vacant wind

2010-09-26T13:27:00.004-04:00

I guess there's no reason i should be writing this post, but still. I hate leaving things unsaid (and i'm kinda anal like that). I started this blog to ease myself into writing again, after that whole living-abroad-going-back-to-school hoopla, a place to dump my brain, start anew, blablablablah. The usual reasons why any semi-sane person would start divulging their random thoughts for the unknown ether to possibly see. It's been good, but i'm afraid it doesn't feel quite right here anymore. Tweeting killed the blogging star, as it seems, and though i'll never understand the former and self-preserving delusion can't even grant me the latter, packing this thing neatly up feels like the best logical option for now.

Also. Some people IN MY REAL LIFE know about this place. I've been told—WARNED!—to conceal it, but of course, i didn't take heed... It's not like i am purposefully hiding anything from these dear people (since my verbal diarrhea forces me to tell them whatever it is i need to say eventually) but i guess timing is everything, and free access into my rambling, before i can even make any sense of them, stunts me more than this silly endeavor should. Besides, that's the kind of privilege i rather reserve for the ~~fortunate invisible people who don't have to deal with me~~ innerwebz.

Thanks for all the little links, the comments and the emails. It still blows my mind. As they say, ce n'est qu'un Au revoir. I'll be lurking yo ass.

2010-07-12T01:19:00.003-04:00

I shall never doubt again.

2010-06-26T22:42:00.011-04:00

Mum's been home for a month now, and is doing well. (I'd say 'very well' but there is a part of me that is still over-cautiously afraid to tempt the spite of the Universe.) She is still not back 100% but is moving about and even good enough to go out for Dad's birthday the Friday before last, so thumbs up.

It's been a weird, hectic but also strangely slow last few weeks. Months, even. Ever since 2010 rang in, things -- Things -- have somewhat unravelled a bit. I started questioning this whole Uni-thing, and therefore this elusive delusion commonly referred to as 'career' (again), getting annoyed with everybody, blaming it on the weather, realising it'd be lots simpler if it was just the weather, and subsequently dropped out half of my classes. May came along to see me briefly running away to visit my best friend for some much needed time off before enrolling in a crazy full-time schedule to get back into Things. Mum's operation was only supposed to be just a blip, not even big enough of a deal to register on these Things i had to worry about, if only to reschedule my study location so i'd be home a bit more to take care of her "swift and steady recovery". Right.

The first week she got back was a bit of a blur. There were visitors, lots of visitors. And i remember being grateful and touched, but also vastly annoyed. Here was my mother incapacitated and not looking well, the house in disarray and me running around trying to keep things in order because i know she hates it when things are messy, let alone having other people witnessing this mess. My dad helped the best he could, and did plenty (he cooked) but it's been a tough year on my dad. Without wanting to get into details, least of these is seeing him... getting old. My dad has always been quite fit and active. Not active in the sense of sporty, but in a rather literal sense -- always moving about, fixing, cooking, sewing, doing whatever it is that needs to be done around the house. And if not for our house, then for my sister, my aunt, some family friends, anyone, really, without any thought about whether it was a 'manly' thing to do or not. His fierce reliability and capability are, despite our recent differences, something that i have always respected and been proud of. He just turned 62 last week and though i still can't quite fathom the number, he is generally still quite capable. But like i said, it's been a tough year... and it's starting to show. In little things, like not knowing what to do next in the kitchen, leaving cupboards and refrigerator doors open -- and less little things, like leaving the stove on after removing the pot... I've seen him losing his calm, senselessly rambling, talking about his fear over losing mother with other people, something that is so out of his taciturn character--even when done with us, not to mention to casual friends and family members--that i'm unsure how to feel about it, scared or touched. I've realised that he can't do laundry or fold sheets to save his life, something i haven't noticed before that have strangely made me very sad. Seeing my mother sick was terrifying enough, having to realise that my once capable dad is also rapidly aging is just a little more heartbreaking than i'd like to take, thanks.

Anyway. I've also noticed how i am quite capable to take care of other people and things (notice, not Things) when need be. And not only capable, but that i quite enjoy it. I'm not entirely sure what that says about me (future Housewife of Mtl?!) but i think after feeling aimless for the past months, doing something that is immediately useful feels rather good.

There are other things, i mean Things, on my mind right now, that i'd like, i mean need, to write about but this'll do for now. I have Work, i mean work--no, i really mean Work--to do.

2010-05-24T09:09:00.008-04:00

Last Friday, my mother went in for a minor surgery. When i called from work to check up on her, my dad, unusually frantic, told me that they were heading to the hospital again because her bleeding wouldn't stop. When i arrived at the emergency room, she was lying there, eyes closed, still and white as a mannequin, surrounded by mangled and moaning bodies--the Friday Night Crowd, they called them. She didn't say anything, but i know she'd be curious, embarrassed and terrified all at the same time. She likes to fancy herself, in even sillier times, a lady spy.

The doctor on duty said that since she lost too much blood, her heart had weakened and would probably need a blood transfusion. How can this have happened from such a 'routine' operation? He shrugged, saying he'll go over the surgery protocol, see if anything went amiss. He'll call the surgeon who performed on my mother, who would surely come by in the morning. I said i'll stay with her for the night, urging my dad to go home and rest--he'd been with her all day, and knowing him, hadn't eaten at all.

The emergency ward is a morbidly fascinating place. There was a heavily intoxicated young man wheeled in shortly after i had arrived, spitting and screaming at people, claiming no-one loved him. When the security guys tried to move him onto his bed, he grabbed the thin one with the long straight hair and fine sharp features, and begged him not to leave. The elfin guard reassured him that he'll be taken care of, that it'll be okay. Somehow he would be the nicest staff member to him the entire time he'll be there. A few moments later, after they had strapped him to his bed, afraid he was going to run of, or hurt someone, his parents arrived. They were probably my parents' age, immigrants, eyes filled with the sort of sadness, fear and stoic disappointment that my mother calls love.

There is little you can do in these type of situations. You try to stay calm and reasonable, because your mother needs you to be, and you don't want to hinder the nurses and doctors, but you really can't help all these scenario sipping though your head when you look at all kinds of tubes plugged into her frail body. You start bargaining with the Powers That Be, even when you think it's silly--you'll take silliness over a 1 in zillionth chance of there being any powers at all, because look what's on the line? A 1 in ten thousand chance of things going wrong can soon degenerate into anything can go wrong at anytime. You also start throwing threats in the wind, promise hell to pay if anything should turn to it. You imagine shoving the surgeon on the wall, looking straight in his small smug eyes, and telling him--slowly, to make sure he hears every word and knows you mean it--that if anything should happen to your mother he'll never know a restful night again for the rest of his days.

I know i'm a tad paranoid. I'm also a bit of a fatalist (much like my mother after all). Few situations beg me to categorically refuse preparing myself mentally for, but having my mum helpless and semi-conscious in an emergency bed knocks on the door of that sole reigning case. Whenever i hear or know someone who have lost either of their parents, the air goes out of my lungs. I can't imagine the hurt and sadness, and don't want to, because it only reinforces the biggest fear of my life. And if i were to be honest, it's not losing my parents that i am most afraid of, it's losing my mother. That can never happen.

Do you hear me, Universe? That. Can. Never. Happen.

As i sat there on the floor by her bed, trying not to imagine the worse, i heard the Unloved Boy's mother cry. "Te quiero mucho, mama..." I cracked. Only briefly.

After two packs of blood, the sun had come out and so did she. She was in pain, but already more of herself. "I knew this would happen--they say this would be a bad year for my sign...", she sighed, as if that explained everything. While waiting for her surgeon and the cardiologist to come by, we were able to distract ourself eavesdropping on the other patients. The rowdy boy had been moved and replaced by an 18-year-old girl who, apparently in a fit of a young rash broken heart, had swallowed two packs of pills with a bottle of whiskey. She was barely coming out of it, still high on whatever it was they gave her, but had already started flirting with the young female nurse while her loving roommates scoffed and teased her. There was also a man who had been quite roughed up next to my mum's bed, who'd come in in the wee hours of the morning accompanied by cops. They stayed with him, un-cuffed, the entire time. I imagined crazy stories--a fortuitous brawl with a wanted criminal? a protected witness? a mafia insider?-- from the few snippets of conversation i overheard for my mum's entertainment. She loves that sort of thing.

Her doctor finally showed up some 12 hours after she'd been readmitted. "Sometimes, some people are just not used to seeing any bleeding so they panic...", he said, and i nearly re-enacted my nocturnal fantasies. "There're just rare cases where these sort of things happen, and unfortunately it happened to you! Everything seems to be healing nicely now though. We'll keep you for a few days, until it heals a bit more, just in case, but all your vital signs are stable now and everything should be fine." It was with a strange mix of desperate relief and confused resentment that he left me to arrange the paperwork. A few hours later, she was finally settled in a room, and bemoaned my dad for fiddling with her bed, in a way that meant she knew how scared and worried he'd been.

We are now waiting for some final tests to be done this morning. When everything is clear, she'll be able to come home.

2010-04-02T15:01:00.005-04:00

It's done the rounds about thirty times (and landed on daytime news?!) already, but i can't help myself. The joyful excitement, the innocence CRUSHED! Classic.

In other news, i think it's time to open a bottle of wine to toast this amazing 25C sunny weather we are having, and i'll be back ~~when i sober up~~ with a post that doesn't include random photos or videos and more random words and grammar for the 3 people out there - including my imaginary friend Popo - who read this (hi!). Happy Jeebus Got Screwed Over By His Daddy Weekend!!

2010-03-22T21:23:00.008-04:00

I made chocolate-n'-pears cupcakes. It's not very pear-y though, and the 'icing' is melting faster than the North Pole hit by a giant orca on fire with rabies, but... there's always room for improvement, yes? Me=positive thinking.

2010-03-09T13:40:00.000-05:00

Lunch of Champions.

2010-02-28T18:15:00.016-05:00

Fourteen gold, one big sigh of awesome. What's this? Patriotism, is that you...?

[EDIT: Um, well, it was nice meeting you for two hours? I'll just hold on to the image of Neil Young kicking hearts and Shatner fornicating in a canoe in exchange for my dignity now, thanks. (Seriously, this is the worse closing lineup they can POSSIBLY come up with. Hedley and Simple Plan? Avril Lavigne?! NICKELBACK?!?! Seriously!?? WHY ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME, OLYMPIAN GODS, WHYYYYYYY??!!... *breathe* Well, at least it can't get any worse, right? Right. I see. Of course. Please excuse me while i go tear my ears out.)]

[UPDATE: "This appears to be the first time that a shortage has struck the Games." Aaaaand a musk of pride whisks through the air. Stay classy, Canadia! Woot! woot!]

2010-02-01T01:16:00.026-05:00

I sleep on sheets-less bed and take hour-long showers. My head (and heart) is floating somewhere waywardly West and in forgotten foreign villages. In vain. Anywhere, then, that is not here.

What the heck happened to January?

Classes have started for not even a month and already i have missed two; out of four courses, i am behind in three (but only because the last one doesn't really count). The idea, by promising to see more of my friends in any (physical) shape or (virtual) form, was to grasp onto some sense of normalcy amidst school projects, team-working and other gregarious bollocks - things i am as good at as i am shit at procrastinating. But evidently, well-meaning intentions count for fuck all. The more i play social butterfly the quicker i drop like a lost moth to a flame.

Everyone feels this off this time of year, right? Everyone in the grey and cold part of the world at least. Right?

Anyway. It’s bitter cold and sunny out. I’ll march by my motto, more earnestly than ever, pretend i know what i’m doing, act ~~a fool~~ my age, play someone who i presume might be good for the part. And hoping that, eventually, i’ll find a right way...

That home has only been momentarily hidden behind blinding snow.

2010-01-03T09:09:00.011-05:00

In which i give myself an anonymous eyepatch.
(Because i've always wanted to be a pirate. Or Stevie Wonder.)
(Ouh! Also, it took 5 years in the making, but look! My fringe is no longer fringy!! *proud*)

So Thursday night festivities didn't go half as bad as i anticipated (considering the last time i saw them, i had to brace myself, you understand). Highlights included:

Copious amounts of booze. Q, brother-in-law's middle sister*, brought two bottles of moussed wine that was added to the 2 bottles of vino, unearthed somehow in the already full cupboard of hard liquor at my sister's**. Since most of The Adults didn't drink, these were all generally shared between four of us...
Including my Big Sis, who got really drunk. And that would be one resolution resolved. Huzzah!
Food! Innumerable, insuperable, incredible! From 7pm to the last second of 'o9. I am still digesting.
The Other Mother, on ordering food (instead of cooking like her daughter, or my mum, when really nobody was even thinking of caring***): "You know it's just as hard work to order: i had to find the number to call, then get there, ring the bell and enter the code [pause]... And then wait for the food..."
Sneaking off to the spare bedroom**** to send ~~saucy pictures~~ stages of my inebriation to Blondie. *giggles*
Watching Brüno. Too drunk at that point to care how disappointing it was but tried out Big Sis' new massage chair. Awesome. Wished there was weed.
Mum dancing and clapping and singing "ANNA HAH-PY NOOO YEEEEEARRR!" - sober and crazy.
First kiss of 2010: 10-month-old nephew. Can't ask for more, really.

Well, ok maybe i can... But right after we opened (and finished) the last bottle of sparkle it snowed in that soft dream-like way, and my heart skipped a beat or six (and not only bc it was soaked in ethanol).

Looking back at last year first resolutions, there's no surprise i didn't really keep any. The real one however was that i think i achieved the general idea of it (i'm easy to please like that). I did not read every week (that was my overachieving, over-pleasing, Twelve-Year-Old Self speaking, please excuse her) but i did read quite a bit more than 7 books, so yay me. Also, i baked brownies i couldn't keep my filthy paws off of (even though they were the pre-prepared mix kind - hey! i added and changed a few ingredients and instructions! that counts, yes?...), wrote more, established some new boundaries and clumsily scrambled enough confidence to go back to school and be a more pleasant person (if not slightly erratic) to be around, i think. Or failing that, at least someone i can better like, and that is All Good, yes? YES?!

Anyway, in keeping with this brand new tradition, here are a brand new set for the brand new year. And since i am brand newly aiming to achieve (!!!) i remembered learning from failed academic past that one must cut it down into simple, clear and practical***** tasks for better chances of success, so here goes nothing. (IT'S LIKE I CAN BARELY RECOGNISE MYSELF PEOPLE!)

1. Spend more time talking with just my Big Sis.

2. Eat one fruit a day.
(In lieu of getting married, to please Mother)

3. Learn to drive.
(In lieu of growing up, to please Father.)

4. See and/or write to good friends at least once a week.

5. Be adventurous.

Does not count: buy new "kind" of shoes; cut hair; burn down buildings.
Does count: travel to new places and/or at the last minute, without any planning; shag in random places; etcetera.

6a. Shag more.
Which would go better with...

b. Get boyfriend's ass here.
(Or wherever mine is.)

7. Instead of buying new, wear more clothes i already have.
Also, dresses.

8. Read these already:
Love in the Time of Cholera - Marquez
L'insoutenable légèreté de l'être - Kundera
Crash - Ballard
Kafka on the Shore - Murakami
Anna Karenin - T-Man
(D'aw, i'm so romantic! If not slightly tragic!)

9. Watch:
the last season of Oz
The Wire
Dexter
Mad Men
Twin Peaks
(Original, thou art not thy name.)

10. Follow a schedule.
(Please.)

Alrighty then. That's it for now, folks and folksettes. I have to scurry to (another! my, i'm on a roll!******) get-together brunch type thingy now, so until next time,

Pip! pip!

________________________
* Didn't come to the FloHo. Therefore wisest and favorite of the whole crazy bunch. (Aside: previously insanely high-strung - and also one who couldn't take a compliment - but ever since wedding, has vastly mellowed out and carelessly fun. This oddly makes me very happy.)
** Big Sis, bless her heart, nor her hubby ever drink, but like to entertain the idea of serving guests. Which they seldom have. Who drink. Except me. For some reason.
*** Actually, we were all thankful coming from her...
**** Which also served as the baby's room (hence the alphabet) but with no baby in it. Just to be clear.
***** Three things i'll take a lifetime to get but i am doing here what the people call Aiming High. What can i say, i'm a crowd pleaser. *laughs hysterically*
****** Is trying not to jinx it, is trying not to jinx it...

2009-12-31T16:18:00.050-05:00

Christmas came and went this year in a blink of a sleepless eye. I mean, i didn't even have time to whinge about it, what with all the stress from what shall now be referred to as the Most Horrible End of Terms In Life (And I Have Had Some Pretty Disgusting Ones), let alone indulge in the festive shopping and baking. My brain doesn't particularly care to recall but suffice to say, all-nighters were the high-points of it all. I then spent the remaining of the week in a semi-conscious state, bedridden and tea stricken, only to tie together on the evening of Christmas Eve a playlist that would pitifully sum up my strange feelings for this stranger holiday. Instead, i felt nothing. Well, not exactly nothing-nothing, just neither joy nor sadness, just... longing. If that's what Christmas is all about - wanting something more, something better - i guess i can understand that. I just can't stand all the jingle bells though.

There was a get-together with the extended family (which i was drunkenly prepared for) and then another in another city (which i wish i were drunkenly prepared for...) but all throughout, i barely skimmed the surface, neither here nor there. Anyway.

It's New Year's Eve apparently, and everywhere i read it's not just best-of but best-of-the-decade lists, and i realised, shit, it's been 10 years. Ten years of what exactly, i don't know, but i'm easily impressed by numbered hallmarks like that (and i love lists) so i figured i should make one too. Only it won't be "the best" (because, seriously, what do i know?) more than "my favorites" (because, anyway, i really am that self-indulgent). And what better list to get me excited than one to rock my bum and heart out on this most hyped and hyperbolic of nights?

Here then is my TOP 10 RECORDS FROM THE DECADE. (Please, feel free to ~~rock~~ mock.)

10. Florence+The Machine - Lungs (2009)
Squeezing in at #10 is this fiery faery i wish i'd partied with (or listened to - or was, for that matter) when i was in the old smoke. Instead, she serenaded me with her seductively anthematic voice long after and every morning on my way to uni these past few months. As a (reformed?) commitment-phobic, it always makes me ridiculously uneasy to proclaim my devotion to a love so young - even if it's for something as inconsequential as a record (and though most of my real ones begun quite quickly...) but please, humour me - i just can't discard that Miss Welch, despite critics and Kiss With A Fist (which, in its awful abandon, is actually winsomely adolescent - makes me want to jump on me bed!), has somewhat restored my 17-year-old girly angst, complete with all the wonderfully silly parts minus the ugly ones. For that, i sincerely thank ye.

Favorite track: Dog Days Are Over. Because, even though i'm not religious, i like to pray.

9. Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Show your bones (2006)
Controversial amongst discussions with J (as he kinda hates this one) it is the record that made me fall unconditionally for Karen O. I thought their first album to be too erratic for my (sensible! delicate!) tastes, and the third, though definitely awesome, has not yet had the time to wield lasting lesbianic love over (young!) impressionable me.

Also, for an entire year, Turn Into was an anthem that drummed my feet feverishly stumbling towards London so stick that into your pipe and smoke it*.

8. The National - Boxer (2007)
If i have no shame, this is where it gets embarrassing. (Hello, you-know-who, if you're reading this, you can skip this part...)

Ok?

Ok. Where were we? Right. Oversharing, one note at a time.

For some reason, once i got to London, my mind kinda went blank. They say the fun is in the ride, not the destination, and i guess whoever these patronizing bastards are they were right because when my plane landed i didn't quite know what to do. I stopped seriously listening to music, or be seriously interested in anything, and was mainly concerned a bit too seriously with surviving and remained seriously dimwitted. Which, some might argue, is the best way to fall in a serious relationship. Because i did. But in that confusing, unexpected, insanely banal way i wasn't quite ready for. Then on a day long after i was back home, i put on this record (which i stole from him, of course) and it suddenly, stupidly and easily, all made sense. How this song reminds me of him, without really having to do anything with him, also rekindled my seriously senseless affair with music again.

Now, please carry on while i coil and cringe in a corner.

7a. Dumas - Le cours des jours (2003)
Alright, so i'm sort of cheating. But i certainly never claimed that this was fair or that anyone but me should care, and asking me to choose between this and the other is like asking me to choose between cake and pie, which is to say impossible (why must there be a choice anyway, huh? can there not be enough love for both!?! WHY!?!) Also, when i first drafted down the list i felt as if something was missing as there weren't any French Homies on it, and then i remembered, of course, how could i forget? and proceeded to feel like a heartless harlot.

This Victoriaville native convinced me (in a year where i needed a lot of convincing) that sometimes we don't have to search very far to find perfectly what we didn't know we needed (even though i still ran away by the end of it all...) I want to say Linoléum was my favorite track but to be honest, every time i walked down the street 8 months out of the year i yearn to have J'erre in my ears. However i may be feeling, it always puts a smile on my face.

(That i wouldn't mind taking my pants off for him does as well.) (Um.)

7b. Feist - Let It Die (2004)
Another fellow Canadian but so much more to me. If i could be a rock star, or rather 'a musician', or sing, or play an instrument, or have any talent really, i think i'd like to be her. That crack in her voice, that little jiggy shimmy, that way she rocks an electric guitar, that simple yet über coolness she swaggers with, i want it all. One evening, i swear, is how long it takes to fall head over heels, and a decade (if ever) to get over.

6. Radiohead - In Rainbows (2007)
So good. No bullshit, no distinct memories (except maybe one i dream of making - to see them, one day, in concert) - just so, sooo good, plain and simple.

Favorite track: how do you freakin' decide your favorite Radiohead track anyway? And i'm not even the biggest Radiohead lover either. From 15 Steps to Reckoner, it's hard enough to pick my top 10 (or 11, whatever) albums here, i don't think my indecisiveness can take it any more so just go and listen to the entire thing if you haven't already (it's free! (sort of)). If not, just especially this one:

Because i am a big emo.

5. The Strokes - Is This It (2001)
So if no one cared to figure it out by now, i'm an indie kid. I'd barf at my own hispterdom but at this age, it's more embarrassing to deny it, really. Even more silly would be to deny that this album, after serious debating against the sophomore, never fails to pin me back, without fail, exactly to where i was, what i was doing, how i felt in that awkward beginnings of my twenties. I had only listened to this years after it came out (after Room on Fire actually) on the second semester of my first year at university. I had just quit one (of would-be-three) major, was undecided and confused, sublimely angstsy yet sedately aware of the uselessness of it all, and i can't think of an album that so concisely convey that cringingly tragic stage (i may or may not be still in). I enjoy love/hate/embarrassing relationships like that.

Also, the only reason it beat out all the above is mainly due to this track who's seen me in spasmodic positions and contortions strangers should never see me in (on the dance floor!! on the dance floor!!! tsss.)

4. Interpol - Antics (2004)
There's a reason why most albums here fall between '03 and '04. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, if there was any time to use that quote it was for that time. This Interpol album is the only one i love that i can still listen to without too much worry. And i can dance to it too, so score!

Favorite track: Evil, easily, even though C'mere, followed as strategically as a bad pickup-line by Length of Love, always makes my heart, and knees, melt respectively in that order. (*whispers* Because i am easy *whispers*)

3. Franz Ferdinand - Franz Ferdinand (2004)
In a time dispersed with 'torrid' affairs - real and, um, fictive - this record was exactly what i needed. Fun, flirty and a little flagitious, it made me break up with The Strokes, forget about Coldplay (yeah, that's right, wha'ovitt?) and dance in the most daftly deviant way without a bloody care.

Every track is golden, and though Michael made me gyrate in the most inappropriate way, Come On Home felt, even five years later, very me. Tangible proof that i'll never grow up, huzzah!

2. Arcade Fire - Funeral (2004)
Oh dear. How can i make this one sound less soppy?

Thing is, there isn't really anything funny about this record. I remember the first listen was quite hard for me, not because of what it said but because there was a bit too much clamor for my taste. But i was surprisingly more patient then, somehow, and kept on listening. Like a fungus, it grew on me. And with every raucous repeat, every blundering bang of cymbal, every dweeby wail, it spread like a burning rash until it inflamed and engulfed me completely in this transcendental bright magical light. A true 80's romcom caterpillar-butterfly story that would please any nerdy adolescent raging with hormones (which, of course, i ~~was~~ am).

It is also perfect in that every song tied into one another until it culminated right back at my beginning, where, in the back seat of our old white Pontiac, as a kid, i used to stare into the starry night, wondering about the things universally big and small that every kid innocently wonders about like they're touching the moon for the first time. And it made me think about my parents, and childhood, and mortality, right at the moment where it mattered most and i thought, fuck, how did they know?** but i have a lump in my chest now so will you excuse me for a moment pleasethankyou....

Ok. Let's carry on.

1. Interpol - Turn On The Bright Lights (2002)

...

(What is this? A masochistic purging? What the heck is wrong with me to think this'll be a good idea to write on the eve of a new year, where only disappointment and disaster - especially when having to spend it with The Other Family later on (uh-huh!) - can be expected?!? Honestly. AND WHY DON'T I HAVE A BOTTLE OF GIN NEXT TO ME RIGHT NOW!?!)

*sigh*

So yeah. Turn On The Bright Lights. Or 'totbihl', if you will. I 'discovered' them, funnily enough, while reading a magazine interview with Brad Pitt. (See? they're not all trash and tabloids!) They've asked him what he'd been listening to, and as i was still easily wooed by hot-bod actors with architectural sensibilities and underrated comedic chops, i searched it up. Little that i knew, it unravelled me.

I don't listen to it much anymore, not in its entirety at least. There are some heartbreaking pearls: Hands Away made me cry for the first time in public (with people! around!) and The New sang with drunken clarity what i thought silently, while, Leif, well, the first, the last, always left me numb with life. But to put it on, from beginning to end... it wraps me up in its shrouded veil and turns me inside out again, softly breaking me to crystallised pieces. That it can still make me so fragile is why i handle it with kids gloves but it is also why i cherish it most - it reminds me how easily and utterly i have come undone, and how i've managed to pull it back together, somehow, however clumsy it may be. It's like a scar i wear with unknown pride.

So yes. I guess i am purging.

If not only to make room for all the delicious food (and wine! and the bubbly!) that i shall stuff my face silly with later, hopefully for a lot more surprises - good and bad. I'll take it all for the next ten***.

Here's to all a wondrous new year.

________________________
* I don't know what that means either.
** Because it's all about me, obviously.
*** Words, i swear, i never thought i'd say with such honest febrility. Hurrah indeed.

2009-12-18T22:54:00.012-05:00

I'd rather not sleep than not shower. That's saying a lot from a girl who thinks Heaven involves anything with worn white sheets and a plush pillow. But when there aren't enough minutes in an hour in a day to finish your maquette and presentation, for a class that scares and thrills you in equal measure, 3 hours off just seems stupid and selfish. In the name of what? more Pride than Art, surely. To point: 15 minutes in a hot shower makes me feel clean(sed) and pretty enough to ensure brain and fingers continue their bitter bureaucratic struggle with/against each other to come up with something that doesn't make my heart pull out all its investments*.

This is my fifth all-nighter this semester, second in a frantic race to the finishing term**. I have one more to go (on Monday) and i am awaiting with bated breath to see if it'll be my sixth. I reallyreallyreallyrillyrillyrilly hope not. The problem is, conception work is not my forte, and it generally involves me staring blankly at the blank paper and/or computer screen until it's sunset and i slowly start losing my mind. I guess that's what i'm hoping to develop (the conception part, not the losing my mind part - although, frankly, that was also a given) in coming back to school, but in the wishful meantime i am struggling to produce something that makes it all remotely worth it. All these waking hours, all this financial predicament, all the personal and social sacrifice (i can't travel*** and have yet to see any of my Real Life friends in over a month). I'm not looking to change the world (when changing me is hard enough...), but as for the first time in years i love and care about the work i do, finding out i suck would be nothing short of heartbreaking. So far, the grades i have are good enough to soothe my Hardass Asian Upbringing for this unconventional choice of career, and although i do admittedly derive a silly pride in that, it's a dangerous trap to get caught in as maintaining my GPA can sneak its way ahead of enjoying and experimenting with the creativity.

Gah, i sound like an arse.

More on that later, but as my brain is on limited life-support what i mean is, even with dark times brewing past, my heart is still in it, the only thing i need to keep afloat and rowing like a doped-up monkey on speed during these crazy sleepless days/nights so i better do whatever i can to please its fickle demands (e.g. withhold sleep, or still spend 10minutes on putting on makeup when you're an hour late for your presentation****). Also, come Monday night, there will be glorious amount of alcomahol, shit talking and promises of morning-after regrets, or What Uni Is Really All About, and i. Can't. Fucking. Wait.

________________________
* Analogie de la mort, toé!
** Can you tell with my analogies?
*** We are presented during class by works from around the world and instead of inspiring me to work harder it only makes me want to drop everything and run away (to Sweden, specifically) and shut myself from the world until it's all over. The only downfall is, i heard the alcohol is quite hard (and expensive) to come by there. Meatballs it is then.
****Yeah.

2009-12-06T16:05:00.000-05:00

Mah brainz.

I never thought i'd say this but sometime (which may or may not be right now) i think i prefer cramming my head with textbook jibber-jabber than having to come up with three end-of-term presentations, two term papers and a final project i can be proud of - or failing that ('cause let's be real here), something i won't be too ashamed to lend my name to - all while trying (desperately) to not completely lose my mind.

Creative thinking FTW!!

*screams silently in the inside*

2009-11-22T21:29:00.019-05:00

There was a little discussion on one of the blogs i like ~~to stalk~~ recently about Kate Moss, quoted for saying something along the lines of "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels". Then some people went bananas.

Weight is one of those things, like race or ethnicity, i hate talking about with people but this is getting ridiculously annoying.

An acquaintance of Blondie once came and stayed with us when i was there. Not unattractive and a few stones* heavier than she might like, one of the first conversations we had together was about weight, how she seemed insecure and resentfully unsatisfied about it (mind i have only met her for all of 2 hours). She also stated how skewed, "disgusting", the fashion industry and the medhja is for portraying women - especially less than thin women - making them feel "as if it was their fault" for being heavier, as she impressively swallowed plates of cake down with sweetened tea like there was no tomorrow. Admittedly, i may be a bit pissed because she ate my share, but what really cheesed me off was how easily she pulled the victim card the entire time i knew her. Of course it's not her fault she's "overweight", or couldn't walk fast enough when she was vastly late to meet her new potential agent - it was society's for depicting size 4 as the norm! I also had an odd impression that she was constantly eyeing how i ate and dressed. It was weird. So i'm a size 4. I'm also a size 2 for dresses, a size 6 at the Gap, a 10 in the UK, and a 27-28 for jeans. What does it all mean except that that’s what fits me? Then there's my brother-in-law's sister - a cute, petite and curvaceous accomplished woman - who also holds this mystical number on a magical pedestal somehow. Every time i pay her a genuine compliment she responds with "But i'm not a size 4 like you!" Um, what the hell does that have to do with anything? You're hot, take the bloody compliment and run with it.

Some might think it'd be easy for me to talk but i am far from being anything near modelesque. I also find it utterly strange that certain people automatically assume that looking a certain way, or wearing a certain number dress size, means that i have an eating disorder, am a "skinny bitch", or worse, that i somehow aspire to look like this and would ever believe it being the standard of beauty. I’m Asian. I make due with what i have. Which means, that i can generally eat until kingdom come and won’t gain much else than a bit more poop. I have never been on a diet (and hope i never will - for health reasons more than aesthetic ones), am too lazy to exercise, can’t even be bothered to weigh myself, and the only people i know who can beat me in an eating contest are Blondie and best mate**.

See, food is one of the greatest joys and (sadly?) healthiest relationship i have in my life. I have yet to meet someone i truly get along with who doesn’t share the same fierce appetite not only for appreciating but consuming food as mine - regardless of the number on their shirt tags. So do i agree with what the infamous Calvin Klein model said? Well, when i was living with Blondie, we often went out to eat (by Jove, those lamb ribs at Bodeans will be the death of me) and whenever he’d cook it was usually quite rich and heavy and utterly divine. But as good as it may be, after a while, all that cream and butter slowly killed my (delicate!) Asian taste buds. I don't know if i did, in fact, gain any weight but i did feel (more) sluggish and short-winded, and we sometimes found ourselves more sleepy than, um, sexy. It wasn't anything drastic but instead of stepping on a scale i simply trusted my body which screamed for more fruits and less potatoes. Once i got back to enjoying my usual diet of mum’s wonderful cooking, i felt like my (comfortably indolent) self and all was well again in the world. The end.

Yes, so i suppose i am "lucky", but in the same way i find people who are perfectly sane and happy "lucky". I understand that some people are more prone to weight gain, be it due to biological as well as environmental factors, which can come with a range of psychological and emotional distress that only adds to the obvious physical strain. I also realise how fucking difficult it is to say no to that last blob of seafood curry drying tauntingly at the bottom of the pan, or that piece of three-chocolate-mousse, or that best-coconut-ice-cream-i-have-ever-tasted (heaven knows i never could) and understand what hypocritical role medhja plays in hustling one perception of beauty to not-so-secretly aspire to one minute while condemning it the next. And so i can only assume the pains someone starving themselves to attain a distorted idea of what this 'perfection' might be must go through, and how constantly being bombarded by contradictory images of 'skinny' people can worsen the situation. But there comes a time where we have to take responsibility for either shoving our face silly or puking down the bog instead of jumping on a war tank shooting down someone as inconsequential as Kate Fucking Moss. I don't know Miss Moss, she could be nice as pie or a cruel cunt. I just can't give a flying fuck and it shits me that not only some people do but expect me to care. Funny enough, they are usually the same people who uses all these scientific research and images of fantasy women (and men) in magazines as excuses for their behaviours. It’s easy and lazy and doesn’t do anything in solving the problem. Looking up to models and celebrities as role models in the first place - then resenting, seeping jealousy for and attacking them later - is such a deeper more disturbing phenomena in my book. Was she irresponsible in uttering such a "charged" statement? Perhaps. But how much more irresponsible of those who'd take them seriously?

Be healthy. Be happy. Be comfortable within your own skin. Whatever the fuck your size is. Honestly, am i humorlessly too naïve to believe this? If so, then this is one instance i'm bloody well glad to be.

Fin de la rant.

(Now, where are those damn brownies...)

________________________
* Stones! Who the hell in this day and age uses stones to weigh things anymore! Pfff. Bloody Brits.
** This includes my young and robust male cousins. My mum and Big Sis are also good contenders but they are not as consistently threatening as the other two to my Bottomless Pit title. Also, Big Sis has this really annoying habit of reading all the calories numbered on the nutrients tables, then commenting on how much i shouldn't eat - it bothers me not because i am concerned about knowing how many calories i am attractively gobbing down my face but rather because she is buying into that idea that "healthy" and "happy" can be quantified into numbers and maybe i should too. Yeah, good luck with that.

2009-11-21T00:08:00.005-05:00

I did my first all-nighter of the year yesterday/today/i-can't-tell-anymore! Woot! woot! Then arrived in class only to have the prof tell us there weren't any presentations after all and we can take the time to finish up the previous assignment or start our final project. You mean, I COULD HAVE SLEPT YOU FREAKING GLASSEYED UNBLINKING (YET STILL ODDLY ATTRACTIVE) CREEP!? asdfkjsdl;kj! quickly ran through my head but was stopped halfway by the blurry semi-delirium my brain generated after 24hour gluing small pieces of paper and foamcore-board together with the company of Oolong tea and almost-porn music.

I love what i do.

Wait, what was the point of this post again?

2009-11-18T23:19:00.010-05:00

I skipped class and went shopping today. Thankful that they somehow haven't droned the Christmas carols on yet, i bought a man's shirt that fits like a ~~glove~~ mitten and a long grey cardigan that dares me to wear like a dress. Sometimes, i kinda like how 'inappropriate' fashion can be. That, or i am an eternal adolescent who never knows better. Luckily, I am comfortable with either scenario.

I also did laundry. I love doing laundry. Something about separating my everyday skin into piles of colours and textures and contexts, and then breathing in their chemically fresh meadow scent, fills me such joy it should be illegal. I then baked a batch of brownies, half of which was consumed by the time Glee! sang its way to the finish line and i plowed through another tea pot to endure the incredibly godawful-yet-awesome Melrose Place, aka Guilty Pleasure '09*.

Sometimes i'm so good, i should get an Oscar.

________________________
* Token Goodie-Turned-"Bad"-"Asian"-Who-Wants-To-Be-A-Doctor? Hot-Surfer-Chef-Could-Be-Murderer? Ashlee acting? MICHAEL MANCINI AND AMANDA-WHATEVER-HER-BITCHAZ-NAME-IS?! Dramatic cheese voice-over is right: it's scandalous! Scandalously bad it's FANTASTIC!!**
** I can't wait for this 90s reminiscing fest is over (only i kinda like rummaging through my childhood memory and wear back all that attitude).

2009-11-17T13:17:00.006-05:00

On a bright day - a few ago now - I called him, slightly frantic.

"I don't feel too... healthy... In the head."

For someone who is 3000 miles away, he handled it amazingly well. He was concerned but calm, caring not indulging. He asked if there was something specific that triggered it, if i was still in contact with my therapist. He made sure that, if need be, i shouldn't hesitate to see her again. He asked me if it was the "shock" that got to me.

I wouldn't call it "shock" exactly. I have felt its creeping toes. It's more like a dreadful frustration. That despite things going relatively well in my life, my hope cracked and i was overwhelmed by this unbearably familiar... hole underneath.

We talked until it can be shrouded again in that ephemeral future we are planning and working towards. He said how nice it would be were he here. We could go for a walk, watch a movie. It was such a nice autumn day, clear and crisp, we could hike up the mountain, i suggested. And i believed it, too, despite that cloud inching ever more in.

But the reality is this: it will never go away. All i can hope and wish for is that it stays quiet and manageable as long as possible and when it's not, surround myself with people i care and trust, and just stick.

It.

Out.

And i just need to fake it until i make it, until it becomes not easier but feasible.

Because some days are better than others.

2009-11-12T01:15:00.008-05:00

It was my birthday last week and i almost forgot had it not been for someone who wondered what i was doing that day. Finding it strange how it was asked, i said i already had plans, to meet with an old friend i haven't seen in ages.

We talked, we drank, we laughed until i couldn't breathe. I didn't find it pertinent to mention my blowing another candle away, especially since i thought i couldn't care to remember myself.

I stumbled back home, deliciously hazy and feeling, for better or worse, exactly the same.

2009-10-31T12:16:00.009-04:00

My god, i've been procrastinating like a mofo. (That doesn't make any sense, unless those who shag mothers do it because they are avoiding ridiculously pressing work, and mothers take a particular edge off, being all motherly yet kinky at the same time i reckon. I wouldn't know frankly - and not sure i want to.) What i do know is there are two papers that disappointingly are not going to be written by themselves for Monday, it's past noon on a Saturday and i am still in bed reminiscing over my 'old' blog (because i've finished stalking all my blog list, not necessarily because i am worryingly self-indulgent) (oh, who am i kidding, i am worryingly self-indulgent). To add insult to injury, it is pouring an abysmal amount of wind and rain outside, after announcing that it'll be sunny all week, which technically would encourage me to stay inside instead of trick or treating this wet evening and write these bloody damn term papers already, but all i want to do is cuddle up in bed with a cup of tea, the Guardian and a couple of DVDs if i feel like being productive at all later on.

It's always like this. When i have things to do, i start thinking about all the other things i'd rather be doing but didn't realise how enjoyable they are when i was actually doing them because, obviously, there weren't more important things to be done. When i used to live with Blondie, on mornings like today, we'd stumble to the front room, dizzy, and he'd proceed to cook a heavy English breakfast while i peruse through the Guardian that he'd gotten up earlier to get, much to my lazy protests. I love that paper though, even if that makes me one of the "left-wing nutters" as his brother teased. The Saturday issue also came with two magazines, with cultural listings and art reviews, from which i'd note all the 'cool' events across the city and forgot about as soon as i've put it down. I'd occasionally nod, distractingly, when Blondie pointed out something on the radio or the Internet, and by the time i was done with it, it was already late afternoon and none of us have gotten even dressed yet. I curse myself sometimes now for not having visited enough of London, or even the rest of Britain, when i had the chance but there is really nothing that would make me give those lazy weekends up.

I'm not sure if it's the weather (it's only midday but i need to turn on the lights it's so dark out...), or because i've been running around like a headless chicken over the past few weeks, trying to adjust to all these 'new changes' in my life, and it's only now caught up with me, this... nervousness. I've dealt enough with it to know i can cope and not to worry but... i've also dealt enough with it to know not to underestimate it. A lot of things are imperceptibly but definitely changing, in a good way (i think), but i guess i'm struggling to control it somehow. Because it's taken up speed, because things have felt stagnant for so long it's slightly scary to suddenly have it simmer, even if it's for the better. It's funny. How, reading back that old diary of mine, different it feels now from the last time i was in university. I'm shamelessly as self-indulgent and 'productive' as ever but i guess there is a perspective i have now i didn't have then that helps me understand what all this silly work means and how to do it in a way that not only allows but directs me towards the kind of life i want and the people i want in it. And that i can still want something with all my heart. Despite feeling inadequate and, um, old sometimes, i am most grateful - truly, deeply - for that.

Anyway, i'm rambling. Then again, it's been awhile since i've felt comfortable enough to waste a few precious hours farting through my fingers and i have to say, it feels grand. So i guess i'm thankful for that too.

Now, to channel it into something productive. And French. *curses!*

2009-10-28T19:33:00.008-04:00

Procrastinating Galore continues in full force today. Also, it's cold and wet and generally shitty outside and i'm just feeling ever slightly cornier and nostalgic than this video. Still. It is a good refrain.

Ok. I'll get back to work now.

_______________________
* By the way, is it "Regina" like in "Gina" or "Regina" like, um, "vagina"? Just wondering, as you were.

2009-10-27T21:55:00.015-04:00

Well. That was interesting.

The last seven weeks (!!!) passed me by like a vengeful bull whose entire family had been barbarically bludgeoned to death as if by my own bloody hands but somehow, miraculously, i survived to tell the story. I am now slowly crawling up from a recovery that left me numb and exhausted, slightly shocked, but here i go nonetheless. (I know. I can hear your bated breath.) So without further ado (and pretending i can actually pull sensical segues and sentences together), on with the bullet points!

I started out innocently swept over by a bashful excitement, layered underneath a sheath of unadulterated fear that, by the second week, had crushed all enthusiasm with the shocking weight of What The Fuckness/Brain, Where Are You? On the third, i found myself ridden with a shitting cold and a headache the size of Texas, which may or may not have morphed into a stomach ulcer by the fourth week. By then, i had lost sight of time and space, i think, due to limited sleep (4 hours!), questionable diet (instant noodles=new bff) and a siren of WHATTHEFUCKNESS/BRAIN.WHERE.ARE.YOU?! permanently echoing in my brain. Whoever said nothing happened in school SPITEFULLY LIED!
Arts people are weird.
Did i mention i am studying in a French uni? Because i was inculcated in French and earnestly wanted to return to my (adoptive) mother's tongue, i hadn't taken into account that the last time i was, in fact, asked to not only function and think but produce coherently composed thoughts completely in the wonderful language was SEVEN YEARS ago. I'd like to think this would be a good opportunity to practice* but the only thing that is getting better is my Franglais. And by better I mean ridiculously worse.
On the very first day, a student in the back row found it profoundly pertinent to point out to our professor, a dapper Italian researcher who was struggling with Baudelaire's tongue, "...Could you repeat that again? And in French this time? [snicker snicker]" I cried a little in the inside.
Three words that sent me giggling like a silly schoolgirl: art, supplies and stationary. That is all.
It didn't seem like much, i had refused so hard to think of it (and because "mature" wouldn't be the first nor thirtieth word anyone would use to describe me) but it can be quite awkward sometimes to interact with people just a few years your junior. Notably when they find themselves in similar - if not exact same - place you were 'at that age' (kill me please, i sound like my sister) and you don't want to patronize or tell them it's gonna get clearer (because, honestly, who the fuck knows) but particularly when they exhibit certain behaviours (which from my privileged rose-tinted hindsight glasses of egocentrism i don't think i ever prescribed to), such as complaining sans cesse about the "too short" deadlines, how they "can't find enough information for their paper", thinking this (wee!) city is "too big", so on and so forth, and it all makes me want to smack them in the forehead and shout a little like a crazy old lady about "when i was your age, i had to walk in two feet of snow at 4am to the library to double-check my references and print my paper that was due by 7, so shut your bloody bratty pieholes before my back gives already!!" Um, yeah. What i meant to say is, i feel old.

And yet!...

Despite all this, i am, actually, secretly, loving it all.

(I know!)

No worries however as old habits die hard, it's getting dark and cold, and i have three papers and fifty drawings due on Monday, which i haven't even begun prepping for let alone started, but here i am blogging anyway. Can you feel the love i have for you, internets, can you?!!

So there you have it, or a least what my beaten brain can muster for the moment. I'll leave you now to bask in this shining light of positivity (!!!!) while i gently descend into the glorious marriage of panic, tea and interminable toilet breaks. Hear! Hear! for productivity!

________________________
* Especially if i want to (maybe? perhaps?) study in ze citee ov lights (!!!!!)** But my goodness! What are all these "Ideas" one is having?!? End scene.
** Mind the exclamation points. Thank you.

2009-10-19T23:58:00.002-04:00

Shopping with my younger cousin - or why he's the Little Boy Whore:

"Can you get those boots on the top shelf for me? I can't reach that high - my clothes are too tight."

Bless.

Oh, and yes, i'm still alive and kicking. By the skin of my bum but more on that later. Please, make yourself at home while i go sleep for~~ever~~ days.

2009-09-09T00:28:00.025-04:00

If i can be arsed to pull out a title for this post, it would most probably result in me gazing vacantly into the wind, right before giving up (but not after finishing yet another lotus seed mooncake) until i, defeated, fart out something like "Erratic Rambling Update in Desperate Attempt to Procrastinate and/or Calm Ye Nerves O'Steal".

Instead, i hatched a belated excuse on why there are no titles in this here blogue. Actually, at this point, i can't even be arsed to bullet-point this shit. On we go, freestylin' yo!

As hinted to last week, J, token bestfriend and profligate, granted us his trimonthly visit, which conveniently coincided with the day he last saw a lady's hoohah more than a quarter of a century ago when he clawed his way out of his mum's and decided that was as much as he could take. Without any proper planning (as it usually is in our case) we somehow ended up re-visiting all the 'old' dive-holes we dwelled in, half-drunk and deliriously awkward (as it usually happens in our case), back in our uni days along with most of all the 'old' crew. To say that nostalgia tinted in gin and whiskey and cringes filled our bellies would be an understatement. There were random dances with wonderful strangers and scary wanderers; ~~inebriated~~ heated discussions, from politics to vajhines & pipettes; two cases of molestation; one dangerously serious temptation to join the Crack Club and a forsaken promise to not drink again for another three months. T'was grand.

I then went to our friendly Ontarian capital for an overdue family visit on Labour Day weekend, which occurred, for those who are paying attention, right after above intoxicated events. Though alcoholic beverages were mere accompaniment to our ~~aging sorrow~~ fun, another reason i drank myself to near oblivion (or what seemed like it two hours later in the backseat of the car) was because i didn't quite know how to deal with seeing my Grandmother rapidly losing her mind.

I still can't.

It's one of those absurdly unfunny situations i wish i could laugh about (because what else can i do?) but i'm neither capable nor ready to write about it in any way that would, or could, express and soothe the graceless sadness that is strangling me so i'll just leave it at that and move on now, okay?

Okay.

During the time all this transpired, about 5000 km and an ocean away, Blondie packed up his worldly belongings and moved slightly farther away from me... to ze Dutchland. I'd like to think that my own impromptu (read: insane) attempt to move to a foreign country (already!) two years ago now and start a new life inspired his, but the truth is much less romantic as he'd been thinking about doing it long before that fateful after-work pub night. He is doing this to finally jump start a career that makes him feel less like numbing his headaches through the computer screen and more like dancing the Macarena with his supple stubby manly fingers all the way to fame and fortune.

Or maybe not so much fame and fortune than something closer to contentment, and this is all A Very Good Thing. We've talked about him coming here, obviously, but we agreed right now isn't the Right Time, that it isn't because of my Fear Of Commitment, and this is All For The Best for the moment being. I am truly excited and giddy for - if not a teensy jealous of - this Big Change in his life but i also tend to ache to be there, witnessing all the ups and downs and in-between madnesses with him, yet the only medicine i can get my filthy paws on is concocted by some fiercely pale blond geek from a land not even considered 'cool' enough to be called 'Scandinavia' (possibly because they thought this could be the crowning gods in The Biggest Contest in the World) so, really, how am i supposed to trust and take comfort in it anyway, hm? HM?! Long distance, it sucks rats balls.

In other news: after two years of absence, i am starting university again TOMORROW. And freaking out begins...

...nooow.

2009-09-04T17:45:00.008-04:00

Right. Because my brain is gently disintegrating with every integration of yet-ever-so-friendly fermented fruity juices, i'll try my best to recapitulate The Florida Holiday, or The FloHo*. To be honest, the difficulty of my recollection has less to do with going to bed at 5am after too much garish giggling, argumentation and... gin from the bestie's birthday bash last night (seriously, i am getting too old for this) than my overworked self-defensive repression.

Although it's hard to take any of my complaints seriously when this is what i woke up to for two weeks straight:

That little trail there you see from the beach?
It leads up to the ginormous house where we lived.
Excuse me, what i meant to say was, that little trail there you see from the beach?
It leads up to the pool and jacuzzi, right behind the ginormous house where we lived.

Usually, after ~~sun bathing~~ roasting like a suckling pig, i'd step into the beckoning sea only to find that it was as cooling as dipping my buttery self in boiling water. I'd thrash about and play at floating device and/or Please Don't Eat Me, Mr. Huge Pelican, eventually giving that up for the cool chlorinated water of the pool. After a few minutes of swimming, i'd then chase after the refuge of the shadow and enjoyed the wonderfully trashy epic that is East of Eden while sipping on a ridiculously pink lemonade, nervously monitoring the condensation of its cold rim against the blaring heat of the wind. When it became unbearable again, i'd carelessly throw myself into the waters, what i'd consider as the most exercise i had since May. Other times, i'd sprinkle my day with a bike ride into town where i'd marvel at the contradicting landscape of deserted small businesses and ice cream scoops as big a my head, and be amused like a fourteen-year-old at the novel signs of a typical tourist attraction.

I'd have this awesome routine down by the very first day, i am proud to report, drinking coffee while enjoying the postcard perfect view bright early in the morning, then lathering up and pretending to lead the strangely decadent life of doing nothing in the sun. This lasted for 5 days. By the sixth day, i ~~wanted to blow my brains out~~ started to get shaky (how sad is it that my connection to my 'real' life literally requires plugs, cords and wires?)

Virtual as it may be, without the innernerds to keep me grounded, i was slowly but surely losing my grip surrounded by The Other Family. [insert dramatic music of your choice**] It's hard to say what exactly it is that annoy me to the verge of insanity with the Brother-In-Law, or Bil's family so let me provide some examples:

Upon arrival, The Other Parents, instead of taking in and enjoying the humongous monstrosity that is our rented house and all its luxurious perks, proceeded to scour the neighborhood immediately only to make sure that ours is indeed better than everyone else's;
Bil's repeated incapability to fold and unfold pram - one of many indication of his involvement in anything baby-related;
Bil proudly declaring "See how every passer-by is looking at and admiring our house!" - without an ounce of shame or facetiousness;
The Other Mother, a haggler that would put any self-proclaimed haggler to shame (known amongst other lovely traits for wrangling for 10 cents, secretly stuffing small bags into suitcases when 'negotiating' fails and bargaining with Buddhist monks) talked some poor neighbors into giving her too small (read: ILLEGAL!!) mackerels, which she did not know how to cook and whined her way so MY MOTHER ENDED DOING ALL THE JOB;
The Other Sister learning and regurgitating lessons from He's Just Not That Into You (i mean, please, kill me, just. Kill. Me.);
The Other Mother, on her morning walk, exploiting the untapped ever attractive excuse "I need to use your bathroom urgently!" on a little old lady in order to see - and judge - what her house was like from the inside;
The Other Mother incessant - INCESSANT - talking, and her inability TO TAKE A HINT from other people who might not GIVE A SHIT as to what she INCESSANTLY yaps on about AS THEY ARE NOT EVEN RESPONDING BACK;
The Other Mother talking yet another local into giving her FOUR BAGS of longan from his tiny longan tree (while pretending she didn't know what they were - even though they originate from our parts of the world (WHY?! I'VE GOT NO IDEA!!)), and yet unable to grasp the concept of offering him anything back in gratitude;
The Other Sister pulling the "doctor card" out for her brother, e.g. "Oh, he's smart, he's a doctor"; "He's able to pick a spot and plant an parasol on the beach, he's a doctor" - because obviously, the two are related... but excuse me for doubting WHEN HE IS STILL UNABLE TO MANOEUVRE THE PRAM AFTER 6 MONTHS BEING A FATHER AND IN FAILING THAT THINKS THE BEST WAY TO CARRY IT IS TO PUSH IT WHILE CROUCHING TO ITS UNFOLDED LEVEL!!

*breathe calmly into paper bag*

There are other things too, more disconcerting than mere lack of a brain (like constant discussion amongst each other predominantly composed of who earns how much and how can he earn more to appear more enviable to others; guilt tripping my sister and making sure she knows whenever he is "doing her a favor"; and unquestionable admiration for the big and branded, distasteful or not) but frankly i think my slightly hung-over brain might just cause a supernova in its implosion. Though i understand and sympathise why my sister eagerly wanted my mother and i to be there (and we did find ourselves congregating in my room to happily bitch about them like self-righteous little school children we have been reduced to - there's nothing to bring people together like a common foe!), i still couldn't help but resent her a little for submitting us all to these people she has chosen in the first place to share her life, and therefore ours by proxy, and i hate myself a little for that. Life, it suckazs sometimez.

*stomp stomp*

Thank the heavens there were my wordy companions to keep me relatively sane (that's to you Doctor Thompson, crazy rascal you). That, and well... this:

I'm trying to think 'positively' now.

(And by 'positively' i mean 'drunkenly'. Let part two of bestie's birthday bash begin... *sigh*)

________________________
* Evidently, propriety goes out the window too.
** Mine, three-internet-years late.

2009-08-23T14:27:00.002-04:00

Back on the brink of day and sanity. I've never been so golden nor so glad to be home.

Write more soon. Busy soothing my soul with sweetest internets and what little meaningless life i call my own. Oh holy halibut how i have missed thee.

*se noie dans une marmite de café*

2009-08-08T02:37:00.009-04:00

So i've boiled it down to these for my American holiday:

Considering that i'm quite a slow reader (by the factor Lazy Bum) this is, for me, a Considerable Challenge. But i'm happy to plough through it, especially since it's all that is keeping me from featuring on if not international surely continental news for the next two weeks.

Also, OMG! I HAVE TO WAKE UP IN AND GO TO THE AIRPORT IN 3 HOURS AND HAVEN'T FINISHED PACKING YET!

BECAUSE I AM REUNITING WITH MAC* THE MACBOOK!!!

*rainbows & butterflies*

Ahum.

Didn't mean to shout there. Just got a bit carried away, sorry.

Anyway, dearest t'internet's, i guess i'll see you in two weeks. I just hope i won't get the shakes. Or murderous rage. Either/or.

Wish me luck.

_______________________
* Not very original, i agree, but i like the sound of it. (The sound of being inane when faced with packing on little sleep and even less sense.) As you were.

2009-08-05T17:26:00.025-04:00

I'm one of those "weird" people, apparently, who loves winter. The bitter cold, the sweeping wind, scarves and socks, bring it on (just as long as you give me a bit of sun, kthxbai). But i'd be loathe to deny how ridiculously marvellous the past few days have been around here. Sunshine and breezes - and muthafackin' days off - that's what it ought to be all about people.

Went shopping on Monday, something i haven't done in, oh, aaaaaages. Another thing i haven't done in ages? Getting all purdhied up. *nods and curtsies* Donned with a skirt, bright shirt and fab hair (sometimes you just gotta get dressed up for no reason - or better yet, yourself, am i right or am i right? - signed, sealed, delivered by Self-Indulgent Ninny) i skipped my way downtown and washed my girly eyes with prettypretty flowery dresses, blousy tops and glittery lovely (handmade) jewelry. Of which i bought none because i am le broke.

I also discovered that fassscion these days has become renewingly bewildering. Now, i think i'm pretty open to anything - it just depends on the person who wears it really - but... tapered acid-wash jeans? jumpsuits? harem pants? seriously?! Have we reverted so far back to melancholy delusion that Brenda Walsh Hooked On MC Hammer Speed has become the new style icon? Or did we time-travel to my 5th Grade and nobody bothered to tell me?

*blink blink*

I think i'll pass, thank you. I was however able to re-stock my t-shirt collection with rad geometric and colourful items for the RECESSION price of 5$-10$ each. Huzzah! It's not exactly schadenfreude if these were previously sold at 500% of the current price and you're just now paying something much more realistic to the cost of its production, thus providing you with the fleeting illusory sense of consumerist freedom and responsibility when in reality your enslavement grips ever so tighter with every narcissistic prance in front of the mirror, yes?... I didn't think so.

Speaking of consumeristic whoreness, i also shamelessly gave 100 plus loonies away in exchange for some sweet glorious books in what shall now be referred to as My Favorite Place In The Whole Wide World (Or At Least In My Hometown). Did i say i had no monies? Yes, yes, i did. But! Penguin classics! With wonderful illustrated comic covers! Look! Look!

Swoon!

The successive exclamation points should merely hint at what a magical little lair this unassuming locally-run store is but suffice to say that i am now obsessed to get my little rambling fingers on these, this, and ouh those too! (Hello! Birthday in a few months!) Also, i need all the escape i need (hello, birthday in a few months...) as i will be flying off to the sweltering sunshine of Florida for two weeks this Saturday... with my brother-in-law's family.

[Cue Psycho shower scene music]

I know, i know. Cry ye a river and drown in it. I'm sorry, i don't mean to be complaining. In fact, i'm not - even despite my natural lack of enthusiasm for summertime fun (or the Sunshine State, for that matter (no offence)), the idea of flying away to sand and ocean, without my computer* but a horde of books and sketchbooks and notebooks is slowly but warmly brimming my bosom with gooey sweet nectar of joy (which i'd gladly drink in the form of fruitful cocktails with tiny umbrellas in it). It is also a family trip - with Big Sis, The Baby (who, in his wondrous longest-five-months-ever-old, is already the cutest heartpooper i know) and The Crazy Woman (a.k.a. my mother) - something we haven't done in a very long time so it should be a lovely if not comediesque adventure. The perspicacious amongst you(s?) will notice that my Father is absent from this list. That is because, though he gets along with the in-laws, the idea of spending 14 days in ONE HOUSE with them thrills him as much as it does me but he, with his wisdom of yore, deems it healthier for his heart to hold the fort instead. I, well, am just too weak when faced with desperate sisterly pleas and threats (she knows me so well) (also she offered to pay for the whole thing) (in exchange for my soul) so i gave in. Now all bets are on to see how long i can go without:

(a) tearing all my hair out;
(b) going on a killing rampage; or
(c) pulling an 'Ophelia'.

My family, it has tact.

In other news, i went for some beer out on a sun filled rooftop yesterday to catch up with my friend The DJ, who's recently back from Asiatown (and who's off again tomorrow, making me seethe with envy and wanderlust again), right before tipsily trotting to work where good old customers paid a round of drink for us all. Did i mention i (generally) love my job? (Though not enough to not jump for joy over a two weeks vacation! Pip! Pip!)

I need to do laundry and pack and decide which books i am going to bring with me now (my hesitation resides between American Psycho and Wide Sargasso Sea. Thoughts?), a task that must not be taken lightly as sweet glasses of Pimm's are beckoning me out in the balcony as we speak.

Life is marred sometimes with such difficult decisions.

________________________
* My Macbook has been, for the past 2 weeks, down with what is referred to by the innerdweebs as "The Black Screen of Death", which could also be read as 'The Black Plague of My Heart'. My life seems to be at a standstill now (i am currently typing on my old PC *shock horror*) even though i had decided to leave it behind for the trip prior to its sickness (was it that which caused it? WASSIT?! *guilt ridden*) I am finally going to have it fixed tomorrow, which in all likelihood, would tally up to a whole MONTH before we can be reunited once again... I am counting the hours. *twitches*

2009-08-02T11:19:00.025-04:00

Of all the places and jobs i have worked - a bank, a medical clinic, a chic home décor boutique, a (private) high school, a non-profit organisation... - The Restaurant is the only one that have left my soul intact. I have worked at a few other restaurants as well throughout the years but The Restaurant, with its classic brew of fine as wine folks, food and warm nostalgic smell of My First Gig, has remained a betrothed place in my wee little heart.

The above serves as a disclaimer for, once in a blue moon, i get The Customers From Hell to make me want to stab people in the neck with wooden chopsticks, or any other blunt pointy object - the innumerable and imaginative variety of which, being in a restaurant and growing up watching kung fu movies and all, would demand a mental restraint on yours truly that is nothing short of miraculous. This year, The Customers From Hell were anthropomorphically incarnated as a quaint family of eight, with half the party being representative of Little Shitting Children. Under ten years old.

Now summer is usually a busy time for anyone in the custom business but July is always especially crazy for us because it frames about four big festivals, all of which takes hold in very close vicinity to our place. So it's not exactly shocking or new that we are pulled in all different directions on a daily basis around here these days (cf. last few posts). The great thing about my home city, however, is that people are relatively very relaxed and, mind the cliché, nice. Sure, some have been regulars for years and are comforted in knowing what we offer, but generally there's a pleasant mutual understanding that they are all out for a good time, we try our best to ensure that they are and they appreciate that we do. Win-win. The Customers From Hell last night, however, did not seem to grasp this seemingly simple concept. First of all, two third of the group arrived late, which is fine, really, since i had three other groups of ten to attend to - at the same time - but while i was taking orders from the large table next to theirs, who were there first might i precise, the lady present deemed her needs so important beyond any others to interrupt us. Three times. Even after i have acknowledged her 'signal' (of waving and "excuse me, excuse me" - AS THE OTHER CUSTOMER WAS GIVING THEIR ORDER TO ME!) the first time by politely nodding at her. I don't usually like pointing out the obvious but maybe the subtleties of a nod and TALKING TO OTHER PEOPLE, while balancing pen and paper, twelve heavy menus and ten different orders, and avoiding shooting lasers from my pupils at her, were somehow lost between the 50 cm separating us, so i had to excuse myself to the group, turned to her and said, calmly: "i'll be right with you ma'am, as soon as i'm done with this table first, ok?" To which she simply smiled. No excuses, not to the group, no nothing. Now if i have to explain how rude and disrespectful (and why my blood is starting to boil again writing this) then shoo, please, this is a wanker free zone and my head is hurting. (Note to self: there ought to be a sign...) (Actually...

**WANKERS NOT ALLOWED**

...there.)

When i finally got to her, what she wanted was a soup and some avocado roll for her daughter while waiting for the others. Sure, i responded gleefully, and pushed for her order to come in before all the other tables, because 1) i know how shitful some hungry children can be (and this one didn't even have the decency to say "thank you" no less, only looked at me bitterly when i gave her her food. Wonderful.) and 2) i needed to shut her up. By the time the rest of the party arrived and ordered, mains from the other three groups (did i mention they came in all at once? Seriously, it was a guerrilla attack...) were ready or about to go out. Now i'd be a royal giant poophead to pretend that i am performing astrophysics or rocket science but trying to synchronize 30 something meals, entrees and mains, so as everyone from each table had a (right!) plate in a timely fashion while ANOTHER TABLE INTERRUPTS EVERY BLOODY SECOND WITH A DIFFERENT INANE QUESTION, to which i have to respond as politely and respectfully as how they weren't graciously asked? Brain, you rock. Sample of questions on offer: "Do you a have a fork?", "Can i have another fork?", "Do you have rice?", "Can i have a bowl of rice?", "Oh, can i also have another bowl of rice?", "Do you have non-sticky brown rice?" "Oh, can you get me another fork?" - all of which are asked not within the same session, of course, but separately. Every. Time. I. Come. In. With. Their. NEW! Request. Instead of making up their mind in one go and ask everything at once so i can save some precious time, or - Jove forbid! - wait until it's their turn for me to serve! They actually physically stopped me, hands full of other people's hot food like it's feathered air, so i could tend to their more pressing needs, thank you very much. It's a wonder i have any hair left, really.

As i finally served them their food, the lady who had arrived first kept asking me for the veggie tempura she had ordered. Yes, i patiently replied as pearls of sweat started to slide down my temple, it's coming ma'am, i just haven't yet mastered the art of head-balancing as to level the plate on my tiny Asian head while holding three other larger plates and bowls of rice on my arms, of which there are only two, but i figured since your daughter has already eaten earlier (and i've already served her yet another plate of chicken) the others who haven't should, in fairness, have their plate first - i'm sorry, i didn't realise that you allow your daughter to be an inconsiderate gluttonous brat. The last part of the reply were mostly conveyed through a stern look but i'd hope she got the idea. Alas, no. As it's become the theme now, every time i came in to give them their food and/or answer their different requests, "and the veggie tempura" was dutifully pointed out despite my imploring its imminent arrival (IF YOU WOULD JUST LET ME GET IT!!). Of course, for that (and because i'm a biatch) it came out last. (Booyah.)

Before i continue a detail need to be pointed out: The Restaurant, though charming, is small. Large groups are usually seated separately in traditional closed off tatami rooms which don't allow the greatest physical manoeuvring space. Circus jokes above aside, sometimes i do feel like i could join one after all the acrobatic contortions it takes to work in these alcoves (thighs o'steal, yo!). As rational compassionate people, one would assume that when seated in such an enclosed space, with a nice waitress moving around balancing hot plates and delicately assembled foods for you, one would somewhat control one's sperm sprouts so as not to have them RUN AND PUSH her, or, i don't know, HOLD HER LEGS TOGETHER, while she tries not to spill SIZZLING AND BOILING SAUCE over their cute little heads. Surely, if she so wishes to maim them she'd come up with something more direct, less torturously painful, like kicking them, than burning them with hot fishy oil. No, no, she'd much prefer saving these painfully beautiful machinations of violence for the parents - WHO JUST SAT THERE!!

Seriously.

SERIOUSLY!!?!

What the HELL are wrong with these people?! It never cease to amaze me how some parents don't have a modicum of respect and backbone to educate and discipline their own children with a minimum of manners, and just expect everyone else, wherever they go, to tend to their 'quirks' and demands as if they are the center of the bloody fucking universe. It drives me up the bloody fucking wall. Not once did they apologise for their children running havoc (they ran amongst their neighbour's table!) nor for their rude interruptions. Instead it was the other groups who, sympathetically, gave me a shouldering look, whispered conspiratorially "c'est pas facile, eh?", and ultimately showed me their pity with financial reward. (Thank. YOU.) But honestly? I don't care so much for the tip as how i and others are being treated. I've had the rudest cunts giving the biggest pourboire and nothing would please me more than to slap it back to their faces (my, the stories i could tell!... another place, another time!) As much as i'd love to discuss long and drunk with Mr. Pink i have to agree that that's not the point nor the main reason why i've run back to waitressing after all this time as 'professional' (though temporary) employment. It's because it's fun, and most importantly, for a girl whose Faith In Human Beings is closely linked to her mental health, it generously presents to her a sample of people who are quite lovely. I don't believe in karma but i do believe that when people are nice to you, you are inclined to be nice back (and when a waitress is 'nice' it sometimes means you have the best, freshest and quickest plate in front of you. Words to the wise). Dudes, you don't need a Psychology Degree to figure this out (i didn't! zing!) yet it boggles my mind that there are some such ignorant people out there PARENTING to a continuous future generation of indignantly rude people who think the world is solely there to cater to them.

Once they left, their table was a like a French trench in the mist of 1915 and the lady dared to ask for more complimentary candies. Coffee candies. "Um, i don't think coffee would be such a good idea... For the children and all.", i let half-jokingly slip. She only looked at me, slightly confused, with "oh, that's okay, they'll be fine..."

Doom, i say, DOOOOOOOOM!!

Now, excuse me while i go soothe my soul with copious amounts of tea. In equal amounts of gin.

2009-07-29T01:31:00.022-04:00

We tend to be a bit late around here but that's because we like to think we're fashionable. (Yes, that's it...)

Well, whatever anybody else says be damned because while i was busy slaving away for The Man this happened:

If you detect a whisper of bitterness there it's because i am so TOTALLY jealous!

*gushes at Geeky And Sane Boy Version Of MJ in the front! And Grown Man Pretending To Be Security!!*

Sigh.

Now, let me wish you sweet dreams, filled with rad rhythms from the ether, for i must wake up early tomorrow to start the bidness all over again. And please, don't let anything fun happen in my vacuity again, mkay? Thanks.

(Damn you, Work, damn yoooouuuu!! *fist in the sky*)

[EDIT: So in my exhausted and hazy state of mind, or How I Feel After Three Weeks Of Crazyass Monkeywork (only one more week!), i seemed to have been confused with the date. It apparently happened not while i was clocked in for earning the moniez but rather off it earning, um, Sad Life creds. The damnation still stands as were it not for Work whipping my ass into such lethargic stupor i'd surely be participating in the event. (Yes, that's my story and i'm sticking with it.) Also, i missed The Bachelorette reunion because of it. (I am so pathetic.) ]

2009-07-27T22:48:00.017-04:00

Monday night teevee is so crap it's great.

After the last few weeks cramped with work, with all the little free time i had left dedicated to Fantasia fest, an entire day spent napping and generally basking in doing jackshit is the closest thing i'd think that resembles Heaven to me.

Some time around 5 in the pm i stumbled awake from my siesta (i enjoy pretending to be continental on my days off), made some mac'n'cheese for dinner (i enjoy being a teenage boy on my days off too) and a batch of fresh brownies (...while eating like 6-year-old), and camped in front of the television impatiently waiting for the highly "dramatic" season finale of The Bachelorette with our favorite She of the I Want To Marry My Bestfriend But Couldn't Tell When A Guy Is Playing Her As Bad As His Guitar For His Fifteen Minutes Of Fame fame. The promos to the show have been, from the beginning, rigged with promises of "surprises" and with Foot Fetish Guy, Might-Be-A-Rapist Guy, Captain America Guy to Already-Has-A-Girlfriend Guy and Erectile Dysfunction Guy, lo and behold, they delivered! (I am easily pleased.) So when they said that this was "the most dramatic season finale YET!!" i have to say i was expecting nothing short of ninjas springing out from trees to kidnap the perky little girl, all dressed up in a white gown no less, and have the best man sacrifice himself to prove he is worthy of her love, henceforth 'winning' the whole thing and get to propose and marry her in his dying breath (hence the dress... I mean, why else would you wear a white gown, right?...) Unfortunately, i waited throughout the entire episode for darkly clad assassins but there was only arousing volcanic activities (no, really, after a helicopter ride over Hawaiian volcanoes, poor Mister Erectile Dysfunction was finally able to "prove his love for Jillian" *gags* - which is promptly followed by an image of an erupting volcano. I. Shit. You. Not.); the return of the Thirty-Year-Old-Baby (who was ~~cast off~~ ~~rejected~~ sent home because he couldn't tell her he loves her after going out with her on five dates. Along with 30 other guys. Pussy!) to show his true feelings, get down on one knee and propose, right after she has just ~~cast off~~ ~~rejected~~ sent home the runner up Kiptyn (whose name, i highly suspect, was a determinant factor in her choice (honestly, who wants to date a guy named Kiptyn?!)) who, by the way, was also ready to make her his wife (ohmygod! dasthreeproposals!!! it's so exciting because my indoctrinated by society and mass media woman hormones tell me it is!!!); and finally tangible proof that a guy who may or may not experienced a leetel problem in the sac can actually 'win' the girl after all. America, land of opportunity babies!

The saddest thing, however, was that i honestly like the 'winner' (because he is kind of dork!) and despite the mindnumbing ridiculousness of it all, i wish nothing but the best for them both (did i mention she is from glorious land of Canadia?) I just remember what it's like to fall for someone when you are away on exotic locations, away from responsibilities and the grind of everyday life, doing things that you wouldn't normally do, set up for hormones to run like rabid monkeys on mating season (hello Contiki Tours!) and how different things are when you're back to your normal life. Because She of the I Need To Find Who's Here For The Right Reason And Ready For A Proposal By The End Of This fame? Actually not 'really' an actor in a circus or bad rom-com but a 'real' person after all. It's why the entire time i screamed out "Oh my gad, you gotta be fucking kidding me!" at all the 'dramatic' moments, accompanied with emotional music (just like in real life!), when feelings are poured awkwardly and hearts crushed shamelessly (really, just like in real life...), i also couldn't help but think of Blondie and i.

I know, i know...

Worst yet is, now as i'm watching (for the pure heckling fun of it of course *cough cough*) the "new summer hit" Dating In The Dark - a 'reality dating experiment' where contestants are not allowed to see each other and thus forced to engage only on personality (don't you just love it when primetime entertainment breaks things down so simplistically for you? Teevee? I heart you) - i find myself in complete amazement at the whole dating process, how foreign and scary it all seems, and how many damn douchebags there are out there... If thrown into the Dating World right now, i think it'll feel a little something like this.

There was never really any flirting between Blondie and i, you see, or even proper dating. He isn't exactly what i typically go for (but was still immediately attracted to) - what lured me in, as embarrassingly corny as it sounds, was who he is (please, you may turn away to vom now), and things just moved very quickly from thereon (please, you may take your minds out of the gutters now). So while I watch these couples manoeuvre, salaciously tentative, in the dark, i am relieved and regretful all at once for not having to go through any of that... With a pinch of smugness.

Until, that is, i realise i am watching people insane enough to go find 'love' on national television for me to think about my own romantic relationship.

I am a very sad girl.

*gulps another piece of brownie*

2009-07-15T12:07:00.003-04:00

In the spirit of the few weeks to come, i have discovered my inner-cyborg...

Couldn't say it better, myself.

(Aaaaaannd! I' m a dork.)

2009-07-12T09:04:00.004-04:00

So it begins...

*head spins in (honorable!) excitement*

2009-07-01T23:29:00.031-04:00

When i was in high school, i used to watch Canada's Day celebration on the telly and tell myself that when i'll grow up and not be restricted to a curfew anymore i'd be underneath those fireworks by the quay, drinking and feeling happy too.

Now that i'm theoretically all grown up and free to wander aimlessly in the night ("like a homeless whore" as my darling mum once said lovingly), all that today means to me is the first day of the seventh month, and all i want to do is avoid the crowd downtown with a book and a cup of tea. A small piece of me still yearns for that beautiful mirror of kinship, that elusive feeling of belonging strong enough to warrant celebration, but the only party i had any part in was, ironically, in high school when my dear friend Marianne invited us all to a barbecue in her backyard for la Saint-Jean, and i secretly knew even at thirteen that claiming home is not home was as embarrassingly puerile as it sounds, whether it was true or not.

If i may be dramatic for a moment, coming home from my very first trip overseas was nothing short of devastating. I remember wanting to go home but as soon as the plane landed i was rabidly overwhelmed with panic. This is what claustrophobia feels like, i believed, and began fighting my way out again.

The second time, i was simply lost. I've gone long enough to see my hometown in a stranger light - comfortable and new, familiar and unsettling. I thought home was in someone else's arms, and in the pits of nights i still do, but when i came back from the third time i felt a sense of relief and joy thirteen-year-old me never thought i would. That suffocating sensation was still there but i decided to embrace it along with all the unnameable things that make home home. And that's the trick, isn't it?...

There're about 30 minutes left until the end of my birth country's birthday but 26 years for me to finally set my heart where my feet are. I don't know exactly what that means but i guess my eternal teenager would want to celebrate that. She's very keen.

2009-06-30T14:05:00.004-04:00

I spent last night happily appalled and amused by The Bachelorette* (which can be best recapped here), with a newly acquired sense of shamelessness (she's from the land of Canadia!). Next date is Wednesday night with this amazing show, no matter what anybody says, and i can't wait.

Is there anything better than red nails, crap teevee, fresh brownies and a glass of cold milk in the heat of a summer's night? I think not. Right now, i'll take every little bit i can get, even if it's dropped on the much-needed-vacuuming carpet. (They're usually the best kind anyway.)

2009-06-20T00:58:00.009-04:00

I've been back for almost a month.

There were comfortably familiar highs and unimaginable new lows. In between, nothing but a constant blur. Been sleeping lots, eating little and reading loads, though wouldn't be able to recall a word if my brain depends on it. Which of course it does. Funny how i cannot write when i need it most.

But i am holding on. And i will be slowly crawling my way back.

2009-05-23T21:14:00.014-04:00

Hands-up - i'm shooting bullets:

The last two weeks have been a whirlwind. Made two mini trips, booked two concerts and generally crammed way too many activities in between before realising we're really only happy when slugging around the flat doing jack all.
Notable mention was seeing this band at Union Chapel. Little did i know, it was literally a chapel and instead of serving heavy liquor (for which we have come prepared for, unlike last time) they sold... tea. Though not exactly what one would call 'rock n' roll', it proved to be the perfect setting for this wickedly multi-talented quintet. Their (un)usually deep and ethereal acoustics that lured me there in the first place resonated to epic proportions in these interiors, and the only thing more stunning than their music was seeing them variously switch instruments amongst each other with as much ease as passing bodily fluids in an underground sex club. By the end of the night I have decided on a few things:
1. that only little known bands by humble me are to be partaken from now on;
2. religious establishment are only best enjoyed when solely filled with music and/or a party;
3. that i should practice my piano again, goshdarnit;
4. underground sex club is vastly overrated.
We decided at the last minute to forgo The Dø's gig and opted to see this instead:

Though i'm sure the Frennish duo was quite fabulous (they were the few bands i listened to almost everyday when i first arrived in London two years ago, and for that they will always own a little piece of my heart), it was the wisest decision we'd made since figuring that wearing only lunghis at home is not only comfortable but practical *wink wink*. Like most remakes invading the big screens these past few years, i was quite young and only followed the original series reluctantly because my Big Sis still had reigning power over the remote control then (I was in my Jem and She-Ra stage... and always will be) but that was far to keep me from giddily enjoying young Spock (who sometimes looked spookingly exactly like young old-Spock), Scotty going frantic in the docks all the while (rightfully) growing a dirty crush on the brash young Captain and getting embarrassingly excited by [Something Predictably But Equally Awesome Which I Don't Want to Spoil Should You Have Not Seen It Yet, Unless You Are Heartless and/or Don't Care]. But what about the plot, i hear you ask? Pish posh, who needs a plot? Not The Shatner nor The Pine! I just can't wait 'til next week's episode!!... No, wait. Shit.
Reason #12 why i have completely lucked out in the Boy Department:
Met up with an old coworker & friend this morning and had a wonderful stroll around town. After dim sum and ice cream, we went to the National Portrait Gallery where neither of us had gone to before, and giggled our way through like naughty school children. After various debates about whom we'd most likely enjoy a pint with and the strict laws of incest in the 17th century, we soon found out that we were being followed by a curator! Sly as ninjas, we swiftly lost her and found ourselves in front of Germaine Greer's portrait where my two (male) companions politely decided to give her a thumbs down. As the woman beside us gave them a disgusted look, then turned disapprovingly at me, as if to say "and you dare call yourself a feminist with this company?", we ended the trip with tea and cakes in the Crypt, followed by drinks in Soho. It was one of those perfect lovely days, where conversation was easy and laughter easier and it didn't matter if come rain nor wind as long as there is company such as this - yes, Madame Féministe, even if they do disagree with Ms. Greer.
Found out that another friend, KC, is having some rather serious problems with her boyfriend. It is doubly shitty as she and i both met and dated our respective boys where we used to work, at around the same time (remember kids, office drinks and hijinks don't go together just because they rhyme!) and shared about the same ups and downs within our respective relationship (until recently anyway) but now i can't help but feel a little awkward and guilty somehow for while hers is fast descending into Splitsville, ours is, in comparison, fucking dandy. Also, while i was away she became closer with Blondie and now he, being beforehand a lot chummier to the other boy, is not entirely sure who he should side with, should there even be any side and if there are, is it weird that we don't side with the same person and what should that entail?!? DAMN THESE INTERPERSONAL MORES! And last but not least, it is thirdly crap as it reminds us how long-distance relationships ultimately can be nothing but utterly unequivocally shite.
Oh. And by the way i am going home tomorrow. Fun times.
To be honest, i am very glad to be going home. As a city, there are things about London that are great (the parks, abundant access to art, the world...) but after coming back it only confirms that i'm not cracked out for this ol'town, and not only because of the budget i am in (though, frankly, London? What's up with the mark-up, dude? Compensating for something much?). Also, as sweet as my lodger for the last month or so is, there are issues we both need to sort out before ever deciding to live with each other again and that's all i'll say about that... (for now.) Until then, t'internets, be good, play hard and drink loads of water, ok? I have to go face a few hours of panic attacks also known as 'packing'. Ta.

2009-05-15T12:47:00.001-04:00

Enjoying the best of the English seaside...

2009-05-08T16:04:00.004-04:00

When Blondie told me that he got tickets to this concert:

...my first reaction, maturely, was "OMFGRORKSAZ!!!! AWESOME!" That i knew (and loved) but one album and the classic single Whip It! dawned on me only on second thought. How awkward i would find myself amongst the type of true hardcore fans only Devo can gather, 20 years on, came in third (and what i was going to wear in fourth, obviously)... But when the day came, i sucked it up like a big bad girl and tried to ~~fake~~ conjure my inner rock n’ roller (who somehow has decided to take an indefinite hiatus (rehab?) without warning me, the heartless bitch.) There was no time to be a baby about it - it's been ages since i've gone to a real concert so, really, any concert these days would have made me feel awkward and out of place anyway. At least with this one, i could take comfort in the fact that i wouldn’t be the oldest one there.

The evening was grey and we stepped into the tube along with sweaty office workers and tourists, looking like overgrown students stumbling out of bed to go to the local pub instead of a once-in-a-lifetime gig. Blondie hates the tube and, as we were pushed to the end of the wagon by some unidentified elbows, my indulgence gave way to his passion. Once stuck within an inch from a sweaty bearded passenger who seemed just as grateful as i was for the closeness, i did the only thing anyone in my position would do when facing another seven stops: i molested my boyfriend. "You’re terrible", he reprimanded me with the sternness of a cub.

It’s only when we finally stepped out of Angel tube station into the fresh-only-after-being-cooked-up-underground-for-half-an-hour air that we started noticing some energy domes trotting down the road ahead of us. "Um. I think we may be a tad under-dressed for this...", i said as we took our place in line. In the forefront were men dressed in silk and polyester shirts tucked into beige pleated trousers, all variously adorned with red plastic pyramids, 3D goggles and/or hygienic masks to finish their look. "Uh. I think you might be right..." Blondie agreed as a group of six 50-year-old burly men who could as well fit in a Hell's Angel club or in front of the Old Compton pub were it not for the 'vintage' Devo t-shirts and jumpsuits passed us by to take their place behind us. Did i mention that i had a loose American Apparel shirt (they're comfortable AND versatile, okay?!!) with skinny jeans and one of my best hair-days-do? At least the boy's tee had robots on it! (No wait, they were actually video games characters... nevermind). So yes, that was probably why we may or may not have been given The Eye for the ill-fitted kids that we were. So ill-fitting in fact, that once inside, we realised that the bar didn't take cards and we had no cash to partake in drowning our inexplicable insecurities with gloriously piss-tasting beer. It really felt like my very first concert. I should have known magic would ensue...

...THREE HOURS LATER!

Or at least what seemed like three hours later, we couldn't be sure. We didn't have watches nor properly intoxicated blood to measure time appropriately. What we were sure of, however, was that the CD that played to kill time nearly killed my soul ("Is that... Micheal Bolton!?!") and the, if not best, definitely most dedicated costume of the night was worn by this little dude to my right who, i later found out, handmade his jumpsuit ("I spent last night writing [Mr. DNA] across it while the wife looked on, shaking her head! She just doesn't understand!") completed with the ubiquitous red domes and monkey mask. With a big backpack that he firmly plonked on the floor, sturdy elbows out to claim his spot and dirty looks at whoever touched pass him, i wondered how he'd fair the entire concert with a plastic mask on and whether or not he was, in fact, just a git.

When the opening band came on, we were so happy to see a live set to put an end to the Worst Mixed Tape of the Eighties Ever ("Good god, was that Yanni?", "No, i think it may have been Kenny G...") that we weren't sure if they were indeed any good. I thought they pulled a bit of a lot from the ever-fabulous-in-my-book Karen O and some of the songs were quite danceable to. Their name however, as the Perfectly Geeky Man behind me pointed out: "'Robots in disguise' - why would any robots want to be in disguise? They're already robots!*", showed their i'm-ironically-quirky-slash-too-cool-for-your-own-good hipster appeal more than any onstage antics (e.g. dancing cardboard robots) but then again i own something like this so who am i to judge, really?

It was only after another long (and goddamn sober!) hour, during which we were kept wondering if a song was Neil Diamond's or covered by Julio Iglesias**, teased by a video begetting our affirmation to devolution, and Perfectly Geeky Man started chanting "DEVO! DEVO!" on the top of his manly geeky lungs, almost leading to a feeble mutiny, before the band finally came out, perfect as they were with yellow jumpsuits and Mr. Mothersbaugh's transparently thick specs.

It may be for my long suffering absence from the music scenes lately, it may be because i have been slowly stunted to numbness from Wost Mixed Tape of the Eighties Ever, or it may simply be i'm getting old (actually, scratch that, the craziest peeps there were about my dad's age...) but from the very first "Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah ye-ye-ye-yea-yeaaahhhhh!" an insane mob of shiny and grey heads suddenly thrusted me, bespectacled and sober, into a mosh pit that i never intended to be caught in. Above the sweat and reeking stank of lager, i quickly, instinctively, pushed back, jumped up, shoved my arms aside, jumped back, and sang along on the top of my lungs, from the pit of my gut. I was half shocked, half elated. I only had time to see Monkey Man without his monkey mask, pushing his way to the back, fuming to be giving up the spot he had so boldly defended for the last hours, before the next wave picked me up again. Blondie, whom i've lost amidst the rapid invasion, reappeared suddenly to my left, grinning like a kid and holding my hand. "I'm ok!", i nodded at him, and we kept trying to stand our grounds against the weirdest and greatest crowd i've ever had the fucking pleasure to rock with. Yes, i fucking rocked the fuck out that night. Along with the dads, the bears, the hipsters and the eurotrashers, it didn't really matter at all. The peek for me was Mongoloid, after being properly greased up by the twitchy swagger of (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction to the deafening cords of Space Junk, i almost but completely lost it when the slow bass line started. I danced and jumped and threw my head back without a care in the world. At every chorus line, i pushed in the crowd before me, leaning onto who i assumed was my nights companion but really couldn't care less if it weren't, and sung, nay, screamed "Mongoloid, he was a mongOLOOOIIIID!" It was fanfuckingtastic.

Eventually, we stepped back into the swaying-side-to-side-occasionally-dancing line to recover and watch the steaming crowd before us, awed at how it was moshed mostly by grown men. If revolution is in the hand of the youth, there's absolutely no doubt who owns devolution that night. At one point, i got scared that two balding men were duking it out at right there full throttle like i've seen so many times outside a pub around here, but Blondie (who had taken part in his fair share of pits, apparently) assured me that "that's how they do it! Don't worry!" Um. Right. Me = sissy.

We joined in again for Gut Feeling but soon found out that lack of food and liquor intake, in any shape or form, for the last 6 hours has shamefully sucked any revival of the rocker kids in us. It didn't keep me from being gutted though that the amazingly dazzling band didn't come back for an encore. Dazed and slightly confused, we walked out behind the crowd into the fresh-only-after-four-hours-stuck-inside-a-sweaty-room air, ears ringing and mouths thirsty, and straight into the corner pub. Sipping on our (two) whiskey/rum and coke, we talked fast and landed slow. I may be, in reality, young and impressionable (still) but for all the stage-dives, guitar solos by no-less-than-fifty-year-olds to keep my eyes-wide-surprise, and even for the non-encore to redefine what a show-stopping performance could be (and really, isn't that totally rock n' roll?), this was, by all accounts, My Favorite Concert to date.

As the rest of the after-concert goers poured into the pub, we finished our drinks and poured out to the streets. Buzzed on whiskey and drunk of bass, we zipped up and ran for the bus, passing by more energy domes who, despite our plain old attire, somehow recognised us as their own simians and greeted us with "Are we not men?!!", to which, of course, we gleefully responded. It must have been written on our faces.

(Incidentally, should both our genetic composite be mixed together,
chances are the result would resemble something like this.
Yet another reason for contraception over conception!)

_________________________
* Curiously, it did not occur to Perfectly Geeky Man that some robots are shy alien creatures who wish only to lead peaceful obtuse lives.... (oh, i am SO there.)
** Of course, that we - or in fairness, i - have the slightest inkling to even recognise these artists and songs at all does not allocate us very high Cool Points either. I completely blame my Big Sis for this.

n.b. picture of Mark Mothersbaugh taken here. Because, pff, of course we forgot our cameras too.

2009-04-20T19:43:00.015-04:00

Ten Things - from London, with love:

On the plane here, there were two schools of young teenagers that graced my company which, had there been security limits to levels of raging hormones in flight, should certainly have caused mine to plummit into the depths of the Atlantic by now. Fortunately, the kid sitting next to me was the most sweetly courteous boy ever and, upon his first trip from the wonderful land of Canadia, completely enthralled by maple syrup and Juicy Fruit jumbo-pack gum. However, there was an empty seat between ours and soon to join us was his friend who, unlike his mate, kept asking what the book i was entrenched in was about and reading over my shoulders while i, finding it unusually hard to explain how the story of a slightly mad man thinking he has cancer while his family goes through an existential crisis was actually quite funny and touching (namely because all i can think about was telling him i'd rather read that ridiculously priced retail magazine in the pouch in front of me for 6 hours than having to entertain his teenage insecurities so please just stop bugging me can't you see i'm bleeping reading!) but then feeling bad for it, decided to just ignore him instead. This is why headphones are the best invention of the 20th century.
London, as expected, greeted me with cold showers and grey clouds. Say what you will about the city but it rarely disappoints. Which is fine, i suppose (as if we were planning on going anywhere for the next few days anyway...) but by Wednesday, i wanted to punch someone, albeit wantonly and without much conviction. Two weeks before i left, the sun had apparently decided to hold a fickle strike back home only to tauntingly come out on the day of my departure. I soon found out, to my shunned heart, that it had been holidaying in London, of all places, and just as i arrived fucked off. My friends invariably find it “totally” hilarious and/or inconsequential, but do you know what 21 days of rain do to a normal person, let alone an emotionally ill-adjusted loon such as myself? DO YOU?!? Thankfully though, it seems that rain, with its heart full of aching pity, will refrain yours truly from meeting the Thames up close and personal, at least for the foreseeable future. Rain, i salute you.
I really missed double-deck buses. And the trees. And, you know, all that old stuff.
I still hate Oxford Street.
Actually, i think i may just hate people, in general. I know what i had said before but everyone knows resolutions don’t really count when on holiday, right? Right. So yes. I hate people and frankly? I’m pretty ok with that. Smiley face.
I got so utterly smashed last Friday (due in small part to my bad-weather-induced depreciated state of mind) with Blondie’s work mates that i got sick. I haven’t been sick in years so of course figured that such restrain mixed with not eating anything all day, meeting total strangers (and thereby having to - GASP!- interact with them) and my beloved Asian blood would just go dandy with downing two pints of beer, a glass of white and a glass of red in the space of roughly over an hour. Yes, yes, I am a fool. An old decrepit fool who coils shivering in anguish on a cat-hair-filled carpet when she is acutely allergic to cats. Thank goodness this all unfolded when we got back to the flat, and the only person i managed to embarrass was ~~myself~~ Cat (the lady that she is). I’d profess to never drink again but we all know that that, along with my self-respect, is a lie.
Seven days in and my mission to find a good leather jacket and perfect tea pot is accomplished. I am very chuffed about this.
I remain happily unconvinced that English food is shite.
Blondie is on paid leave, which means that for the remaining of my stay, we’ll be in each other’s faces 24-pretty-much-7. Some might assume that “in each other’s face” is a sickeningly sweet place to be, and seven days ago i’d heartily agree, but in the bold (sun!)light of the day it may prove to be more emotionally dichotomous than romanticised. I can’t wait.
And Today’s Too Much Information: i am oh so very sore.

Chop! Chop! Carry on, nothing to see here!

2009-04-09T18:14:00.017-04:00

More bullet-points? As you wish, Voices In My Head, as you wish!

Last night, i watched Slumdog Millionaire (is it even out on DVD?!) with all the family at my sister's place, something we haven't done in... well, i can't remember. I wept like a baby (who, incidentally, didn't mutter a sound). Not least because i can't recall the last time we sat and watched a movie together, and how i genuinely felt that bourgeoning excitement i used to whenever we'd go to the supermarket, or do anything similarly trivial, all together as a child. Like a gang. "Us against the World" sorta thing. My dad fell asleep by the opening credits and snored his way through until everybody got up. My mother described the entire movie in question form while my sister asked all the wrong questions and brother-in-law laughed at all the wrong moments. It was wonderful. I, well, i cried big un-manly tears because, as i watched the kids portrayed and the newest addition in our family, i painfully wondered if he'll ever have any idea how fucking lucky he is and hoped until it hurts that he does. T'was really not a bad way to spend an evening at all.
Two days, three rubbish bags, one (misdiagnosed) panic attack and broken hoover later, my study/office went from this:

to this:

But most importantly, behold this:

Huzzah! Three years worth of bills, invoices, letters, court orders (?!) and other consistent life crap organised into 3 folders and 20 compartments. Does beaming with glee and pride at this makes me the nerdiest noob this face of the Atlantic? Answers on the back of a (colour-coordinated!) Post-it™!
I am reading this at the moment, and it reminds of that quiet kid back in school who, whenever spoken to, hits it smack on the mark and blows your silly skirt up without ever being rude nor pretentious. I am having a major crush on it. Obviously.
Right. So in roughly 24 hours i'll be flying off to London (part deux). I know i am bloody well excited but due to the emotional ride from the night before, staying up with the baby, packing mayhem, etcetera, etcetera, the only thing i feel right now is tired/stressed. Hence the ~~procrastinating galore~~ blogging!
Actually, i am very very much excited. I'm so excited i can't find any other clever way or better words to say how very much excited i am. (ohmygodthesex!) But...um... aside from that... As last time i left in a bit of - for lack of better word - chaos, and stumbled onto another type of chaos, this time feels much more adequate. This time i'm not running away from anything (well, not anything i'm not ready to face in a near future) but instead know exactly what i'm running towards (wonderfully sturdy arms). As oppose to a terrible mess, what i'm leaving behind is a boringly organised space - which i know comfortably awaits for my life to pick up when i come back. And that makes a world of a difference apparently...
Well, specifically, being admitted again to uni in the program i wanted does... (EEK! EEK! EEK!)

Fin.

2009-03-31T23:40:00.005-04:00

I feel restless and seeking. Unable to sleep but nothing to keep awake. Just sudden onset nostalgia for something i don't know.

Must be the rain.

2009-03-25T14:08:00.009-04:00

Two p.m. and here i am in nothing but my mum’s old bathrobe on my un-sheeted bed eating instant noodles (mmm... how i miss thee...). I am blogging just to know what date it is*.

On the other side of the wall, there's approximately a bajillion loads of laundry for me to do, mountains of bills/paperwork/financial crap to take care of, buried under a sheath of more crap that needs to be cleaned and/or scraped away, butbutbut... it is so sunny outside!

Two days and all morning of this stupendous procrastinating and nothing, not even actually going outside due to guilt of having to do all-this-other-crap-instead-but-haven’t, gets done. I know i’m missing a loophole somewhere....

_______________________
* Someone just informed me that the clock/chronometer thingie at the bottom of my screen is there for such purposes. He however neglects to inform me how that would strengthen my hold on the Procrastination Crown. Tch. Fool.

p.s.: FUCK! Just spilled noodles on my laptop!!

2009-03-20T15:25:00.021-04:00

First there were nerdy glasses, now these*. Thank you, fashionistae and hispterites, for validating my optically-chalenged ethnic relevance. (And trying to make 'Clinically Insane' look 'trendy'.)

Now please turn Guilt into the next season 'it'-item (my humble suggestions include heads hung low, self-flagellation and/or overachievement) and i shall forever bow to your ~~forwardness~~ fatuousness. Kthxbye.

_______________________
* Please note that anyone wearing these undoubtedly 'ironic' 'fashion" 'statements' are forewarned should a little Asian chick awkwardly run over to smack them until their eyes need no more slanties to be slanted. Or, depending on her emotional repression level, disapprovingly stare them down with her inherent scold. Trust me, "800 years" won't be enough to wash away the shame. No, no - you're welcome, nana.

2009-03-18T15:28:00.014-04:00

Days like today, with the sun cheekilly chasing away the clouds and the warm wind waving across my face, i walk away with a beautiful skirt and clutch that i never needed to the lovely banter of a skilled shop keeper, and everything feels strangely... right. Instead of an indifferent dread, seething inside me is a slow burning excitement. It feels so foreign. So old. It cracks and melts. But it doesn’t hurt, like i suspect it would, like a neglected thigh muscle does.

I drown a piece of cake from my favorite megabookstore with a gorge of hot latte, and forget that i hate Spring, that the elder man behind me just gave a roaring approval to the ~~ponce~~ pontiff, that growing up also means letting go... I forget that with the mild weather comes the real work - of getting my life back together. Again.

Looking onto the streets clad with couples, hands in gloves, i daydream of distant hugs and kisses, and let i-do’s and forever’s roll silently on my longing lips. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like a rehearsal. Like i don’t know me.

I take another bite of cake. I daydream, determinedly, until the molten joy viscously seep to the tip of my toes.

Days like today, i feel like dancing.

2009-02-26T23:03:00.044-05:00

I don’t believe in New Year Resolutions. Mainly because i’ve always thought they are generally superficial and desperate attempts at "Self-Improvement!" - a concept that has caused my eternal teenager to cringe in the inside every time i watch friends and family emptily promise themselves a "healthier", more socially acceptable lifestyle, only to fail faultlessly. Because on top of seeing your mind and body inevitably disintegrate with every thrown calendar, feeling guilt and shame for it would make it all... better? What ever happened to accepting yourself, unapologetically, as you are? i naïvely wondered.

Well, you know what? I say fuck naïveté.

I know i'm late at this but technically my new year only started... um, a month ago. But rather late a month than two, than never, right? And also, in welcoming a shiny-new-person-on-this-already-over-crowded-planet-but-just-look-at-his-face, i’d like to mark the quasi-utter collapse of my professional, personal and psychological foundation that struck me by Jove's fickle wrath over the last few months under A Crazy Ass Year GONE. So how else then try ~~to be someone else~~ something new to redirect one's life? Being so well acquainted with Guilt and Shame already, can i possibly become more intimate with them should/when failure occur? Really, i can feel the excitement growing in my barren heart.

Well, without further fanfare, here it is. In 2009/Year of the Ox (it already sounds promising, non?) i resolute to:

1. Be nice.

Here’s what my best friend had to say:

him: Wow. When does this resolution start? Because...
me: What the hell are you talking about? I meant, be nice - to me.
him: Oh. Right. Sorry, i should have guessed that, you selfish self-absorbed [REDACTED!].
me: Yes, yes you should, you dimwitted [REDACTED!]

As demonstrated above, this is going to be a tricky one. I think years working in customer service has butchered little tolerance i had, you see. I now need a worrying amount of conscious effort to restrain my desire of stabbing people (or myself*) in the eye when faced with a situation where ‘genteel’ conversation is required. Which is a less than an ideal situation as i really am a lazy narcissist who simply can’t be bothered like this. Who knew hating people is far more straining than not? On top of that, intricate childhood machinations have somehow caused me to feel utterly horrible whenever i plot the instant demise of:

people who walk too slow;

people who don’t stand on the right on mechanical stairways (WHAT THE F@$& IS WRONG WITH YOU?!);

people who stop in the middle of a busy street to either (a) kiss; (b) talk on their cell phones; (c) window shop; or (d) stare into space, possibly looking for a comet with their name on it (or one can only hope);

hipsters.

Though i’m done believing in karma, i do believe in the warm fuzzy feeling that accompanies random acts of kindness and genuine smiles. And considering my faith in human beings, i figured i should start with myself first. To inspire,

“Be the change you want to see in this world.” - Gandhi, political & spiritual leader.

Or,

“Didn’t yo mama teach you to be nice, bitch?” - J, best friend.

2. Read more.

In the past 365 days, i have managed to read 7 books. Seven. WHAT THE HECK HAVE I BEEN DOING?!

Back in London, Blondie had tried to make me read some if his favorite writer’s works but little does the poor boy knew that systematically signaled me to do anything but read them, despite having wanted to previously to our meeting. (Charming, i know.) It was only when i have come back home that i finally picked up Hard-Boiled Wonderland (and the End of the World), and really liked it. After crying (and crying, and crying...) throughout Norwegian Wood, it sealed the deal.

Blogs and online newspapers are cool and all but few has yet to carry me through so many emotions - sometimes subtle, sometimes unexpectedly strong - than simply holding the warmth of a book in my hands. It's like getting to know someone you're interested in for the first time. Or hugging an old friend.

Bonus creepiness.

Since most lovers & friends are now far away, i’ll have to ~~hug someone~~ read as many books as i can in any given time to compensate, me thinks. Say, one per week, which, for this ~~anti-social~~ slow reader, is an enormous feat. I remain positive** however as to kick start this little endeavor, i rummaged through my poor neglected bookshelf and discovered this, purchased a while ago on sale. Wacky family tales in context of frugalness - rather befitting i figured. But i am really easy to convince like that.

Thoughts?

3. Write more.

I hereby apologise in advance to the Internets.

4. Get to know my city.

You know when you are born and live in a city you don’t get to see all the bits and bobs that an expat might? Because you never felt the pressure to discover new things in order to report back, or to integrate yourself more than just by default? Like a self-centered kid who may or may not be in a ‘clique’ simply because she had been friends with the popular girl since the first grade and therefore never felt the need to impress or go out of her ways to make other friends because, tch, that’s just desperate and totally unnecessary - they’ll come to her, she’d boastfully tell herself, without realising that who in their right minds would want to be friends with an anti-social emotionally unavailable biatch? Crazy people, that’s who. (Hm. I miss my crazy friends.) (Not that i was speaking from a personal account or anything.) (Um, where was i going with this...?)

Oh right.

Well, enough time will pass before you realise what you previously deemed as natural non-chalance just seems like careless ignorance now, especially when seriously considering where you would like to build a life comes knocking at your door and you haven’t got a clue where to get the cheapest yet most delicious breakfast in town so how the hell are you supposed to make an informed decision anyway?!

All i know is i love this little city i call home. Even if i may not want to live here forever i’d like to at least take away a little more than the schizoid weather, uncanny ability to withhold -30C's and awkwardly wonderful franglish.

This might also prompt future posts with dodgy pictures of various generic North American buildings and my index finger so, hurrah!

5. ~~Declare and engage war on Being Lazy.~~ Stop declaring war on things (also realising that Being Lazy is not valid excuse for everything, as easy things tend not to be) and accept that being unhappy about things doesn’t stop you from Being Happy.

Interesting, this one.

Let’s carry on while it quietly mulls over itself there.

6. Learn to cook. (Or cook one amazing thing.)

When my sister was still pregnant and her husband was working out of town, i camped over at her place just in case the little bugger decided to pop out earlier than predicted and caught my sister all by her lonesome. I'd like to say that living in close proximity to a woman with a crazy hormonal imbalance was a heavy factor for my insatiable appetite but anyone who knows me would decry the blatant lie. If anything, living with a pregnant woman just forces me to eat less, having to share for baby's sake - blah, blah, blah- when normally i'd gauge an eyeball out to get to that last piece of pastrami. Especially if it's my sister.

No. What has increased my seething hunger is the abominable tease that is The Food Network. Prancing around exclusively to those with cable, it whores cooking shows after cooking competitions after cooking contests. From the unnervingly adorable and domesticated Giada with her freaky-clean kitchen, to the meat orgies with Bobby Flay, through the simple mindfuck that is Iron Chef, i can spend my entire day glued to its hot pasta clad in sensual soft sauces, sweaty chunks of meat and steaming exotic scents, trying to simulate what it would it be like to have it slowly slide down my mouth... As attractive as it is to drool all over my pj's and intermittently cry out "i want!" before falling dramatically in a heap of unattained desire, i have decided that i should take things into my own virgin hands.

In the kitchen, that is.

I know my previous attempts at this were met with humiliating failure. Despite my best intentions, i always somehow ended up living with or knowing someone who is more than capable and willing to cook for me, which then prompted my laziness to reign supreme (hence, #5). But this is the year i want to become fully independent, and having others threaten my stride with a refusal to feed me really thwarts the whole self-reliance stance, let me tell you.

I’d like to start with something simple - pasta, grilled veggies, chocolate pudding, etc. - where chances of lost fingers and burnt houses are low. Also, if anyone who has somehow haphazardly fallen here and has some relatively easy yet delicious recipes to test out, that would just be awesome.

7. Keep fit.

Yes. Unfortunately, this list fails to ignore this ubiquitous resolution. Forgive, my imagination is dwindling. It hurts me more than it does you, believe me.

One of the upside of being of Asian descent is that i have a metabolism that can take on all the amount of food i eat without having to reap the consequences of wearing exclusively this. Lately however i have started to notice that the Asian brigade, like the economy, is frantically crumbling. Too many excesses and too much abuse without ever considering the results, my system is now showing signs that it can no longer sustain itself through this gluttonous lifestyle, and what with #6 in tow, signs point to bleaker times ahead.

Case in point: catching my breath like i've been punched in the gut after climbing a flight of stairs, infected with a measly cold for THREE bloody WEEKS, constant aching backs and shoulders, bare functionality with less than 8 hours sleep and an ever growing tummy pouch, which, as coveted as it may be by that little French Girl in Pulp Fiction, is slowly outgrowing from "sexy" to "beer belly". But all that pales to a hazy shade of grey when compared to the fact that, where i once can chew down indefinitely for 5 hours straight without so much as flinching, my body now threatens reverse-digestion if i have more than the equivalent of two bowls of rice. TWO! ICANNOTLIVELIKETHIS!!!

So, this is what i am roughly planning: my old little yoga routine, a little cardio, a few sit-ups. That’s it. Really, i don’t want to shock my total lack of exercised*** body, and this seems reasonable, right? RIGHT?!

(This whole thing is starting to sound like a Very Bad Idea...)

8. Stop caring what others think.

I remember how that felt once. It was good. Let’s try that again, yeah? Yeah.

9. Stand my ground.

Which would go down better with....

10. Establish ground.

London thoroughly fucked me up. And i really mean this in the nicest possible way.

One of the many things i've learned from that little trip was, i'm not good with a lot of sudden change. "A lot" includes for me any equivalence, or combination, of: adapting myself to a new life in a new country where i knew no-one, figuring what i want to do with my life, letting go of the past (and other fun quarter-life crisis related activities), and finding myself in my first serious adult relationship. In a limited time-period. I did not cope very well. Or not as well as i'd expected. Which then prompted me to doubt basically, well, everything. You get the idea.

It's hard for me to write about it, especially without sounding like an ungrateful brat, because seriously, i realise how incredibly fortunate it was to even have the time and chance to take a holiday let alone a ten-months extended one. I was just overwhelmed. It felt like the rug has been pulled from beneath my feet and i was quickly drowning. So i made the mistake of relying a lot on Blondie, like a life-saver, who was more than patient and supportive in ways i dare not even hope or imagine... His was of an ilk i never so admired, but i think that had an averse effect at the time of letting myself permeate almost completely into his life. It was comforting. It was easy. To merge, and disappear, and not have to think or figure out how to make myself right - by myself. There was no-one there to remind me what my plans were, or who i was supposed to be. And then eventually, inevitably, everything clashed together until it all knotted into deafening white noise. I remember wandering down Regent Street on early mornings towards work and feeling utterly disoriented. Why am i here again? What am i doing? Did that man just pee in front of Uniqlo? I had lost my confidence.

I don't ever regret the trip. I may sometimes wish i had gone when my head and heart had been more sorted but my time-machine is in back-order last time i checked. But that's why i am going back. Even if only for a shorter amount of time this time, knowing there's a wonderful man to welcome me lovingly however fucked up i can get and friends i genuinely can't wait to see and laugh with again, my chest already feels lighter. All that's left to do is break and plow me a little piece of ground - that is all me and mine - and plant my feet firmly in its dirt and grass. Lest i float off shore - completely, this time.

I'll let you know how it'll all go. (I know, i can hear your anticipating cheers from here.)

Roll on (belatedly!) 2009.

______________________
* I'm self-pitifully masochistic that way, don't ask.
** Now that's a gagging word i need to use more often! "Positive reinforcement"... *laughs hysterically*
*** Aside for SEXXX!!! That is, when i'll have some again. Sob.

2009-02-23T23:40:00.018-05:00

My brain is utter mush.

I blame it on all the baby talk, baby poo, baby pee and baby-why-won’t-you-please-sleep-for-fifteen-minutes-straight-so-we-can-sleep-too. (Although in all honesty, i suspect brain being highly defective for some time now but let’s not get into that. Also, cf. mind=mush=>cannot analyse anything.)

We’ve been taking rounds, my mum & i, to stay at my sister’s overnight and help out so she’ll be able to get some sleep. Tonight, it's my turn. I have the audacity of complaining but the poor girl has had about 5 hours of decent sleep since last Tuesday? Yeah. Motherhood. Rock n’ roll, yo. It’s also hard to complain because, though you barely know what day it is, let alone if you’ve showered, whether baby is actually crying or it’s just an imprint whisper in your brain that likes to play over and over again, punishing you for all the bad things you did as a child, at every turn you encounter this. And it really makes all of that melts to nothing. (For a moment, at least.)

When i was a kid, i used to watch scientific and hospital documentaries without a flinch, courtesy of Big Sis. Sure, it was part of my Become A Doctor training programme, but i was too young then to not be eager to please. Besides, what kind of little four-eyed Asian girl would i be to squirm at a little deformity, cutting and bleeding? Please. And so i stoically braved through shows with open heart surgeries, liposuctions, transplants and amputations and, my favorite, cranial-facial restructuring operations (where the face is basically being cut and peeled off, facial bones smashed and pulled, face flipped back on to see the results of all that smashing and pulling - repeat until satisfcatory). By the time i was in high school, and my parents’ dreams of having me become a health professional were shattered after my first medical appointments, the damage was already done: i couldn’t wait until Biology classes so we can cut things up. All this to say, i am not a squirmy girl. (If i appear to faint eye-squinting disgust at a gory sight, know that it is to make the company i’m in - possibly male - feel manlier. I’m distressingly twee and accomodating like that sometimes. I blame my upbringing.) However, the one exception to this rule is childbirth. Whether it be human children or those in the animal kingdom, i cannot bear to watch neither. It freaks the begesus out of me, ok? One minute, you have this tiny orifice the size of a nickel, the next A FUCKING HEAD IS COMING OUT OF IT! It’s like a scene from Alien, and maybe the viewing of a perfect extra-terrestrial monster ripping apart people and cyborgs may not be the best material in my Become A Doctor programme but... COME ON! o ---> O!! AND THEN! Some mangled gooey jingling MOVING thing spurts out of it!!! It’s just too much for me, i’m sorry.

So when my sister, who is well aware of my Achilles heel, asked me to be in the delivery room with her and her husband it took practically all the love i have for her to accept without wincing. And let me tell you, it is just as terribly unforgettable as that first time that baby alien burst out of John Hurt. Minus the teeth and more cute. And instead of making me hide between the covers, i burst into tears when he pushed his first warrior cry for the first time.

The entire thing was just an insane ordeal. From the moment of her contractions, to the “I WANT THE EPIDURAL NOW!’s”, to the final push and realising that, shit - my big sister, the girl who used to pin me down tickling me until i can control my laughing "weakness", who used to make imaginary crocodiles appear from the tip of her finger only to leave me infuriatingly stuck on my bed, who used to preempt Freudian complexes by telling me she’d cut off my penis when i was a baby, is now a mother to her own tiny human being (to fuck up). The mind boggles. I know she is freaked out too but she’s also the type who would never voice it. That’s my job. It’s natural for me, as her younger emotional 'crazier' sister, to express how being scared shitless for having a fragile little person utterly, utterly, dependent on you, twenty-four hours a day - for the rest of your life - has permanently moved into your brain. It’s natural for me, as the one who, if previously 83.333% certain she doesn't want children, is now 96.667% certain she never will, to hate leaving the beautiful boy's side but is intensely happy once she does. But how do you say that? Without having everyone around you look at you like you are a fatally souless person? An emotionally crippled woman?...

The chatty head nurse attending my sister’s delivery, upon hearing about my intentions (or the lack thereof) of becoming a mother, fell suddenly speechless for a remarkable moment, incredulous. Right before proclaiming with surprising condescension that “oh, you’re still young. You’ll change your mind”. Surprising because i did not expect it from her, a seemingly strong, funny and intelligent woman, who’s surely had experiences in her career with unwanted pregnancies and seen how detrimental that can be on the mother’s mental health and the relationship she’ll have with her child, to patronize someone she knows obviously nothing about. The very first night i stayed with my sister in the hospital, holding the baby so his mum could get some rest, despite all the bounding love and elation and gratitude, all i could think of was how horrifyingly devastating it must be for those who are, by unforeseen circumstances and external constraints, forced into motherhood.

Living through my nephew’s birth was spectacularly amazing, an experience i am happy to have lived through and grateful to have shared with my older sister. I have yet to reel back from the emotional roller-coaster ride. But one thing i know is, i have come out from this with an even more feverish conviction in women's rights to dispose of their bodies and lives as they see fit, something i didn’t realise was ever possible. Unconditionally loving a child with every fiber of your being while desiring with equal fervor a childfree life, should not on the other hand be such an improbable likelihood.

Unlike my getting any sleep tonight.

2009-02-20T01:19:00.043-05:00

Canadian politics is hellovah boring. There, i said it. It feels like i've just betrayed my country or something, but truth is, i'm way too tired to pretend our political issues are remotely interesting so you can lapidate me for all i care (which is only slightly less than for our parliamentary debates).

So i wasn't really surprised when i turned on the teevee this morning, half-awake, to see every news channel emphatically covering the visit of our neighbours' rockstar el presidente, or when the groupie euphoria lasted way beyond the 6 hours he graced our land. And i get it. We can use all the excitement we can get. I mean, really, there's just so much talks of stimulus packages, Michael-Ignatieff-As-The-New-Trudeau, anti-American-protectionism and how-many-days-until-Spring we can take before we numb our minds by sniffing (another!) pound of snow through our noses.

I was slightly amused to see how my fellow citizens have finally shown their unabashed yearning and envy to be the United States of ~~Obama~~ America. It might have been slightly icky at moments, specifically when the President was leaving and the news camera longingly showed Air Force One lifting off - and slowly disappearing into the ether. It was as heartwrenching as suffering through the last scene of The Way We Were when Barbara sees her Hubbell off to his hot young wife*. But then again, i'm not good at "those" kinds of emotions. (Apparently.)

When Mr. Obama made an impromptu visit to Byward Market to take pictures with vendors and passers-by, i was prompted to re-enact a secret fantasy of meeting him one day too (me: "I'm sorry, Mister President, i think you're really handsome. For a president." him: "Thank you. Would you like to come and help my wife decorate our new house?") And i was also eager to stress that, if he likes Beaver Tails (and you shouldn't trust anyone who doesn't) he should really try our poutine.

But for some reason, when he came to pay for his maple cookies, i wanted to vom in the mouth a little when the vendor refused to take his money. Was it because it stank of cheese and groveling? Did it suggest that baking, in these times of economical turmoil, is where the monnies' at, bitchez, and therefore pinched only harder at my (many) unrealised childhood aspirations? Was it because i haven't slept in the last 36 hours and such demonstrations of saccharined sweetness did its work on my poor state of mind & body? So many questions, so little content. But in any case, i can only hope that one day, we Canadians too can get as excited about our politics and politicians as we do for**... well, anyone else's.

Anywho. In unrelated news,

OMFREAKAZORRGZ! I'M AN AUNT!

I know, baby, i'm confused too.

More later. Off passing out.

________________________
* Especially poignant if one considers the fact that Robert Redford's character never really wanted to be with Streisand's in the first place, and he was just being convenient and polite... Also of note, Mz. Funny Girl was once intimately linked with Canadia while dating our spankin' ex-prime minister, Pet, as he is affectionately referred to. I was going somewhere with this analogy, but sadly, my weaking mind is quickly failing m... *snores*

**UPDATE!** -- Say, for something like this! Huzzah!

2009-02-06T00:16:00.016-05:00

On where and how to find the perfect home meal when i'll be back (and why i'm going) :

him: ...Somewhere nice. Will have to review several places in South London.
me: Hm. I barely trust the ones here, let alone dodgy places in London. *squints eyes suspiciously*
him: Or, you could always LEARN FROM YOUR MOTHER! (Temporarily of course, just as long as it takes for me to be able to make it.)
me: ahahahahahahahah! Ahhh.... I pity you.
him: I pity me too.

2009-02-03T21:27:00.007-05:00

I just can't stop laughing at this.

I know, i know. Going to hell, blah blah blah.

Cold medicine anyone?

2009-02-02T20:20:00.023-05:00

Because, here? It would have been redundant. (And ridiculous.)

Then again i might have been bed ridden with a fever, stuffed nose and too much on my chest for far longer than my mind can stand to spite it.

Or perhaps i can't remember the last time i've felt such genuine excitement for something as whimsically trivial as snow in a town where both 'excitement' and 'snow' come so scarcely.

But whatever the reason, these photos make me yearn for a good stroll and roll down them darn snowy streets.

I am obviously delirious.

______________________
n.b. photos from The Guardian.

2009-01-09T11:51:00.005-05:00

For no known reason in particular, i feel like trotting all of today with a big 'fuck you, world!', a grin and a wave. It feels grand.

(That is why i am blogging at work!)

(I am so sad.)

2009-01-01T15:48:00.005-05:00

Didn't even know he was alive, let alone his birthday or full name.

I am the worst/best/worst fan.

2008-12-31T22:07:00.014-05:00

There is apparently a "Rockin' New Year's Eve Party" goin' on, but somehow the idea of being tucked in bed, with my pyjamas, a cup of tea and laptop, is sending me raging with such a foreign giddiness throughout my shallow shell i'm afraid my rockin' party dress* would have to wait for another time...

And with that, one year closes, accordingly, with the lesson de l'année: I am old.

A very happy Wednesday Night and many more Delightful Tomorrows to all in the etherwebs.

________________________
*And by "rockin' party dress" we agree that is "anything i grab from the floor that smells ~~respectably~~ relatively un-repellent". As you were.

p.s.: OHMYGODIAMSOWARMINMYBED! THISISSOAWESOMEORZ!

2008-12-21T23:43:00.009-05:00

Sure. It could have been the most spectacularly stupid idea of 2008, to go out drinking after a fifteen-hour day shift, with a headache that had started pounding, drilling and invading my brain since 9 in the am, a morning-after shift facing the Boss and shimmering white turd in subarctic weather.

But i guess reason is always first to go. And by the last-to-last drop of my first glass of wine, the headache disappeared as well. No doubt in fear. As it should, as we went for karaoke. I sung Bohemian Rhapsody like i meant it and woke up this morning feeling fresh like a 16-year-old ~~virgin~~ vigil.

Still. Sometimes, "to hell with it" just really is the best cure for... everything.

I am going to pass out now.

2008-12-17T18:45:00.014-05:00

I came home last night to discover a little package impishly waiting for me. Without glancing at the return address i knew who it was from. Not least because the red wrapping, the carefully awkward taping - totally him - but because, well, he’d told me. (He's not good with surprises.)

As i slowly cut through the tape and carefully opened the box, my heart warmed up to the smell of the blended tea he used to make for me. A whole elephant-painted tin of it. Hugging it to my bosom as if it were him (ahoy!), i looked greedily for something, anything, else (a surprise? maybe? please?...) and lo, pulled out two smaller boxes.

Of jewelry.

A simply dangled leafed necklace and a pair of small matching earrings. Clean, delicate, lovely in every way, and totally not me.

“It’s extremely difficult to buy girls jewelry”, i remember telling him once as we rummaged together, before we were ever together, through Portobello. Particularly so for me, perhaps, because i hardly wear any and therefore easy enough to please yet hard to satisfy. To be honest, i can barely describe what i like myself until it hits me in the face, it’d be unfair to expect so coming from others. Especially when this other had apparently poured so much effort and love into it. (He hates shopping.)

“Thank you, they are lovely.” I could hear him sigh in relief before relating his tales of hunting down Oxford Street, avoiding maim and murder at every corner, while i slowly sunk into the sweetest earl-grey-red-tea i’ve had in, what seemed like, forever.

2008-12-16T00:58:00.016-05:00

I have officially been promoted to ‘Adult’ at this year’s Family Christmas Santa Operation. That’s right. No more kiddy gifts-giving for moi. What have prompted this jump, i hear you bemusedly wonder? Was it the AWESOME vintage illustrated edition of classic French fables that my ten-year-old cousin was, in years past, too cool to care for but coveted instead by the parents? Or was it, perhaps, that though traditionally this transition was singularly reserved to married family members (for marriage, as we all know, is a true indicator of adulthood, maturity, coming of age, etc), my entire family has finally given up hope of ceremonial matrimony for yours truly? Or have they simply done the math and figured, Sweet Baby Jesus Who Isn't Born on Christmas Day! i’m actually not twelve anymore. Whatever the reasoning, i’m too depressed to care anyway, so what’s an extra dent in my very adult savings account?

Having already done most of my obligatory Christmas shopping, and having spent the last two Christmassases basked with seasonal high spirits (thank you brandy!), i deemed it perfectly acceptable, if not mandatory, to be entirely crabby this year (hello whiskey!). I have replaced Shopping Mall Carol with the Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, and wish nothing more than a lonely cottage at the edge of the world - away from titles, adulthood, and most definitely talks of marriage and why i (still) don’t want one.

As expected, being miles away from the Loved One has nothing to do with it, especially as he is a sweetheart in all the right ways. Occasionally, he’d throw me off and ask, as we plan our lives around each other and the world, if i’d marry him. I’d laugh and say no. Even as a joke, i couldn’t bring myself to accept. I can only emoticonally smile and pour myself yet another cup of tea, which will inevitably fail to make me drunk.

I'm an obstinately slow learner, i told him.

2008-12-10T17:04:00.019-05:00

My attempt to shut out society has abysmally failed once again. My hours at work were cut down from 40 hours to 3o this week. Bossy McFrenchy has been sighing and stressing out for weeks so i can't say i was surprised.

“I yam soooo sorrree for dooing zis. It makes me fill teeerrribel as I know I ‘av promissed you dose ‘ours - but ze new store ‘as bine teeerriblee dissappointing”, he (over?) emphatically explained himself, before starting a wordy tirade with his special sour French sauce against people and the economy in general. It was delicious.

I said i understood, that it was ok. As i quietly mulled over the possibility that i was perhaps being too soft and a pushover, i realised i felt relief more than anything. Even if, instead of engaging in small talk with ladies and gents pretending The RECESSION! will affect them while they spare two thousand loonies on Christmas “gifts”, i am desperately trying to hold back tears while watching a surprise reunion between Vivian Stringer and her mysterious cancer surviving buddy on Oprah as we speak.

Beyond engaging in embarrassingly soppy television and waxing lyrical about condensed rain (yes, the love-affair is already dwindling only a day in), i think this extra free time will be good for me. I have my portfolio to work on along with other projects nesting in my head and this will offer me the chance to focus on each one in proper fashion. With a little effort, it might also allow me to write a bit more. Or so I optimistically hope.

During these difficult times, when some of the blogs that have bizarrely inspired and comforted me in a way only semi-anonymous virtual disclosure can do are threatening to close shop, i’m still stifling onwards and forwards because... well, because writing/rambling through my fingers has always allowed me to sort and clear my mind. Also - and i'll say this without (amazingly!) any ounce of shame nor queasiness - i am all alone now. With the economic tides working against seeing nutcrackers and headcrackers alike, and best friends and boyfriends far far away, these cold heavy days are harsher than anticipated (and i am already deftly pessimistic usually).

So as the snow piles down and weighs in, what else can i do to kill these winters of whites than flex my arm muscles and do my own kind of shoveling?... If not for mobility sake, then at least to avoid being buried within. I just hope i don't pull a hernia.

2008-12-09T22:17:00.016-05:00

It was around this time of year, at age 14, or perhaps 15, that i started my love affair with snow. Like all first love stories, this is one of sweet sorrows and sordid rows of why-won't-you-leave-me-alone's, just minutes after pledging my unwielding devotion. But whenever it shows up late to a misconnected rendez-vous, it still fills me with an almost unbearable longing sense of loss.

This year though, it couldn't come a day sooner. And like the first time we fell in love, it instantly wraps my lonely heart in its soft, cold embrace.

I let it quietly steal my breath, knowing that in a few months, weeks even, i'll curse the day i ever laid eyes on it, so very long ago.

2008-12-04T00:25:00.008-05:00

Thought of the day*:

If no-one is around to hear it, does love, when fallen, make a sound?

________________________
* While, obviously, in an uncontrollable bout of the "Emo". It's been a slow ~~day~~ week.

2008-11-27T00:27:00.019-05:00

Earlier tonight, i decided finally to set up my new laptop, for the first time, all by my lonesome.

Well, sort of.

As i am Miss Techy of No Known Universe, Blondie unwittingly, through modern wonders of Instant Messaging and Skype, offered his generous assistance. It went as follows.

"You click on 'yes'"
"But there is no 'yes' - just 'open'"
"Then click on 'open'."
"Nothing happened."
"What do you mean nothing happened?..."
"I mean, nothing. Happened."
"Ok. Didn't a window appear?"
"Window? No."
"What do you see on your screen then?..."
"...what's a window?"
"..."
"Oh! Yes! Ok, you mean a 'window'! Right. It just popped up... Um. Now, what?"
"You download it."
"I mean, should i save, or just open?"
"Is it a .dmg file?"
"...yes?"
"You can save it. What it is is..."

[Proceeds in Charlie Brown's Teacher tongue for five minutes.]

"... So, that's why it's a virtual drive. You understand?"
"Um. Yes... Because it is not real."

[Thudding sound - like head hitting hard object - at other end.]

Three hours later, i promised to post a 'Techy girlfriend wanted - can cook a plus!' ad for him in lieu of thank you. At least, what i lack in geekiness i make up in compassion. It's only fair, really.

2008-11-21T23:14:00.032-05:00

I started a job about a month ago that saw me feebly attempt poking my eyes out every spare minute I could claim. It was in a bank.

Four months after my stay abroad, I finally picked my languishing courage (and self) up from the floor, and looked for work. As my time in London somehow impaired parts of my brain (mainly those involved with balance, memory and logic), I had forgotten how deliriously dreadful this process was. As if learning to be at home again after 122 days at home shouldn’t make me feel theoretically ill-adjusted enough, convincing a complete stranger how I would be the perfect candidate to slave for The Man would, I’d bet, do the trick.

Do you see where this can go wrong?
Will I ever grow up?

The answer, unfortunately, was lost somewhere through the infinite space between minutes and hours spent re-writing my CV and finding the perfect words to describe “would work for anything please hire me” without sounding too keen; slipped in the hollow cracks separating self-deprecation from superiority complexes; between feelings of utter rejection and god-how-desperate-they-must-be-to-take-me’s. Good times.

But I persevered. Oprah would have been proud. Besides, that was the main reason I had moved back anyway – to get a job, pay off all my loans, go back to school. Actually, at this point, I needed to do anything for nothing else if not because I was getting dangerously sick of myself. There is just so much self-pitying and loathing you can do until clean and nice underwear starts being the highpoint of your day.

Having planned to follow a completely different career path - *cough*designstuff*cough* - I figured I’d apply in a few field-related shops where chances for inspiration are moderately high yet responsibilities low. In short, my kind of work. How I landed at the bank is therefore a consternation, I agree. But that’s how The Man gets you, isn't it? By sneaking up to you throwing money in your face then wrapping his sleazy fingers over your shoulder, leading you laughing all the way to his fancy backroom where he rapes you up the bum (that you had cleaned just for him!) while blaring shiny gifts in exchange for you mortal life (for me, that was free eyewear. Who knew?) However, three weeks muddling through desk work (looking for my soul), free glasses, as kickass as they may be, aren’t worth my will to live. (But barely.) I promptly resigned and engaged myself full-time at a French Boutique where I had already started working on weekends and feel now like I am starring in a (quirky-yet-slightly-sad) movie.

Also, I went back to my alma mater (aka The Restaurant) on Saturdays, just because I ~~am shit poor~~ ~~can’t ever say no to them~~ heart them muchly. And although my soul no longer begs to suffer a quick and easy death, there is still a part of me, the ugly Twelve-Year-Old part, that feels somewhat embarrassed that I am engaging myself in such ‘frivolous’ employment ‘at my age’. (As if there was a time-limit to being lost! Pff.)

But here is what I figured:

She’s 12...
...who, bearing my mother’s cross, thinks that anything other then Medicine, Engineering, Finance or Law - in hierarchical order - aren’t ‘worthy’ careers => Freudian super-ego gibberish;
This job is temporary (isn't everything?);
I’d rather work where I can salvage the few remnants of my sanity rather than holding a ‘respectable’ job and losing my self-respect. Fair trade much?

So there. I guess 10 months overseas and 26 years of life taught me something after all. (Other than holding my body-mass equivalent in Guinness.)

Maybe I'm easy but I believe that calls for a cheer.

2008-11-12T15:32:00.011-05:00

I feel tired and exhausted for no apparent reason.

The weather is great today. Bright and brisk, just how I like it. But I woke up this morning dazed, restless. The plans I had laid out - set up my new laptop, cleaning, laundry, coffee - inversely, seemed too daunting a task. I made a cup of tea instead (coffee involved one step too many), lazied off in front of the telly and then dozed away.

Maybe talks last night of fingering and fucking had something to do with it.

2008-11-05T00:22:00.057-05:00

The Anglo and I were having dinner in a pub, catching up on our respective relationships and work, while the American election was sprawled across the telly. As if we were playing in the final game of the Stanley Cup, or something.

“Obama is going to win.” he said with a sort of desperate confidence.
“I don’t know, man, I don’t know…” reluctantly I replied. “I can’t even look - can't even think about it until it actually. Happens. Hasn’t recent past proven how painfully idiotic things can shit all over the place? How can you still be so sure?”
“It’s gonna happen. It's gotta happen.” he repeats like a mantra. “It's impossible for McCain to win. If he does, I'm... I'm... I don't know what's going to happen but it's going to be ugly.”

I have stopped following the American election about a month ago, after the what-the-fuckness slap in the face from the Republican VP nomination faded, after I found myself more invested in my neighbours circus campaign than the one taking place in my backyard (didn't know about our election? Ha! I barely did too). Not merely because I couldn't take anymore news flashes of red and blue that swoosh to the twatish inspirational country slash rock hymns my neurons melodiously pruned to, but right now, basically, there is just too much at stake. Though I am not an American per se, and still feverishly carrying through with my plans to run away to Mars eventually, I am deep down nothing if not a humanist who would prefer not to see the purest fabric of our race obliterated. And so many things can go wrong once things go wrong. So many things have gone wrong when things went wrong...

By the time we were leaving, the Democrats of Obama were fairly leading. Oh god, oh god, I can't look. That's how I cope by default in anxious times – run away, ignore and dismiss. Also: refuse talking about my hopes and dreams in the belief that should the Powers That Be have somehow word of my plans and wants they would take pleasure shitting on it, surely. I haven't a clue where such a skewed instinctual, if not egotistical, mechanism comes from. A congenital pessimism, rooted in fatalism and anarchy. With a pinch of the Drama-Queen. A deep fear bread by innate insecurity and nurtured by an untrusting nature. The list can go on.

I just find it dangerously folly. To invest so much hope and aspirations into a singular person is doomed for failure. No-one can possibly fulfill such an outpouring amount of expectations. He is but a man, after all. And that's fine. That's human. It's the attitude that relegates transcendental powers (and hopes) to a governing leader, as if he is godsend, a messiah, a superhuman with technicolored talents and wicked lightning problem-solving skillz that is an idea that has always baffled and scared me. But then again nationalism and patriotism were also things that always eluded me too.

When I got home, when the news was in, that it was official, that there were no possible doubts that he had indeed won, my little fingers couldn’t click quickly enough. And so I watched waves of people, with smiles stitched across their faces, running like kids towards Grant Park. I watched children and grandparents laughing and jumping and shouting in the streets - across the world – the sight of which I only ever read about, haven’t seen in my entire life. I watched him speak while tears were etched down thousands of cheeks, thinking “Fuck. This is really something, isn't it?” Something big. Something meaningful. Something real. Something. It made me want to hop on the Barack Bandwagon and throw myself about singing the virtues of democracy! Fuck, it made me want to be black too! Just for a moment, to taste fully what that jubilation feels like. God, how incredible it must be! To harbour such hope. As if... as if... I were 17 again...

We broke up for two days.
Thirty-six hours, to be exact. (Okay, thirty-four.)
And it was the most unbearably painful 34 hours I’ve spent in recent memory. It felt like small explosions every little while within my chest cavity (heart?), like little supernovae sucking my breath and body in, telling me i'm too old for this shit.

I got scared. I’d be damned if I were to be made a fool. (Again.) There is just too much at stake.

But wouldn't the stakes be so high if the rewards weren't boundless? Wouldn't my Seventeen-Year-Old Self fight with tooth and nails and kalashnikov for this? Wouldn't it all be worth it? Just for a moment, to taste fully what that jubilation feels like?

This is only the beginning. There is is still so much work to be done, he said.
The path is still long and hard, and there will be falls. Inevitably.
This is only a chance that is given.

A chance that I, for once, would like to jump into.
Hand over heart, feet tied and all.

2008-10-30T09:57:00.005-04:00

Thought of the day:

When I grow up, I'd like to know what I'm doing.
(Or is it, when I know what I'm doing, I'll grow up?)

2008-10-29T09:56:00.004-04:00

At a very young age, whether we could afford to go out celebrate or not, my mum would always dress us up in our prettiest clothes for our birthdays. A practice in vanity and pride that was instilled to me so early on that now, twenty-six years later, despite my protest of being too old, too blasé, too cool to care, deep down inside I feel a need to be on my prettiest.

That is why, today, I am wearing my favorite panties.