yes I write at work, but this is the one time I can have total artistic freedom. Hell, even when I am screenwriting and attempting to write a novel, I still have limitations of the market and genre and so on. In blog land, I can write about anything – all I have to contend with is a bunch of confused commentators at most.

*I like to make my opinions heard; I like the world to know what I think. Many years ago, I had ridiculous notions of being famous. Now I know that I didn’t actually want to be famous, I just wanted to have people care about what I thought, and that by being famous, I would be able to do through interviews etc. Blogging for me has squashed any stupid fame dreams because my opinion is heard and – for the most part – people DO care about what I think. Of course, you have to wonder about some of these people…

*I’m an open person – so I have been told - many times. I guess it’s true. I like to share and I like to listen to other people share. But of course, I do draw the line. I mean, I have a whole slew of family issues, personal issues, etc that I never have and never will blog about. But the other things, the things that aren’t close to me, I have no issue with expressing. In fact, sharing myself at certain times is actually a great relief.

*I am a storyteller. I work for a storytelling company, after all. And, believe it or not, I have a lot of stories that I have yet to tell. While I love (and will and do) hash out stories to my friends in person, it’s also fun to write it out in narrative form too.

So, why do you think you are a blogger? Are certain types of people drawn to this medium? Do you feel there is some stigma attached to you just because you do blog? And if you don’t blog but just like to read them, does it still apply to you?

90's Rewind Part Three: Smashing Pumpkins

So, I am sitting in mon apartement with a nice glass of wine, peering anxiously at my popcorn-littered floor. See, I had my second annual Fireworks Party on Saturday and - judging from the mess - it, like the first one you may remember here, was a success. And like last time, I have waited a good few days to clean it. Meh. So I have a few bugs crawling around on my floor. If I keep the popcorn there long enough, they might eat it all up and I won't have to vacuum.



Party Time - J-School girls reunited (and it feels so good)


The Rockstar, Austen, Lauren and Work Dude


Fireworks over Vancouver


Nothing like Jaeger, straight out of the bottle


so much silliness (or booze?)


My scary-ass elevator ate Robyn!


No wonder she looks a bit traumatized here

**********

So anyway, what I was trying to say was that I am sitting here with a nice glass of cheap-ass wine, staring at my grubby floor AND listening to the new Smashing Pumpkins CD. Phew, took me a long time to get to that point, didn't it?

It's interesting though, how I've sorta come full circle after all these years. I know I was recently talking how I feel like I am back in the 90's...starting with all the Smashing Pumpkins playing on Sirius's 90's Alternative Channel (speaking of, they really should start paying me for freakin' plugging it all the time). Then I find myself getting tickets to the Pumpkins in September. And then my bf lends me the new Smashing Pumpkins CD and as I sit here and listen to it, I can't help but think how much it rocks (song 4 is especially good)...and how much it reminds me 1996. In a really good way.

Such as the last time I went to a Smashing Pumpkins concert....

The ticket above was my way into the Melancholy Tour. They were playing in Seattle, so my friend and I had convinced my mother to drive us all the way down there for the night just so my 14-year old ass could attend.

However, we were not just ordinary fans. We were nutjobs. We researched which hotel the Pumpkins liked to stay in. We were in full-on groupie mode.

So I begged my mom to let us stay at The Four Seasons. Best thing ever.

The minute we walked in the place, a tall bald man in black and a woman with black hair walked out. I wasn't really paying attention to them but when my mother (embarassingly) asked the doorman whether the band was staying here or not, he just pointed past us, at the goth-looking couple walking down the street and said, "That's Billy Corgan and Courtney Love right there."

Well, our jaws dropped and we raced up to our rooms, threw our stuff on the bed and demanded that we peruse the streets of downtown Seattle...you know, to pick up our tickets from the box office...not to...stalk...a certain someone.

My mother obliged (she knew what was good for her) and off we went.

We didn't see them.

But we did see that some crazy people had already started lining up for the concert. Even though it was 4 hours away. Well, not to be outdone (and not willing to have a crappy spot in the theatre) I suggested we do it too.

My mother wasn't having any of it. She thought it was silly to leave us alone on a cold, dreary downtown Seattle street. I thought she was silly for missing my point. That's how 14-year old logic works. Like clockwork.

So, about a block away from the theatre, I stop and decide to have an outright hissy fit.

I'm yelling and I'm pleading at my mom, shaking in my cargo pants and doc martins, while my friend is standing to the side and looking uncomfortable.

She's also hissing: "Shhhhh. Shut up. Shut up now. Shut up now. OMG, shut up!"

I ignore her and continue to spazz in public until she elbows me in the side just as two people walk past us.

A tall bald man and a woman with black hair.

I shut up in mid-sentence and turn to watch them go and GET THIS:

BILLY FREAKIN' CORGAN actually looks over his shoulder at me and LAUGHS.

He freakin' laughs at me. Laughs! At ME! Courtney Love looked fairly amused too (though it was hard to tell with her harsh black hair and her collagen snarl). But DAMN, if that's not something, I don't know what is.

I made a fool of myself in front of my beloved Billy Corgan. My purpose on this planet was complete.

Well that was enough to satisfy me, so we went back to the hotel (more like floated back to the hotel) and then got ready for the concert.

We got there a little early which was good and were happy to see how small the theatre was...it's capacity was only about 2000. If anyone has seen Pearl Jam's Evenflow (or at least I think it was Evenflow...maybe Alive) video where Vedder is hanging off of the balcony, that's the same Moore Theatre.

So even though it would mean standing for an hour, we toughed it out and stood right by the stage until they came on.

Best thing ever.

First of all, Courtney Love was up in the side balcony in a private box, which I thought was pretty cool. She didn't recognize me though. Damn.

Second of all, after all the pushing and shoving from the crowd, we actually ended up at the VERY front, with the railing pushing into our stomachs.

Third of all, they played for about 30 minutes IN THEIR PAJAMAS! Just sitting on stools and playing unplugged to the crowd. And they were honestly just feet away from me. It was.... scrumtrulescent.

After the amazing show (in which, btw, some idiot tried to reanact the Evenflow video and hung from the balcony and fell into the crowd. Corgan was not amused), we raced back to the hotel to see if we could catch the band coming back for the night. We parked ourselves in the lobby, settled in comfy chairs, and waited.

Eventually, Darcy came in. We got all squealy when we saw her and were about to approach her with our pen and paper for an autograph, but she left....and the concierge got suspiscious.

He asked what we were doing here and if we were here to bother the band. We feigned disinterest and convinced him that we were merely waiting for my mom to come out of the bar, which was just around the corner and which loud laughs were constantly coming out of.

After awhile of sitting there though, one of the laughs actually started to sound familiar. Being the big fans we are, we soon deduced that it was the honking laugh of the usually drunk drummer, Jimmy Chamberlain (we were also fans of the SP video Vieuphoria).

Excited at our new discovery, we sat around until we saw Jimmy stumble from around the corner and out of the bar. This was our chance!

We sprinted to the elevator and cut him off at the pass.

Jimmy seemed a bit surprised, but he was very nice and obliging. And drunk. And hiccupping. And didn't even mind when he missed his elevator.

So he signed it, asked if he could keep the pen, got in the next elevator and dissappeared.

Why did he take our pen?

Anyhoo, it didn't matter. We had his autograph, he had my pen and all was right with the world.

90's Rewind Part Two: Silverchair

Speaking of having herself thrown into the 90's Wayback Machine, guess who got herself dragged to a Silverchair concert on Saturday night?

That's right, ME.

That's right, SILVERCHAIR.

Yes. The band is still around. I know, I couldn't believe it either. In fact, when I heard that there was a Silverchair concert a few weeks back, I first said "Silverchair? Why do they sound familiar?" and then, "Ohhh, Silverchair. Didn't that guy have anorexia?" and finally, "Ha ha ha. Silverchair."

See, all my memories of Silverchair are from like 1997 or some stupid year, and revolve around a band formed of 3 shaggy-haired Australian teenagers who sang about "Tomorrow" and "you gonna wait fat boy."

So, when a month ago my boyfriend said he was suped duper excited about this Silverchair concert, I thought A) he was joking B) he was kidding or C) I had really HAD stumbled backwards into the 90's. In fact, I had just heard "Tomorrow" on my Sirius Radio's 90's alt channel (that's channel 24 for you Neily).

Turns out that after Silverchair disappeared from the radar, the lead singer Daniel Johns was diagnosed with anorexia, then became bed-ridden with crippling arthritis for a year, all while marrying the gorgeous Natalia Imbruglia and making FOUR more albums after Frogstomp.

All this time, Silverchair continued on with their bandy ways, making music and touring and all that, while North America had literally no idea... I mean, seriously (they have a new album coming out - does anyone on this continent know that? I doubt it).

Anyhoo, to make a long story short (too late), the Rockstar was super excited about seeing one of his favourite bands and wouldn't shut up about this concert for the longest time. Although he did shut up about it around me since every time he uttered the word "Silverchair," I would give him this really amused look (probably because I was starting to confuse Silverchair with "Hanson").

Saturday comes around at any rate and while shopping with a friend, I get a text from the boyf. Apparently he's come across an extra ticket to the sold out show and wants me to accompany him. He said he would pay and everything, he just really wanted me there with him, sharing in the magic that is Silverchair.

My first thought was, "Really? He actually wants me to go to the concert with him?" (I wasn't used to my company actually being requested) and my second was, "Ha ha ha ha. OK. Fat boy, wait till tomorroooooooow" (and then I started singing in my head).

So I agreed and it was the best choice ever.

Silverchair was fucking awesome. I only wish that I had listened to their CDS before the concert because then I would have enjoyed it even more so, but even though I didn't know a single song, I had an awesome time. They were freakin' brilliant live and Daniel Johns (though recovering from Laryngitis) blew us all away. I was also really stoned for the first time in years - which really added to the moment. As well as this joke below:



This video was taken from someone at the concert on Saturday. Daniel Johns is telling a pretty funny joke (funnier when you are high) -but don't ask about the turban. I have no idea why he has it on... indeed, my first thought when he came on stage was, "My God, they have all grown up...and become Indian."




This video is of the song Without You - yeah, I think the person was in the mosh pit (I was slightly to the right of the mosh pit).

So yeah. Awesome concert, even though it was one of those shows in which you wish you knew the words... or the tune...so you just kinda bob your head up and down and try to guess what words you can mime next (so you don't look like a non-fan idiot). And now I'm probably going to download the albums, listen to them, love them and then wish I had seen them live.... oh, wait.

PS on an ironic note, the band that opened for Silverchair was a crappy band that the Rockstar's band had lost to in a competition for a BIG record label last month. Yeah. That's right. Had they have won, they would have opened for freakin' Silverchair! Which would really mean something if the rest of the world knew the band was still alive and kicking... ah well, I guess I'm a believer now.

This week in....

Well folks, summer has officially shone its pretty little face on my fair city and we are not supposed to be getting any rain until August. At least, that's what someone told me and I've been telling everyone I know and I know it will probably rain tomorrow and I will have a bunch of angry Vancouverites after me, but...meh.

Anyhoo, it's been a busy week but a most excellent, dancing on the clouds-type of one. And a week of...firsts...as well.

1) Most importantly...I have SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED MY DEGREE! This is AMAZING news since I never, EVER thought I would get there. Honestly, I shouldn't have.

You will all remember that back in May, I completed my whole Early Modern European History course in 5 days and walked away with an A.

This time I feared I would not be so lucky. Case in point: I had three classes remaining. Three Fourth-year level literature classes: Brit, American and Canadian. Each class has required reading of about 6 books each class. I had a month to read ...6 x 3 books (thank GOD I didn't take a math class). And write about 4 X 3 essays on those books. And write 3 exams.

I did it. Except I was certain I failed the British Lit class. For one, there were three books I never read - one of the books, The French Leutenant's Woman, was the essay question on the exam. Three freakin' questions and they were ALL about that bloody book. So I made up some crap about WW2, the French and Adultery.

Turns out the book is set in the Victorian age and doesn't really involve any of the above. Whoops.

So then I figured, all right, I failed the exam BUT I can make it up if I tried really hard on the essay assigments (YES, I did it backwards, I wrote the exam first and then did the assignments...again, bad choice).

So I did my best, only I left it to the last minute so I ended up scratching together all three essays in one day, handing it in only minutes from the due date and not even proof-reading my work - another no-no, considering that my freakin keyboard's "A" key fell off so it feels like I am pinching someone's nipple everytime I use the "A." It makes for many missed letters and for me getting slightly turned on.

Anyhoo, I should also add that one of the assignments involved two mini esssays on TWO books I had NOT read either. Shite. So I bullshited. Thank YOU Sparknotes!

And then with my Canadian Lit course, I actually forgot to hand in one Assignment. Whoops again!

But God was smiling down on me once again (I have NO idea why this time) and I got my marks back. On the courses, I got two C+'s and one B. I successfully and foolishly completely my final courses.

Gee, they let anyone graduate from University these days!

2) My freedom - Though I miss him dearly, Josh has moved out. My place is too small for two and it is a testament to Josh's character that I never killed him. I couldn't have asked for a better roomate - that said, I am happy to be dancing in my underwear to Lily Allen and Faceless again and can play Massive Attack's Teardrop without him going "AGAIN?" I am happy to eat my wee frozen meals and not feel like I have to feed him too. I am happy to go to bed at 10 if I want to, to wake up early and go jogging. Happy to have naps after work and to CLEAN THE CRAP outta my apartment.

Luckily, Josh just lives ONE BLOCK away now so my withdrawal from having him around isn't that bad. Plus he got a job at Romano's Macaroni Grill, which I'm sure I'll go to every week so we can get a SWEET discount. That restaurant is SO good.

3) Jessica Simpson - and I are friends on Facebook. I tagged her in a photo with me, she then assumes she knows me and suddenly I am in her Top Friends with Nicole Richie and the Duffster. I know it's probably not her but - it just may be. Either way, I'm finding it fucking hilarious.

4) Bard on the Beach - I had never been to this before, but every summer in Vancouver, tents are set up across the water from my apartment and Shakepeare plays run. This year it was Romeo and Juliet, Taming of the Shrew, Julius Ceaser and Timon of Athens. Josh and I went to R&J and we were SOOOO impressed. Bloody brilliant, the actors were incredible and having the whole thing in the open air, with the REAL sunset setting behind Juliet's balcony and a REAL ocean breeze ruffling her hair. Plus it was slightly emo with Romeo and his boys in skinny black jeans and white shirts - and what CUTE boys they were. There was even partial nudity (Romeo's emo bum) which was totally worth admission alone.

(hey you can see my apartment in this photo!)


If you are in Vancouver, go see it!

5) Wedding fun - My childhood friend Amanda, got married the other day. We've known each other for twenty years so it was mucho exciting to be invited to her wedding. If you can believe it, this was the first wedding I had been to in 12 years.

Even more exciting is when I volunteered to do her makup and she said yes.

Excitement soon turned to nausea when someone pointed out that I, a non-makeup artist (who, yes, went to school for it...seven years ago!), was going to do her makeup. On the most.important.day.of.her.life.

So I kinda freaked. Especially since I was up until 5 AM the night before.

But anyhoo, I showed up at her house and did the best I could. I think it turned all right - I mean, she looked glowing and beautiful and that's what counts!



The ceremony was short and sweet, with her two little girls acting up and being generally adorable. I'll admit, I thought that perhaps I would get depressed because apparently non-married women do at weddings. But honestly, I was soooo happy for her that I was crying as she walked down the aisle. But so was everyone else, so that was OK. Sigh.

At one point, I showed a gorgeous picture of Amanda to her husband (see above) and said, "Look how beautiful she looks." He looked up at me and said whole heartedly, "I know. I am the luckiest man on Earth." How amazing that was to hear, considering that they already have been together for years, have two kids, have a house...that he still knows her worth.

Best part of the wedding? When the couple walked into reception to the tune of Darth Vader. It was fucken awesome...when I get married I'm gonna have the whole Star Wars theme. That, or Indian Jones and I'm gonna have the groom sweep down on a rope with a statue in his hand. How cool would that be???? Then a big boulder could roll down the hall...oh man.


Well, that's it for now...I will have to fill you in on my week of hell (of a few weeks back) later just because it involves me breaking into the CEO's house with a troupe of Portuguese housecleaners.

Still Single?

I was going to write a nice, long, funny post about my hell week of last - it wasn't truly hell but it was in a "ha ha I'm in Hell" funny kinda way.

Anyway, that will have to wait because I just arrived home from work, sweating from the bleeping sunshine that has FINALLY shone upon my rainy city, and came across this letter (see above) stuck under my door.

I thought perhaps I should address this...

NO. I am not still single.

If Facebook is any indicator, I am in a relationship as of Canada Day (July 1st).

I'm not going to go into too much detail because I don't think it's fair to the Rockstar - but I will say a few choice things to satisfy your appetite.

I met him a little more than a month ago, during that horrible night I had where I got really drunk and upset and cried all the way home after the bar. I was originally at the bar to see a friend of mine from highschool since it was her birthday and all and Facebook united us. This was my first time drinking since the horrible break-up, do keep in mind. Anyhoo, I had been on a few dates with that REALLY GOOD-LOOKING GUY whom had given me the creeps in an underlying way and as soon as he found out that I was drunk and out at a bar downtown, he decided to come down.

I wasn't too happy about this - yes, the attention from him was flattering but at this point my highschool friend had introduced me to her good friend, Rockstar. Now....I was drunk and he does look exactly like Ferris Bueller (at least, I think so) so even though I didn't know the guy at all, I got up and yelled, "Oh My GOD! It's Ferris Bueller!"

Apparently he gets that a lot and we joked a bit about me being in Newlyweds, yadda yadda. Anyway, there were lots of other guys around the bar that night too and I was having a good time, but for some reason I just started gravitating towards Rockstar. I had felt like I had known him all my life - even though a relationship at this point was the furthest thing in my mind. That came to be the truth later when REALLY GOOD-LOOKING GUY showed up and him and I went to another bar. In the midst of making out and being groped on the street (I was drunk) I suddenly realized how "un-safe" and vulnerable I was - physically and emotionally. That led to me running away from REALLY GOOD-LOOKING CREEPY GUY and all the way home.

On that weepy stumble, as you all know, I was this close to drunk dialing my Ex. I don't think I really missed him but he was familiar and comfortable and made me feel safe. Anyway, as you know, I didn't call him (THANK GOD). But a funny thing was, that right before I passed out, alone in my own bed, I thought about Rockstar. And how even though I didn't know him, that felt familiar, comfortable and safe too.

The next day - and the next week - that followed were the worst. I was at my lowest point and two of my friends abandoned me when I needed them most. I caved in and emailed the Ex. He was as supportive as he could be - but deep down I could tell that his whole "I'm always friends with my Exes" was a load of horseshit (don't worry, I don't think he reads my blog anymore). I could tell he was happy to be rid of me and once I accepted that, I finally began to move on.

Now my intention was not to move on (or *ahem* under) another man. I was quite content being single as I knew I would be. But the more I stayed in contact with Rockstar, the more I felt....something.

There were several reasons - of course - that kept me from persuing anything. Number one is that he is 16 months younger than me - but as I got to know him I could see what a mature, old soul he really is. Number two, he's in a band. I am soooo not a groupie - I dated guitarists all throughout high school and was not looking into that scene again. Number three, I didn't think we had anything in common - but it turns out we do, in fact, and what we don't is made up for by having this amazing chemistry. Number four, I had just gotten out of a serious (well, what I thought was serious, it obviously never was in hindsight) relationship. This was the big one. Was two months enough time? Was I truly over my Ex? Was I doing this for all the right reasons?

The answer was YES. To all of them.

So here I am. In a relationship with a guy who makes me laugh like no one else ever has. Who makes me feel GIDDY - in such a way that I don't think I have ever felt this way about anyone (of course, I am jinxing it now ;) Who actually WANTS to see me and drives 45 minutes just to and doesn't complain about it- how wonderful to feel wanted for a change. Who sends me texts throughout the day that makes me grin from ear-to-ear which causes my co-workers to wonder what's wrong with me. We even went to the same high school, his dad and my dad play golf together on a regular basis (and always have) and his best friend is the son of my mother's best friend. Weird, huh?

Anyway, I said this would be brief but I so just totally lied to you all. But you know what, I'm as happy as Paris Hilton right now and I'm just making up for lost time.

Oh...and there are a few more things (good things) that are going on but I'll have to do that later. This is too much for one day :)

BTW - I would totally upload my photos from my Canada Day weekend (and the boy) but I can't find them. Anyone else who is remotely interested, can mosey on down to my Facebook. I know there is a link to it somewhere....

All Apologies

This has been one CRAZY MO-FO week in more ways than one. I won't go into the details because I like to hold off on them for awhile (as some of you know) and I simply have not had the time to blog. Not because I am so called "happy" but because I am so called "stressed" to the maximum. Rest assured I will fill you in on my hell week starting next Tuesday but until then I am going to be a busy little bee.

Plus it is the Canada Day long weekend and I am getting shit-faced on our boat. With Josh, my dad and the Object of My Affection (whom I am now dubbing Rockstar just because he is - kinda). Me and three boys (Ok, one boy, one man and my dad!) Oh, could it possible get any better?

Yes it can:



See you after the weekend!

Oh the joys of ...

I just had a most wonderful weekend which consisted of drunken antics at a rock concert, 3 AM Denny's, my childhood best friend's Staggette party (my first one ever)...

...and much-needed and profuse amounts of giddy, high-schoolesque making out. Sigh. Honestly, a lot can be said for some good old-fashioned action. None of this "let's jump down each other's pants right away" business, but just slighty innocent tonsil hockey on the side of a busy downtown street - or outside of Denny's. It's a forgotten art, I tells ya!

I would love to elaborate more (though you are probably happy I'm not because I would only make you feel disgusted) but I am afraid I am under the influence of being in a happy bliss bubble, so I will just leave you with a post about Facebook that I contributed to Peter deWolfe's blog Burt Reynolds Mustache on Friday. Enjoy!

Flattery will get you everywhere

I've never been one to accept compliments very well - but there are some that absolutely make my day. Yes, I often hear "you're beautiful" or "you're pretty," which of course is very nice to hear but in actuality it makes me really uncomfortable. Mainly because I don't believe it myself so I think these people are just humouring me. Or just being very unoriginal (but by all means, that should not stop you from saying anything!)

But to hear I am "smart" or a "great writer," well, that really puts a smile on my face. And today, I received - to me anyways - the best compliment of them all. I was beaming...like this picture of me in my elevator...with....people:




The object of my recent affection, whom I have been trying to make laugh ever since I met him because he happens to have the most wonderful smile ever, told me today that "You make me laugh so much - in all honesty, I don't think I have ever met a funnier girl."

Success! Of course, most of you are probably scratching your heads and thinking "she's funny?" But, meh, you oughta meet me. Actually, don't - I'll just disappoint you.

Of course, this compliment is coming from a guy whom I think is just the wittiest guy that I have ever met, so it really means a lot. Sigh...there I go, beaming again.

So, what is a great compliment to you? When people say you are a good person? A great singer? A sexy beast? Fill me in...

BTW - this is Josh and I at my recent party - despite what it looks like, he is not the object of my affection. Well, not in that way...