Self-Reflection

A friend of mine recently told me that she thinks I'm highly invested in being single, maybe because I'm scared of getting into a relationship again and getting hurt or maybe for reasons I'm not even consciously aware of.

I asked her why she thought I was invested in being single, when in my mind, while I'm happy enough being single, would rather not be single. That seems to make sense to me.

She paused and said "Well, you do have an entire blog devoted to being single. You even called it Advice From a Single Girl, not something else. You're invested in being single. It's your identity; who you are."

Now, before you get in defense mode and say that this was mean of her or harsh of her, this is one part of a conversation taken out of context to illustrate a point, so it's not about what she said, and I know her intentions were good.

The point is, could she be right? Even a little?

In my mind, I was going to write about being single and then when I became no longer single, the "single" part of the title,well, I guess I figured I'd deal with that when the time came.

As for being invested? Well, sure, it's easier in a lot of ways to be single. The pain is under my control (or so it feels). I'm lonely because I'm single. I'm sad because I'm single. I'm angry because I'm single. Etc. Whereas when you're in a relationship that ends, the pain isn't under your control.

Or, I suppose I should say, it's never been under my control. I've always been the one who got hurt, got dumped, got left and that pain wasn't my idea.

So maybe there is a part of me that's trying to stay single. I'm not sure.

I know a couple of you who read here have changed your blog names, and maybe others of you have and I just don't know it. So is this blog keeping me stuck in being single? No. But is there a sense of karma or bad ju ju or something that the title is pushing my way? Do I need to move this blog or re-title it in order to tell the universe that I'm ready, willing, and waiting to be happily married?

I don't know.

Dude

So, there's this new version of Scrubs that's kind of a spin off and kind of not because there are a couple of the old characters but mainly all new ones.

One of the characters is a total favourite of mine. I don't know what it is about the character but I think he's hilarious.

So, this Cole kid, if you haven't seen the show, you totally won't get, but there was a quote from last week's show that I burst out laughing when I heard it.

The guy had been standing in the same spot holding a clamp or something to see if he'd be any good at surgery. One of the other doctors came in and asked him if he'd been standing there all day and this guy goes "I don't know. I can't read old people clocks."

And, seriously, it's not really as funny out of context and not everyone loves the character, but man, I'm still laughing (out loud no less) at it.

Old people clocks. Heh.

The Danger To Low Light Shooting

OK, before we go any further, you need to re-read that title. But you need to re-read it in a deep scary voice. With big Duh Duh Duuuuuuh! Type music in the background. Maybe like a public service type thing like, "The Danger of Drug Use" type voice.

Go on, re-read it, I'll wait.

Alrighty then.

So, I wrote myself the note on my "things to blog" post-it (an electronic one on my computer!) - danger to low light shooting.

Then when I went to think about writing the post it sounded very dramatic. The DANGER! Oooooooooh!

I think, really, all I was trying to say is that I love the time of night where the light's fading. Twilight, evening, dusk.

The colours are beautiful, things (especially at this time of year) smell beautiful and the light's awesome.

The problem? The light's low.

Which means there's not a lot of it. Which means things are blurry when I try to take a photo.

And I don't carry a tripod most days, so I get cool, but blurry photos (like the one above).

So the (duh duh duuuuuh!) danger to low-light shooting is the blur. Things that could be awesome awesome photos blur.

The end.


This public service announcement brought to you by Victoria's brain. The more you know!

My Life According To Garp. Er. Zep.

Dilling, (who is one of those who stumbled upon my blog way back when and has kept on stumbling ever since) (which I always find very cool), first did this awesome thingy a while ago and I've thought about it ever since.

So, here goes:

Using only song titles from ONE ARTIST, answer these questions...try not to repeat a song title, it's a lot harder than you think! Repost as "My Life According to (Band Name)"


PICK YOUR ARTIST:
Led Zeppelin baby!

ARE YOU MALE OR FEMALE:
Living Loving Maid ( She's Just a Woman )

DESCRIBE YOURSELF:
Whole Lotta Love

HOW DO YOU FEEL:
Ten Years Gone

DESCRIBE WHERE YOU CURRENTLY LIVE:
Down by the Seaside

IF YOU COULD GO ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD YOU GO:
Going to California

YOUR FAVORITE FORM OF TRANSPORTATION:
Stairway to Heaven

YOUR BEST FRIEND IS:
All My Love

YOU AND YOUR BEST FRIENDS ARE:
Celebration Day

WHAT'S THE WEATHER LIKE:
The Rain Song

FAVORITE TIME OF DAY:
In the Evening

IF YOUR LIFE WAS A TV SHOW, IT WOULD BE CALLED:
No Quarter

WHAT IS LIFE TO YOU:
Good Times Bad Times

YOUR CURRENT RELATIONSHIP:
Bring It on Home

YOUR FEAR:
Babe I'm Gonna Leave You

A FOND MEMORY:
Night Flight

WHAT IS THE BEST ADVICE YOU HAVE TO GIVE:
Your Time Is Gonna Come

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY:
What Is and What Should Never Be

HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO DIE?
In My Time of Dying

YOUR SOUL'S PRESENT CONDITION:
The Battle of Evermore

MOST FAITHFUL COMPANION:
Heartbreaker

YOUR MOTTO:
Nobody's Fault but Mine



Fun, eh?

Bass-Ackwards

So I've said it here before, every single time it's happened since I started this blog I think, but I'm going to say it again; yes for the second time in a week. . . I do not like the time change.

I'm not hungry when it's the time I'm "supposed" to eat and I'm not tired when it's the time I'm "supposed" to go to bed and I'm certainly not ready to get up when my alarm clock insists is when I'm "supposed" to.

I swear, I've just gone through this entire week being confused by how late it is and how did it get to be that time already and then being not tired in the evening but super exhausted and unable to get out of bed in the morning and seriously? Why is this so much harder to deal with than jet lag?

I Did Not Inhale

Um, help me out here. . . is there anything else that smells like marijuana?

The reason I ask is that someone nearby, possibly outside my window, because I can't smell it anywhere else is doing something that smells like they're smoking up, but I can't see anyone or hear anyone and, well, there is one girl out there cleaning her car, so, is there anything else I could be smelling that's just pretending to smell like you know what?

Put It On My Tab

So I have a crush on a bartender.

And, no, I'm not going to tell you where he works because half of those of you who live here will know him and the other half will say "Oh, yeah, I've seen him, he's totally cute!" and another half of you will go tell him you know someone who has a crush on him and he should date me already. (What? I never said I was good at math.)

C-dawg and I discovered him the same night we discovered Freckle-Butt and we both thought he was cute and funny and seemed like a good guy.

We went back a couple of weekends ago and he remembered us (which, of course made me blush a little) and remembered my name (even though he called C-dawg by my name) and he was still cute.

C-dawg had given him my number the first time we were there (I may have dared her to after we'd left for the next stop on our tour) so he's had the opportunity to pursue things if he'd wanted to.

I know bartenders and the like get hit on all the time and must get a ton of numbers, and for all we know he could be in a relationship so it's rather a moot point of why he didn't call me.

When I was telling another girlfriend of mine about the cute crush bartender guy she asked me if there'd been any flirting. Well, yes, there was, but as I told her "he's a bartender, of course there was flirting."

What I think is that C-dawg and I are fun to talk to and good looking. We also don't get outrageously drunk and that's probably refreshing for someone who spends their work hours sober with very drunk people. I'm, of course, a little disappointed that this hasn't turned into a whirlwind romance, but such is reality.

So I guess this isn't a crush that's going anywhere, but it's all I've got right now. What about you? Any good crushes going on?

I Have A Theory

After some preliminary studies, I've come up with the following theory:

To be a guy and have a dog in Victoria you have to be cute.

I'm going to continue my studies in order to validate my theory, but I think I'm on to something here people!

In other news: Happy St. Patrick's Day

One Brick At A Time

Habits are weird things. You sort of only hear about them as bad things. Like that biting-your-nails habit or the clicking-your-pen-lid habit or the seemingly endless list of things you maybe don't know you do or don't notice you do or maybe you know you do but aren't sure it's bad enough you need to stop kind of things.

All that previous paragraph is a whole lot of blah blah blah while I try to sort out what you call something that's good for you but not a habit. Like exercise.

Because for it to be a habit, you don't have to think about it, it just happens. And exercise doesn't just happen. Oh but I wish it would, but it doesn't. *sigh*

Anyhow, let's let this post begin, shall we?

It's been about a year since I was in that car accident. What does that have to do with exercise and habits, you ask? Oh, everything.

See, before that I was going to the gym regularly. I was seeing cute boys and avoiding possessed treadmills somewhere between several and many days a week.

After the accident I couldn't go to the gym. It was frustrating but I understood that things needed time to heal and I shouldn't rush.

Even when I was allowed to go back to the gym things still hurt and I got scared. It's taken until now for me to get to the place where I can be back at the gym slowly and gently and not hurt worse the next day. (Yay!)

But on top of that, I knew I had to get back in the "habit" of going to the gym. I knew that I couldn't give myself a goal I might not be able to carry out because of injury or pain, so I wanted to give myself something I could do and feel positive about exercise wise that would still allow my body to heal the way it has been.

So, I told you back in January about my "take a photo every day" thing, but I've also being "doing some exercise every day" since the start of the new year.

And I'm really glad I decided to take that one on. See, I love being physically active and I love how I feel after I've done something, but it's sometimes (ok, often) very very difficult to get myself up and going. So I told myself that every day I have to *at least* walk around the block (which is more like four blocks by four blocks) which ends up being a walk of about 15 minutes. Which when I'm sitting feeling like I'm glued to the couch is doable. "Come on self, you can walk around the block, don't be ridiculous."

So I do.

And there are days when I'm dragging myself off the couch, dragging the boots or runners on to my feet and mentally pushing myself out the door. Hell, sometimes there are weeks where that's all I'm doing; mentally complaining about how much I don't want to do it and why can't I just NOT do it for once.

But then there's that voice that says "Well, *today's* not going to be the day I *don't* AT LEAST go for a friggin walk around the block because it would suck going to bed knowing I was too lazy to do that."

So it's great because I'm no longer feeling lazy or like I don't exercise enough but I'm also getting my body back into regular exercise in a really quite gentle way.

It's been three months now and I'm back at the gym two or three days a week. And the pain's still improving and my cardio's coming back (although five minutes on the stair machine just about makes me pass out thank you very much) and I'm sleeping better and just feeling better physically and mentally and emotionally. It's good to fill in the calendar every day with what I did; makes me proud of myself.

It may not seem like a major accomplishment. I haven't scaled a mountain or run a marathon or lost a ton of weight but for me, getting my exercise habit back after almost a year of not having it has been a major accomplishment.

I remember talking to a counsellor after the accident (because I didn't talk about it to you guys at the time but I was terrified of driving for a while and really wanted to work through that) and him saying that I must be upset that I'll never be the same as I was after the accident and that physically I'd always be weaker than I was.

I paused, looked at him and said "No, I'm going to come out of this accident physically stronger and better than I was before it. That's the only way I'm willing to see it."

He just kind of shrugged and warned me not to expect too much, but I think, for me, it's more about the attitude than anything.

So I'm happy to be back working on my exercise "habit."

Even if I had to start rebuilding from scratch. It's ok. It's worth it for me.

Whoops!

I don't usually find myself in this position, but I totally forgot to write a post for today.

Ooops, sorry!

I blame it on the time change.

It's *always* the time change. (Shakes fist at sky)

I Have A Random Question For You

And I'm not really sure where this question came from except that this photo has the words "Mother Nature" in it and that made me start singing "Mother Nature's Son" and then I just couldn't stop singing it so I thought maybe if I asked you what your favourite Beatles' song is I'd stop singing that song and start singing a new one and that could be fun.

So, let me ask you. Because I love the Beatles and I love music and does anyone know why I'm rambling and apparently unable to use punctuation? But anyway.

What's your favourite Beatles' song?

Nickname

C-dawg and I have nicknamed a local bartender "Freckle Butt"

We have nicknamed him this because we think that his butt probably has freckles on it.

Because his cheeks do.

The ones on his face, people, the ones on his face!

C-dawg would also like me to tell you that she thinks Freckle Butt's behind would be a most excellent thing to bounce M&Ms off of.

This thought makes us both smile dreamily.

Not really sure why I thought y'all needed to know all this, but apparently I did. So there you go.

They Should Make A Movie About Me

So I figure I'm like some kind of man whisperer or something.

Well, no, that's not quite right, it's more like I'm the guy maturer.

See, I just heard that Bird's in a relationship. Bird.

And Smith, of course, got married.

And the most irresponsible of my exes now has a legitimate grown up career and another has left his job and gone into finance.

It's like they break up with me and then go ahead and mature.

I think I have a gift.

Ah Me

So I'm kind of in an odd space these days.

Still sort of smarting from stuff from a month ago and alternating between wanting to let it go and move on and giving myself time to respect how I'm feeling about it and, well, still being hurt.

But I'm also doing pretty well in a lot of ways, I'm feeling good physically and enjoying hanging out with friends and so things are good in some ways too.

But I'm lonely too and wishing I had someone to cuddle, but I'm also not wanting to compromise for any reason and I'm ok if no one's knocking on my door but I'm not sure I am but I am.

So I'm kind of weird in the head and up and down and a little bit all over the place.

Sort of.

Half bad half great. It's . . . odd.

So, I dunno, this isn't a post that was meant to make any sense. Just felt like saying it.

Whatever *it* is.

Weird

So yesterday out of nowhere in the middle of the morning it snowed.

So, no snow all winter, but random snow in the first week of March.

And then last night I heard a firetruck pull up nearby and before I knew it there were firemen in the hallway of my building. Which was weird and cool and scary all at the same time and it was all some kind of false alarm but still. Weird.

So, what's next after firemen and snow. . . ?

Pants on Fire

So, er, this gluten eating thing seems to have turned me into a less than honest person.

You see, I was driving past a McDonalds the other night and although I haven't missed McD's in my gluten-free time, I was suddenly struck by the urge to drive in there and get me some really unhealthy indulgence foods.

Because I was feeling rather giddy, I ordered a cheeseburger Happy Meal and some McNuggets. And then for some reason, I told the guy that it was "hard to remember what everyone wanted."

Um. Even though I was ordering just for me.

I'm not sure if I didn't want him to know I wasn't getting the Happy Meal (with toy thank you very much) for a kid or if I didn't want him to know I was going to eat a cheeseburger AND the McNuggets all by myself, but dude, I lied. To the cashier at McDonalds.

This food freedom is apparently going to my head. What's next? A life of crime starts somewhere. You'll stick with me through prison though right?

Away

Have to head off for a couple of days for reasons that I could tell you but would then just have to wipe your memory so really it's best I don't tell you (unless I already told you and wiped your memory and you just don't know it because I'm just that good.)

Should be back in a few days-ish, so meanwhile play nice and someone tidy up after yourselves. I've left the emergency numbers on the fridge if you need to call someone.

I think I've gone insane. That's ok, right?

Oh My Gravy

I don't know how many of you watch the Amazing Race, but I just have to say, I LOVE the cowboys!

I think I may have to marry me one of 'em!

Zzzzzzz

I'm fighting off a cold that's making the rounds of the spy cave these days.

I'm also exhausted.

The exhaustion is either good because it means I'm fighting the germs or bad because it means it's easier for the germs to get to me.

I think I'm not even making sense.

Maybe I should nap?

Someone wake me up soon kay?

PS Happy March!

Wow

Just. Wow!

What a great, happy weekend.

Not only did Canada have an amazing run of Olympic wins, including men's curling, slalom snowboarding, team pursuit speed skating and men's hockey (WOO HOOO!) but one of my best friends had a baby!

So really, a super, happy, exciting, fun, joyful weekend.

I can't wipe the smile off my face.

Whew

Well, I certainly earned this weekend and I intend to enjoy it.

This was a "too many irons in the fire" and other metaphors indicating the level of relaxing I deserve this weekend is high.

I need to, as the photo suggests, recharge my battery.

It'd be a lot easier with chocolate, but I'll have to make do!

One of My Favourite Things

I know it's the law and everything, but when I'm driving and hear an ambulance coming and then I see all the cars pulling over to the right to let the ambulance pass I always feel proud.

I love that in that moment, everyone's putting someone else's well being above their own. I love watching the sea of cars part and wait patiently until the ambulance has safely passed.

It makes me proud to be a human and I love it every time it happens.

On My Mind

Sometimes someone asks you something, or you read or watch or encounter something that sticks with you; that makes you think and think and makes you uncomfortable in a way that can only, ultimately, be good.

This is one of those things.

A co-worker of mine asked what I thought about the idea of being set up with one of his friends.

"He's a great, good looking guy" he said. And then he paused, "And I know how this sounds,and I wouldn't have brought him up if he wasn't such a great guy, but, well, he's in a wheelchair."

We talked about it, openly and frankly, my co-worker and I and I think he's not going to pursue it further, but it was one of those moments when I knew what my gut reaction was, but wasn't sure I liked it. And we sort of let it go without a definite answer either way.

I think if I met someone naturally, without being set up, who was in a wheelchair, and I was attracted to them I'd probably pursue it. I'd just never thought about it before and the whole thing's still on my mind.

I don't really know what to think.

Wowed

I keep meaning to tell you about something that happened last weekend.

I was leaving my Mom and Dad's place when I saw something along the side of the road. I glanced over and saw that it was an owl. Now I don't know much about owls, so all I can tell you is that it was pale, but I don't think it was white (but it might have been) and it had a round face and was a little darker on its wings. Anyway, I saw this owl and gasped. Don't see them much, but there's something about them that's so majestic.

So as I started to pull over, the owl flew up onto a nearby bus stop.

So I pulled up, slowly, under the bus stop and got out of my car.

And I stood there, and he looked at me. And I looked at him. It was amazing. I just stood there staring at him for a while and he looked me over, seemed to think I was harmless but interesting and he kept staring back at me.

I don't know if he's used to people, or if the fact that I was wearing all black and it was dark out made any difference or what, but we stood there like that until another car came by and scared him away.

It was this majestic, magical experience for me and I feel really lucky to have locked eyes with and seen that owl up close out in the world.

It's hard to put into words how moving the experience was, but that's ok, I'll remember the feeling even if I can't write it down exactly.

It was beautiful.

I Do Not Like It, Sam I Am

I've heard other people talking on their blogs before about giving something up for Lent (which, here is a link to explain what Lent is if you're someone like me who didn't know) even though they weren't doing it for religious reasons.

I always kind of admired them, thinking that they were being strong, challenging themselves to give something up for forty-something days even though they didn't really *have* to.

So I decided to try it myself this year and I decided to give up chocolate since, lately, a couple of people have joked that I'm something of a choc-o-holic and I haven't been able to convince myself that they're wrong.

So, I haven't had chocolate for six days now.

And, unfortunately? I don't like it. I really don't like it.

Which may mean I have a problem. But that's not the point right now. The point right now is that this has felt like, in some moments, a very long six days. I had no idea how many times I think about wanting to eat chocolate.

I want my Mommy!

Still Smiling

Last Monday, one of my co-spy-workers came in and said that he'd taken a day trip over to Vancouver to look around and be part of the Olympic spirit. He said it was a pretty awesome experience just to be downtown with so many people and to see what an event of such magnitude looks like in person.

So I decided to do the same thing this weekend. Kind of mulled it over all week, and then decided it would be worth it to go. And let me tell you, I'm really glad I did!

No, I didn't get in to see any events (I wish I'd thought ahead enough to try for that though after having been over there) but I got to be part of it all. The people. So many people! Proud Canadians in their Canada gear everywhere. Proud visitors from other countries wearing flags and hats and jackets and carrying flags from their homeland. Athletes and officials taking a few hours to look around, stopping and smiling for photos. People smiling, laughing, wandering wide-eyed through downtown Vancouver. Young and old shouting for joy as they zip-lined across Robson square. Streets closed to vehicle traffic, police at every intersection making sure the pedestrians were crossing safely. Going on the seabus and talking to people from Germany, and talking to locals who told me the best place to go to get sunset pictures. Everyone talking about how well everything was running and how amazing it all is.

Seeing the Olympic cauldron and the Olympic flame, knowing what it represents and where it's been and how long it's been holding the Olympic spirit.

I don't know, it was just awesome. All of it. To be part of a huge group of people who are all celebrating. All joining together to be a part of something bigger. And I know nothing like this is ever perfect and I know some people are unhappy with things and I know there has been sadness, but I was in a host city during the Olympics. I saw it. I felt it. I smiled my way through the day. And I'm still smiling.

Y'all? It was cool. Really cool. I'm glad I did it. For anyone who lives close to a city that's hosting the Olympics in the future? My advice is go. Try to get tickets to an event, but if you can't, go anyway. Be part of it. See what it's like. Drink in the spirit and energy of the world visiting your home. It's amazing.

Once in a lifetime for sure.

Go, Canada, Go!

The Latest

Coles Notes Version For Those Who Need To Catch Up Before The Post Begins: I had stomach pains, they tested for Celiac disease, they said I had it, they said I didn't, they said I did. The end.

Or eeeeees it?

Was back at the specialist last month and he's not sure.

Nothing's definitive, which is what you want in medicine. A clear black or white answer. Mine is very grey. Unclear shades of grey apparently.

So, here's the good news. For the next couple of months I can eat whatever I want. In fact, I *have* to eat gluten. Lots of it. To see if we can force my body to react to it. Which, so far (knock on wood) it hasn't.

Which may or may not mean anything.

(Lost yet?)

All I know is that I'm enjoying the freedom while I have it.

Do you have any idea how good cupcakes taste? (Thanks to S for that reminder)

So, yeah, I'm on a so-called gluten challenge.

Gluten? Hear me, the gauntlet has been thrown, the challenge is on!

I feel like a mix between a swashbuckler and someone in a race.

A race to eat as much gluten containing yummy food as I can while I can.

You know, just in case.

It Wasn't Even That Hard

Those of you who have been around these here parts from the beginning may have to pick your jaws up off the floor but I actually spoke to an attractive man the other day. All by myself. On purpose.

Not only that, but I went up to him and thanked him for making my and my co-worker's lunch hour. (I'd been caught staring at him a few times, felt like I had to say something.)

And then I told him we both thought he was really cute.

And I smiled and walked away.

I could hardly believe I'd done it but as I said to my co-worker as we left, I have to grow balls sometime, may as well be now.

Hrm. . .

So I've passed the 40 days line I set myself in my non-resolution of the new year. It's interesting, that's for sure and it gives me something to focus my day on.

I'm just not sure it's a great thing. It certainly hasn't yet become what I'd hoped it would be.

I'd hoped it would be a means to force myself to take beautiful, amazing, stunning photos every day. It hasn't.

Sure, I take photos every day, and some mornings I've even woken up worried about when I'd find the time to take my photo for the day. See, I don't like taking photos inside my house because that usually means I've missed the natural light of the day and that sucks.

So when I wake up knowing that I'm already committed for the day to work and appointments and that I won't be able to find the time to whip the camera out until after dark I feel pressured, panicky. And that shouldn't really be happening.

Sure, I've taken some photos that I love. Photos that weren't taken this time last year; photos that wouldn't have been taken had I not been pushing myself to get out and take them and that's great.

But I'm not enjoying it exactly. I'm spending more time than I'd like worrying about when and where, when I'd really rather just have my camera ready for the times that work.

And that in itself is a positive change. Now on my way to work, I don't just carry my gym bag, I also carry my camera, that's good.

There are also days when the photos I take are not ones I love, and then I have to choose the one I dislike the least to post and that also sucks.

And there are days when I wish instead of posting a photo I'm not proud of, I could post a photo from another day; from one of those days when I took twenty, thirty photos I loved.

But I don't want to lie.

So I'm battling being ok with taking photos I don't like. And I'm battling with worrying about taking photos. Maybe that's all part of the process. I don't know. It's just one of the hard things about flickr; when I look around it seems like everyone else takes a stunning photo every day.

And I know that's an exaggeration, but that's what it feels like.

So I'm still trying to figure out what I'm doing and why. I guess I'm trying to adapt. I just wish I had a go-to "it's dark and I need to take a photo inside" photo or something. Or I wish I'd let myself cheat. Or not post every day. Or something.

I dunno.

Maybe I'm just too hard on myself.

Or maybe I just need to expect less.

But that sucks too.

Tell me what to do? Tell me what to think?

Or something.

Q is for Quips

When I was out with my friend the other weekend (she who would like to be called C-Dawg, but I'm pretending I've forgotten) I had to write down some of the hilarious things she said because I knew I'd never remember them if I didn't.

Like, when some very blonde ladies walked past us on their way to the washroom she mumbled that "I don't use that much bleach on my bathtub."

Or when we ordered some mini-burgers at the end of our evening she very astutely pointed out that "those are big mini-burgers," which indeed they were, and the fact that we'd had a few drinks made this observation even funnier.

There was also the moment when a group of scantily clad gals wandered into the casual/mellow bar we ended up at that she paused for a moment, looking them over and then proclaimed that "I think most of those girls' outfits have less fabric than my underwear."

It's even funnier because she's not being mean, she's just calling it like it is. And she doesn't try to be funny. She just is.

Even when we're both sober.

I've got great friends.

Even if they do pick out weird names for themselves.

Now, The Apology Done, Applause Can Begin

This is a post that has been somehow stuck in my head for a while with no clear way out, and even now it's not making any more sense as I type it out.

This photo blows my mind, I absolutely love it, and I chose it because it somehow fits the mood of the thought stuck in my head. And the title I gave this photo is from one of my favourite Tragically Hip songs.

And the title for this post is from another.

I'm not sure what that has to do with anything, it's just true.

If I really felt it was worth it, I'd call up a guy I've hung out with a couple of times and I'd tell him that I never said no, I just didn't say yes.

And, no, I'm not talking about sleeping with him, that was never broached. He'd asked if I was interested in a relationship or if it was just a friendship situation.

I said I didn't know, that I wasn't sure yet, that it was too soon to say one way or another for sure.

And I can see how that would be taken as a polite "no." But I really meant it. I just wasn't sure. Am not sure.

I didn't say no, I just didn't say yes.

Well

That was quite the weekend, no? What with the Valentines day (the first in memory I really wasn't disappointed as I didn't have even the slightest expectations or hopes) and Chinese New Year and the Olympics beginning and it seemed like so much going on, too much to fit into one tiny weekend.

I really think BC needs to adopt Family Day and quick. February is a long month without a stat. Even though it's a short month. Haven't had a break since Jan 1st. Won't have a break til April. Doesn't that seem overly long? (Have my sad puppy dog eyes worked yet? Do I get today off? No? What if I bat my eyelashes too?)

I don't want to talk much about the Olympics, what with its controversy and the tragedy from Friday and all, I'll just say this; I was incredibly moved by the opening ceremonies and I really enjoyed them. And I'm very proud to see the eyes of the world looking at my beautiful home town and home province.

In case you missed it, let me share with you the words of Canadian slam poet Shane Koyczan who was asked to read his poem, "We Are More." I thought it was perfect. Well said Shane, and well read. We are indeed more. And happily so.

We Are More
by Shane Koyczan

Define Canada
You might say the home of the Rocket
Or The Great One
Who inspired little No. 9s and little No. 99s
But we're more than just hockey and fishing lines
Off of the rocky coast of the Maritimes
And some say what defines us
Is something as simple as 'please' and 'thank you'
And as for 'you're welcome,' well, we say that, too.
But we are more than genteel or civilized
We are an idea in the process of being realized
We are young, we are cultures strung together then woven into a tapestry
And the design is what makes us more than the sum totals of our history
We are an experiment going right for a change
With influences that range from A to Zed
And yes, we say 'Zed' instead of 'Zee'
We are the brightness of Chinatown and the laughter of Little Italy
We dream so big that there are those
Who would call our ambition an industry
We reforest what we clear
Because we believe in generations beyond our own
Knowing now that so many of us
Have grown past what we used to be
We can stand here today
Filled with all the hope people have
When they say things like 'someday'
Because we are more
Than a laundry list of things to do and places to see
More than hills to ski
Or countryside ponds to skate
We are the abandoned hesitation of all those who can't wait
We are first-rate greasy spoon diners and healthy living cafes
A country that is all the ways you choose to live
A nation that can give you variety
Because we are choices
We are millions upon millions of voices
Shouting, "Keep exploring!"
We are more
We are the surprise the world has in store for you, it's true
Canada is the "what" in "what's new?"
So don't let your luggage define your travels
Each life unravels differently
And experiences are what make up
The colours of our tapestry
We are the true North
Strong and free
And what's more
Is that we didn't just say it
We made it be

I Choo Choo Choose You!

It kind of snuck up on me this year

(thank goodness!)

so will you all be my Valentine?

Also, Gung Hay Fat Choi!

Well, We Can't All Be Smart All The Time

So you know how a lot of stores have those automatic doors where when you walk towards them they have a sensor and so they open automatically for you?

Yeah.

So I was heading into Thrifty's last week and as I approached the doors alongside an older gentleman I noticed the doors weren't opening.

There was this strange moment when we both got to the doors and they still didn't open and I didn't know what to do. My brain could not compute that the doors that always always just magically open for me weren't opening.

I turned to the guy and said "Wow, I guess we don't exist!"

He laughed and pushed the doors opened for us, which is good, because I'm not sure I knew how I was going to get into the store without the magic automatic doors' help.

And then I could stop giggling at how odd it had felt to have the doors *not* open.

And at the fact that I really hadn't known how I was going to get into the store.

I wonder how long I would have stood there just hoping they'd open?

But don't worry, I went to another Thrifty's today and I exist again.

It's all good.

And I'm Not Talking About Cucumber Sandwiches

OK, this is awkward but true; I've never used a cucumber for anything other than food.

In fact, I don't even really like cucumbers. They make me burp, to be quite honest.

But I was picking up ingredients for a new recipe yesterday and it called for two medium sized cucumbers and for the life of me I just couldn't buy them.

All I could think was that every one in the produce section was giggling behind their backs at the single girl buying cucumbers for "you know what" reasons. Not that anyone was even noticing.

Do people really .... you know, do that? Or is it just urban legend?

Am I unable to buy cucumbers due to an urban legend/myth?

And, yes, I'm almost as awkward buying condoms.

(Not that I need to buy any, Mom. They're for a friend. I'm still saving myself for marriage.)

Nooooooooo

I had a terrible terrible wakeup the other morning.

Terrible.

I was right in the middle of a very good, very intense, very realistic (if you know what I mean) dream about making out with John Mayer.*

A very very good dream about making out with John Mayer.

But right before we got to the really good stuff. . . my alarm went off.

Nooooooooo!



*No, I'm not really sure why it was John Mayer.

Hey

Do you know what's really weird?

Opening up a local magazine and finding a picture of your Ex in it.




Edited to add: Not the ex I just spent a week talking about, that would be weird. (Thought I should clarify, just in case someone thought so.)

A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes When You're Fast Asleep

I ran across a really cute guy a couple of weekends ago and before I knew it, I'd made up our "happily ever after" story in my head complete with what our first fight would be about and all the way to how and when he'd propose and just what a wonderful husband he'd be.

And before you think I've lost my mind, I always do that and so do most of my girlfriends. Maybe it's a girl thing, I don't know, but it's fun to imagine what your relationship could be like with an attractive stranger.

There's a thin line, however, between enjoying the fantasy as a happy fictional story you've made up and hoping it'll actually happen. Because when you get your hopes up too much it can really hurt.

Even getting your hopes up a little can hurt.

Like, let's say you gave this cute guy your number and hoped he would call? When he didn't, as much as you'd tell yourself you're still awesome and hot, you'd still be a little bit hurt that he didn't and you'd probably wish you hadn't gotten your hopes up.

Inside Thoughts

The world I live in inside my head is pretty darn hilarious most of the time. And many of my closest friends appreciate my slightly silly sense of humour.

I have to remind myself, however, that my "tee hee, that was funny" in my head doesn't always translate well out in the real world.

A good example of this?

I made a funny (to me) joke in the store the other day about some toasters I was looking at. I asked the guy who worked there if he "knew these toasters." He said no, so I started laughing (because it was already funny in my head) and said "so you don't know their names or anything?"* Because, you see, in my head I was thinking "you don't know their names" as in, Bob, or Steve or Marjory or something like each toaster was an individual person with names and home phone numbers and see how funny it is in my head?!

I could tell I shouldn't have said anything by the look I was getting from the guy. And then I realized that all the toasters had names printed on their boxes and that dude was thinking "why would I need to learn their brand names when you can just look on the box and see them?"

So, I have to remind myself that sometimes what's funny inside my head is *only* funny inside my head.

Ahem.



*See, even now I'm chuckling again at it even though I know most of you will be going "Huh?" Heh. Heh.

So I Did

So I left. Told him I couldn't afford to pay rent anymore and wouldn't move in with smokers. And I still felt guilty somehow.

We both moved out, to our separate places, him in with his buddies, me back with my folks.

I was devastated.

I'd given so much of myself to him for so long and this was how it'd ended.

I never wanted to be in another relationship again. I never wanted to be intimate with someone again. I never wanted to even consider falling in love again.

I don't remember how it ended, exactly. I remember going over to his place a time or two, always leaving stinking like cigarettes and feeling worse for wear. I don't remember anymore if we called it quits or if I told him it was over or if it just faded painfully away. I don't remember and it's funny that I don't.

But, it did, eventually end. And I did, eventually, move on, and I guess he did too.

I didn't keep in touch, obviously, and I don't know where he is or how he is. I used to Google search for his name, hoping for his sake that he did make it in the music industry. Jeff was a beautiful, talented musician. That much is true. I should be able to end this story by telling you how I lost my virginity to that famous musician you hear on the radio, but I can't. And that's a loss. I'm not being dramatic when I say I just hope he's alive and well, but that in my heart I'm not sure he's either.

I hurt for a long time over that relationship.

I hurt for longer over the way I gave myself up for something that wasn't giving anything back to me.

I think it, honestly, took me years to get over the ways I twisted myself up and into paying back the guilt I felt over one reckless evening with an old flame the summer after I'd met Jeff. I can look back now and know the lessons I've learned.

I just sometimes wish I'd been able to learn them an easier way.

And, that, my friends, is the condensed version of what happened to my first serious boyfriend.

Thanks for asking, The One in the Back. Hope that answers the "500 lb gorilla in the room" question.

Endings

One of the first things I did after finding Jeff and his (coughcoughyeahIcallbullshitcough) friend together in his bed was call up one of my close friends to go out for coffee. I hadn't seen her all school year, a fact she was kind enough not to mention when I called.

When I told her what had happened and what was going on, she said the words that would change my life. "That sound like an abusive relationship to me."

"Abusive"

It echoed around in my brain and I knew she was right.

How had I not seen it earlier? When had this happened? How had I not noticed?

And, more to the point, how lucky was I to have a girlfriend who was able to gently show me what I'd been unable unwilling to see?

It took me a while to leave, as twisted up as I was in Jeff and whatever tatters of the relationship I thought remained. And ironically, I wasn't able to tell him I wanted out until he told me he wanted us to move in with his friends, all of whom smoked.

I've never liked smokers. I can't be around cigarette smoke. I won't date someone who smokes. That Jeff would move us to a house full of smokers was the last straw. The voice in my head wasn't quiet any more. It was loud.

Shouting.

Get.

Out.

Now.

So I did.






To be continued . . .

Worse and Worse

Probably, if you'd asked him, Jeff had completely forgotten that I'd been unfaithful to him, once. Maybe he hadn't thought of it as being unfaithful. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd done the same with his ex and just never told me. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But I hadn't forgotten. It was stuck in my mind like a festering sliver. Throbbing away so painfully, but so deep under the skin you can't see it.

I knew I was unhappy, but I also knew I had to stay.

I just didn't, consciously know why.

I was still going to school and working evenings and weekends. Jeff got a part time job bussing tables in the evening, but his money went to buying gear. Amps, better guitars, alcohol, illegal substances I turned a blind eye to, but would be spoken to by the landlord about. So I covered for him. With landlords and workplaces and soon I was paying our rent, buying our groceries.

I didn't mind in some ways, because he was a genuinely talented musician and I believed he could make it.

And I loved him.

Didn't I?

I took out a student loan, the first and last I'd ever take out, to help with costs and I kept telling myself he was "the One" and that all this hardship was worth it. You can convince yourself of that sometimes when you're in a really really dark place. You can convince yourself of that sometimes when your relationship is killing your spirit. There's that whole teenage grunge angst thing that makes you feel like you're really really part of it all. Like you "get" it.

I was twenty, living on my own with my hot, musician boyfriend. I was holding down a job and University.

Why did I hate my life so much?

I probably could have ignored things with Jeff for a lot longer, but then he started sleeping on his own.

He put a mattress down in the living room and told me that his late shifts at the restaurant were so tiring he needed the sleep to himself.

He started putting me down while we were making love, pointing out the things I was doing wrong. Something in the back of my head started telling me, very quietly, that this wasn't ok. This wasn't right.

Someone who loves you *wants* to share a bed with you, no matter how tired they are. Someone who loves you appreciates you while you're being intimate, loves sleeping with you, enjoys your company. This wasn't right.

But I felt like I had no real proof, that maybe the voice in my head was wrong.

And then one night he had some friends over. I headed to bed while they were still up because I had to work in the morning. You know, to pay our rent.

When I got up to catch the bus for work the next morning, I found him cuddled up on his mattress with a girl. One of the girls had stayed over, and apparently his arms were the only place she could find to sleep.

"Nothing happened," they assured me. "Look, she's still wearing all her clothes."

But I finally agreed with the quiet voice in my head. It was over.

Now I just had to figure out how to get out.



To be continued . . .

The Twisting Began

I wasn't exactly sure how, but suddenly my fun trip back home to see friends had turned into an awful mistake and I wanted to make it right.

I took an early ferry back to Victoria and called Jeff that night.

I can almost remember the entire conversation we had, the words I used, how I tried to explain that I knew I'd hurt him and that I was very sorry.

He didn't say anything. His end of the line was very quiet. I must have asked him what he was thinking, but I don't remember his answer.

Had I been more mature, well, that's a moot point, really, but maybe if I'd had more confidence and trust in myself I'd just have ended things there.

But I didn't. We didn't.

We didn't talk about it again, the fact that I'd slept with someone else while we were maybe possibly still in a relationship, but in my mind I'd cheated on him. And the guilt was horrendous. I'd have done anything for him. Anything to try to erase the guilt I felt. Anything to make up for what I felt I'd done.

twist, twist, twist

Much of the summer is a blur, and soon enough it was September again and he was back in Victoria and we were together.

I twisted my life around to be with him. Took classes he was taking to spend more time with him. Hung around with his friends, not mine, just to be around him.

I felt like I owed him. That I'd done this horrible thing to him and now needed to give him all of myself.

Things got rough at home (my folks had retired and moved over to Victoria) and my parents didn't approve of the relationship.

Which sent me even deeper into Jeff's arms. And life. Forbidden fruit. He seemed like a saviour to me then. I think we both fed off the drama. We were beyond Romeo and Juliet, we were modern day nineteen year olds not allowed to see each other. Irresistible. Utterly.

We snuck around. We did whatever it took to see each other.

twist, twist, twist

Jeff quit school. Dropped out of the music program. Changed instruments and set his path on becoming a rock and roll guitarist.

Boy had talent. Potential. A darkness inside him that was growing moodier. But he also had my heart.

So we moved in together.

Very much against the wishes of my parents.

What did my friends think?

I don't know. I didn't talk to them or see them anymore.

Jeff had become the centre of my everything. I owed him that.

I was all twisted up already.




To be continued . . .

And Then

So summer came, and Jeff headed back to his home town to work and save and I stayed in Victoria to do the same.

We lived a ferry ride and five hour drive from each other so travelling to see each other wasn't an option.

We hadn't really talked about what a summer apart meant and we'd never taken the time to define our relationship (who does at that age?) so I didn't know if we were boyfriend girlfriend or if we were just two people who'd slept together and then been cruelly split up by fate or what.

I went home for a week that summer, to see friends and have some fun and it was a fun week. I was legal drinking age for the first time in my home town and was able to walk into a liquor store and purchase alcohol. Oh, the power. The freedom. The coolers!

I was staying with a girlfriend for a couple of nights and we went out with her and her boyfriend. I'd introduced the two of them and had also dated his best friend for a month or two before leaving for university.

It was great to see him again, and all the feelings I'd had for him came rushing back and in one of the most romantic evenings of my young life one thing lead to another and we slept together.

My girlfriend, the next morning, asked me the obvious question: "What about Jeff?"

I didn't know.

Had I cheated? It felt like I had, but we weren't even together, were we? No promises had been made, he rarely called me, this was an old flame of mine and things had just happened that should have happened before I went away, and it shouldn't be that big a deal.

So why did I feel so guilty?

I didn't know, I just knew I'd screwed up and I had to get home. I had to talk to him. Somehow if I told him, it would all be ok.




To be continued . . .

Oh What A Difference

I had such a better weekend this weekend you guys.

Such.

There's good news and bad news out of it, though.

The good great news is that C and I went out on Friday and had an absolute blast. The stories I have to tell will last for weeks. It was an awesome, epic, seriously fun night. And well needed. And deserved by both of us.

It's very usual for me to crack up laughing while hanging out with C, and Friday was no exception. In fact, near the end of the evening I asked her if she had a pen so I could write down and therefore remember her hilarities.

And here's where the bad news comes in:

C would from now on, like to be referred to on this blog as "C-Dawg".

I'm hoping she was just really drunk and didn't mean it, but I think she might.

I'll have to call her and ask.

I'm just scared of the answer.

Oh well, at least I have two sides of an envelope's worth of funny stories to tell you.

Hope you had a great weekend too.

Fast Forward

The details are fuzzy of what happened with Jeff and I after our first kiss, but I do remember some things.

It was near the end of the school year, so it felt like we only had the shortest of time together before we had to move out of residence and back to our very far from each other hometowns for the summer. That feeling of being limited by time made everything more intense.

We spent all our non-class time together, he stayed in my room most nights. Jeff was a music student and that was intense too. He was working hard, studying and practicing for his finals. (The name of which I can't quite remember, "adjudication" possibly?) And he was talented. Jeff was a pianist, and it was amazing.

I'd never seen anyone with a gift like that, anyone with that amount of talent and dedication and focus and it was beautiful.

He liked to read, he was smart, he seemed worldly to me, and he had something about him I wanted to save or help or rescue or take care of or pull out of him. He wasn't loud like so many of the nineteen year old loudmouths that populate Universities.

It was all very much driven by feelings and the drama of knowing we had limited time together. Jeff wasn't the first person I'd kissed, but he was the first person I slept with. It wasn't the thing dreams are made of, but it was what it was. And in that moment it was everything to me.

I think maybe being eighteen is all about drama and lust and hormones and intensity and drama and the angst of just everything. So take that and mix it in with the heady freedom of living in residence and my first time and who Jeff was and it was romance novel perfect.

And then the term ended.




To be continued . . .

Hrm

I've discovered,that my old posts that had music clips in them no longer have music clips in them, rather just have these ads for what used to be where I played music clips from but is now something else.

Which means I have to (ok, no I don't *have* to, I want to) go back and find and fix them all. Not sure how to fix them yet, but I'll figure something out.

Grumblegrumblechangeisbadgrumble.


Updated to add: I think I got em. (Just can't be sure I got all of them right)

When You Never See It Coming

I went away for University. Not far, but away.

I'd been accepted to a few places, good places, but I decided to go to the school that was holding a spot in residence for me. UVic.

My first time away from home for real, not just summer camp an hour's drive away, or a camping trip for the weekend, but a whole ferry trip away from parental influence and curfews and someone watching to make sure I was being safe and good and oh the freedom!

I don't remember the exact moment or way I first met Jeff; he was the friend of a guy from another building that one of my friend's friends were dating. You know how it works, six degrees of separation but all one big hormonally driven group. Everyone knows everyone but no one's really sure how.

Jeff was this strange mixture of dark and brooding but hopeful and shy. I remember when we first started hanging out, he'd lean against me but with barely half of his weight. It was like he didn't want to impose himself on me even when he wanted to be close.

He was quiet, but sweet, and for whatever reasons I was drawn to him. Moth to flame-like.

I actually hooked up with his friend first, in a beer fuelled evening that still boggles my mind because we both really disliked each other. Maybe there is some truth to that whole love/hate sexual attraction thing. I don't think Jeff was around that night, and I certainly never mentioned it to him, but making out with his friend made it clear I had to be a little more bold with Jeff if I wanted him to know I liked him.

So, I kissed him.

As I said in that post : It was back in first year university and I'd had a crush on this guy {who we now know is Jeff} for a while. One night, a few weeks into our attempts at flirting (or whatever it is you do when you're young and ignorant / innocent) we were all heading back to our residences and were hanging outside my building. Someone started talking about finding the right person and this guy mentioned how he'd heard people say you had to kiss a lot of frogs before you found your prince.

I looked over at him and he was sitting on top of a garbage can and something about the light, he just looked so vulnerable and like he figured he wasn't anybody's prince, more like an ugly frog. And I leaned over and mumbled something about how he looked like a prince to me and I kissed him. It was really sweet.

And that was our first kiss.

First time I'd ever done that, kissed the guy first.

Guess I should have done it sooner, because before you knew it, we were an "us".




To be continued. . .

Awwwww

I got this nice email today from a lady called Olga:

Good day, I accidentally found a letter from you, I remember how we communicated with you.
You were so hot, let's talk again - drop me to the page - I'll wait for my very sweet!

I don't actually know who she is, but it's a nice change from the email offers I keep getting for 80% off Viagra!

Thanks Olga. I'm sure you were so hot too. I'll drop you to the page tomorrow,ok? Good day!

Twenty Six Days In

I'm still feeling bruised and battered from this weekend, but since forward is the best way to move, that's what I'm doing. Step, step, step. Onward.

John Mayer's helping. I bought his new album with an iTunes gift card and it fits my state of mind perfectly while still making me feel just a little bit better each time I hear it.

Did you know we're twenty six days into the new year / January / the decade?

I've managed, so far, to take a photo every day. I don't love all of them. I don't always love doing it, but so far it's resulted in a few great photos I wouldn't have taken had I not been out there with my camera. So, that's good, I guess.

Another interesting side-effect (?) is that on the days I get a photo I love, I end up with a bunch of others that I really really liked. So that's good.

I just thought about something, with regards to the music. I think part of it is that the music's good, but I also, as I'm sitting here typing and listening, think it's that putting on the music forces the part of my brain that rehashes the situation to focus on something else; the lyrics the tune, the harmonies, the instruments.

But, anyway, twenty six days in. The things I said I'd commit to daily, I've done every day so far. Forty days to make a habit? Guess I'm more than half-way there.

How's your January going?

Unfortunately

I got emotionally slapped around this weekend in a completely unexpected way. (Isn't it always that way?) Which is really unfortunate, because it should have been was a great weekend and this one thing is eclipsing all of that.

Ordinarily I wouldn't mention it, would just wait for it to blow over or to hurt less, but right now, it's occupying all of my thoughts and is heavy heavy heavy on me like the lead blankets you wear for dental X-rays.

My instinct right now is to never ever ever let anyone in to my life ever again. To never have friends any closer than outside of my safety bubble. And that's a sucky way to feel. So I guess I'll just curl up like a hedgehog or something until it feels safe again.

Things like this make it feel easier to be alone and lonely. At least then you feel like you're in control of the hurt.

I hate that this has turned everything into something it's not. Hopefully the eclipse will pass.

Soon.

Send me a hug, would you?

Regarding That

About a month ago, I wrote a post that mentioned a former boyfriend of mine.

The One in The Back posted this comment:
"I guess I'll be the one to ask the "500-lb Gorilla in the room" question...
What happened?"

And I said I guessed that was something I'd have to post about.

And because these things often feel big until you start, let me start.

His name was Jeff. I gave up so much for him. I don't know where he is anymore. My life twisted around him for years. The twisting didn't leave me for years. There's a lot to the story, I suppose. But today I'm just starting.

His name was Jeff.

Ahhhhh

I'm writing this last night, well, actually I'm writing this right now, but by the time this post posts, I'll have written it last night, does that make sense out there because it makes sense in here (taps self on head.)

I'm writing this to remind myself at some future point how good I feel right now.

I've been out for a walk in the fresh, cold, air. I've exercised, pushed my body a little bit, gotten my heart rate up, felt the wind on my cheeks.

Then, I came home, all cold and fresh blown and I had a shower. A nice hot one.

And now I'm sitting, all wrapped up cozy and happy and I feel like a million bucks. I feel so good. And I want to remember that I feel good.

So I'm writing this last night.

Which is now. (But not the now of you reading this.)

And I feel good.

Uncomfortable To Say

I've never dated outside of my race.

Not on purpose, certainly not on purpose, but I just haven't.

What's interesting, though, is that I feel guilty saying this.

I have a girlfriend, however, of a different race, who has only ever dated men of her race; her colour. For her, she just wouldn't date outside of her colour, race and religion. And I wonder why it was easy for her to say this when it's not something I'd be able to say without feeling like an evil racist.

Is it because it was more religiously based than anything?

I feel terribly uncomfortable even talking about this. And when I feel uncomfortable talking about something, it usually means some of you do too.

And then, I usually end up feeling better.

Tap. . .Tap . . . Is This Thing On?

Do any of the rest of you who blog have this problem?

I've got a ton to talk about and a ton to say, but as soon as I sit down to write it out, it all seems to disappear.

Like, I may have a super conversation going on in my head but it's in the middle of a work day or when I'm in the shower or out for a walk or getting groceries and when I get home and sit down to write, my mind goes blank. Or, more to the point, it twists its head to the side like dogs do and goes "Huh?" all cute and innocent and sigh.

Anybody else know what I'm talking about?

Perception

We all judge people. Make judgements about them, when we first see them based on how they look, what they're wearing, what they're doing.

I'm not talking about the type of judgement that has a person believing they understand that person's worth, just that initial summarization of the person we make upon first glance.

The reason I'm thinking about this is because of something that happened when I was out for a walk this weekend.

The part of town I live is near enough to downtown that there are often people who'll walk around going through garbage cans and recycling bins looking for refundable containers. They'll then take them to a Bottle Depot and get some money.

There's an older man I've seen around a few times collecting and I saw him when I was out on my walk.

Now I'd always just assumed that he was one of the many homeless we have here in Victoria and that he was collecting cans and bottles for money to help him survive or to help him get what he needs.

As I walked further down the street, however, I could see him taking his big bag towards a car. As I got closer, I watched him take the bag and load it into an already full trunk. The trunk of a BMW.

So my assumption, based on having seen this man out and about collecting recyclables from garbage bins was that he was homeless.

He may be homeless, but he at least has a car. An expensive car.

It kind of blew my mind.

Because then I realized that I couldn't assume he was rich just because he had a BMW.

Maybe it was a gift.

Maybe it was all he had left.

Or, maybe, he's a very rich man and keeps on getting richer by going around and picking up recyclables that other people are throwing away.

Who knows.

It's just a good reminder to me that we never, ever, know anything about someone just from looking.

Please

I didn't talk about it here last week, because it wasn't something I was able to write about, but I talked about it a little on flickr and now I'm going to talk about it just this once, here.

The earthquake in Haiti. It has hurt my heart and reminded me that I too live in an earthquake zone, and my life may also, all of a sudden change. Drastically. Any moment.

It's not the fear and disaster I want to talk about though, it's the help that is being sent, the hope that is there. There's this quote from Mr Rogers that I saw last week that's been a comfort to me:

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping."
— Fred Rogers

And here's where I turn to you. You see, it's my birthday somewhere around here. And what I'd like you to do is give me a birthday present. Well, not me, exactly, but you'll see what I mean.

If you'd like to, I'd ask that you donate an amount of money equivalent to how old you think I am to one of the many relief organizations that are supporting Haiti at the moment. If you're Canadian, know that our government has pledged to match donations, so you'd be doubling your amount instantly. There are organizations aimed at supporting the children of Haiti through this, organizations devoted to sending clean water, organizations sending doctors, the list goes on.

I know you don't know my age, and right now I'd love to tell you I'm 100 years old if that would make you smile and encourage you to donate that amount.

If you can't donate money, then send your love. And love your people. Your family, friends, children, partners, co-workers. Love them. Hug them. And then go home and enjoy the comforts of your home.

We really are lucky.

Now's a time to spread and share our luck.

Final word? Thanks for being part of my life.
You all are awesome.
Stay happy, healthy and safe.

Love,
Victoria

But If You Try Sometimes You Just Might Find

I know myself well enough to know that five years ago, I wouldn't have been able to say what I'm about to say, so for that alone I applaud myself mightily. Good job me.

I'm an attractive woman.

As I said above, I haven't always believed so, and this has been, I'm sure, one of the reasons I've been single more than not.

But, now I know I'm attractive, and I also find that I don't have the time and energy I used to.

How are these things related?

Well, the way I see it, had I known I was good looking when I was still in University, I would have possibly, probably, gone out more. I would MOST DEFINITELY have flirted more. And I would have been more confident. Would have said yes more. Would have expected more for myself. Would have allowed myself to be treated better.

Theoretically, these things would have landed me married.

Or not.

But, now, I'm not in the clubbing scene. I'm not out with a group of single girlfriends looking to pick up guys. My girlfriends are all married now. Some of them are having kids. We all have jobs. Careers. We don't go out and live it up any more. Or, when we do, we're home in time for them to kiss their babies goodnight.

On top of that, I spent some time in the last couple of months really coming to terms with the fact that I don't get out much.

I really don't. And it's not a bad thing, I like my time to myself and I, a few years ago made a promise to myself that I'd live by myself before I got married just to prove to myself that I could do it.

And I can.

But that's not my point.

My point is that I'm an attractive woman. I'm funny and nice and smart and I have a good job (even though it's a top secret spy job that I can't talk about) and I'm a good person. I'm a good catch.

So why haven't I been caught?

Well, I used to think it was something bad about me.

Now I realize it's because I'm not out there.

I'm not even in the friggin pond, never mind the ocean or wherever it is you're supposed to go to get caught. When you're a good catch. Um, is this metaphor running away with itself? Yes, yes it is!

So that's one of my non-resolutions for this year. I'm going to get out.

I don't know what that looks like, I just know I have to be out of my workplace (there are no single spies, I swear) and out of my apartment (there are no single men living in my apartment, trust me I've checked all the closets and cupboards) because neither of those places have worked for me.

I don't necessarily think it means I'm going to be going out clubbing again or to bars or pubs or wherever it is one goes, I just know if I'm going to meet someone, I actually have to be out.

You know, living.

And, no, I don't know exactly how that's going to work.

But I'm going to give it a shot anyway.

If I don't meet anyone by getting out of the house, at least I'm getting out of the house.

Ain't nothing wrong with that.

2010 Jetsons

My girlfriend and I were talking the other day about how both of our parents now have PVRs.

And about how now both of our parents call us with questions that range from "How do I turn on the tv again?" to "Where do I find the show I recorded again?"

We both thought it was pretty funny until I pointed out that we had no idea of what our kids would be (at some point in the future) making fun of us for not knowing how to use.

Like, "Seriously, my Mom has no idea how the teletransport molecular driver works. She's always calling to ask me how to turn it on!"

Because, really. . .

This technology thing is just. Wow.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

Maybe I want too much.

Maybe you can't have it all.

But maybe you can. And is there anything wrong in aiming for it all?

I want a whirlwind romance. No, whirlwind's not the right word, but I want that time with someone where you're doing things together and enjoying each other's company and where you're going on hikes or walking a dog at the beach or playing a board game with friends and there's laughing and fun and that feeling of just the two of you there getting to know more and more about what you like about each other. And that's where the whirlwind part comes in because it's just like you're caught up in this whirlwind of fun. And you look forward to the phone calls and the special surprises and the time to just hang out.

And I want somebody who is everything. Someone who can, over time, become my best friend. Someone who is kind and gentle and loving and sweet and attractive.

And there's the rub. The thorn currently stuck in my side. The metaphor to represent my feeling of being hobbled.

Because I did meet someone who is nice and kind and sweet and so many of the things I want in a partner, but he's not attractive. I didn't have that feeling of excitement when I thought about seeing him and I just didn't really care.

And it sucked and still sucks because there's part of me that's scared and wants to fight against the voice that's telling me there's something better out there because what if there's not?

What if I can't have it all? What if I have to give up handsome to have kind and sweet and thoughtful and all the rest.

Or what if I can have handsome and life a life of butterflies and lust and whirlwind but he's not that kind or nice or he's ok.

But I want to believe I can have it all.

I really do.

Sigh

I am so totally marrying Coach Eric Taylor.

So totally.

Just FYI.

Let It Not Be Resolved

I stopped doing New Years resolutions a few years ago. Too much pressure. Too much guilt if/when I didn't manage to follow through 100% 24/7.

That doesn't mean I don't love the start of a new year for starting new habits, I do. I love the feeling of a clean slate, the idea that anything is possible, that the year is new and unwritten and you can make it into anything you want.

So while I don't make resolutions any more, I do think about what I want to do with the year and I make goals.

And this year, I also started doing things on the 1st. And I'm going to try doing them every day.

I'm not going to think about HAVING to do them for an entire year, because that will just freak me out. (See: Nablopomo) (Also, I could never have started this blog if I told myself I HAD to post almost every day for the next four years, no way!) And I'm not going to think about how hard it might be to do them every day no matter what, I'm just going to see what happens and do my best. And I won't beat myself up if I don't manage, I'll just celebrate when I do well.

I need to stop talking about this now. I feel like I'm getting all anxious and that wasn't really the point of this post.

Excuse me, must go breathe into a paper bag now.

*Breathing*

OK. So, here's the deal. I'm going to try to take a photo every day. And, no, I can't think about *actually* doing it for 365 days, no no no.

So far it's been ok. I've taken some photos I don't really like and I've taken a couple I do. I think in my head I thought it would be this grand, somewhat romantic, artistic thing, and so far it's been more of a "Hmmm, I have to do this and it's the end of the day, what can I find in my apartment to shoot?" kind of thing and I'm not enjoying it. Not loving it.

But I'll do it for a while, I'll give it the forty or so days they say it takes to make a new habit and I won't be mean to myself. That's the most important part for me. I won't beat myself up about it or at least, I'll work on not doing that.

So, yeah, there you have it. I'm going to try to take a photo every day. Or, more to the point, take a bunch of photos every day and find one good enough to post to flickr. I'm not really sure how it's going to go, and I'm not sure I can do it perfectly, or if I'll even want to keep doing it for 365 days but I'll see how it goes and . . . yeah, we'll see how it goes.

Ok. Back to paper bag breathing for me. Gotta go.

Now, Where Were We?

Ah yes. My cold.

On Thursday, Joel suggested I go get me some Ginger-Lemon-Echinacea juice, heat it up and have a nice hot bath before heading to bed early with fingers crossed for a feeling better morning.

I was feeling absolutely sick and miserable and was willing to overlook my dislike of both ginger and echinacea and try. So I did.

I also called in sick to spy work and slept and rested and rested and slept.

And then I repeated that pattern on Saturday and Sunday.

And do you know what?

It worked!

Well, I don't know what exactly worked, but I think the combination of resting and the healthy juice and the vitamin C and Cold-FX and my body's immune system finally waking up from its three week sleep all got together and kicked some cold virus butt.

I'm just so very glad to be feeling better. Three cheers for that!

So thanks Joel! Your juice isn't something I'd normally have bought and it may just have tipped the scales for my getting better. Woo hooo!

Have a great Monday y'all. I know I will.

Health rocks.

Looking Up

There have been beautiful sunrises and sunsets around here on the non-rainy days.

And even better than that? I've actually been around to see them.

And they're happening further and further apart.

I've actually arrived home before dark a few days this week.

And have driven to work with the sun rising.

It's nice. Longer days. Colourful mornings, colourful evenings.

Things are looking up, daylight wise.

Seriously, It's Slippery!

I kept dropping the soap in the shower last night.

No, I seriously did.

Like five times in a row.

I'd pick it up and it'd all of a sudden be on the bottom of the shower again. Pick it up, fall, pick it up, fall.

It was kind of funny, actually, but what made it funnier was the two thoughts I had while this was happening:

1. I'm glad I'm not in prison right now.

2. I'm totally going to blog this.

See? I'm always thinking of y'all.

You're welcome.

I Still Hab Dis Code

So I seriously can't seem to kick this cold. But I think it's getting better because I'm feeling worse. If that makes sense?

Which is does to me.

Which is possibly an indication of just how mushy my brain is.

Whenever I get a head cold (which is what this has pro/re - gressed to now) I always am very grateful that I don't have allergies. I'd hate to go around all sniffly and runny and blocked up and not having any brain making.

Kind of weird to think it's already been a week of this new year. I still keep going to call it "Oh ten" and then realizing that just doesn't work.

I have stuff to talk about, sticky notes with post reminders (ha, post it notes with post reminders!*) so I won't forget and soon enough my body will kick this cold virus to the curb and I'll be able to sit myself down and write and tell you stuff.

Until then, live well and prosper.

No, I'm not even on any cold meds, this crazy is alllllll natural baby.


*I know, that wasn't funny. But it should have been.

Non

I was thinking the other day about non-words.

You know, words that sound like other words, but actually aren't.

Like,"supposibly"? That's a pretty common one.

And there are "punkins" at Hallowe'en and "sammiches" when you're hungry.

You know, non-words!

What are your favourites?

Weeks in a Year

I think the fact that it's the very very start of a new year (and decade and such) is what made me suddenly see this photo as a time document, a countdown, instead of just a number on a sports jersey.

Time is a weird thing and New Years is a good reminder of that. It's quick. But long. All at the same time.

I am thinking about what I want to do this year, and more to the point, this decade, and it surprises me that I'm not more able to quickly and decisively point to those things. Ideas. Goals. Dreams.

I do know that if there are fifty two weeks in a year, that's really not a lot.

What am I going to do with mine? What are you going to do with yours.

Fifty two.

Well, a little less, really.