Ta ta twenty ten!

I don't believe in New Year's resolutions. If you're going to make a change, why wait for the new year? Like Nike, just do it. That being said, as the calendar comes to an end, I always have the same thoughts in the back of my head. Eat better, exercise more, save money. I never end up following through with anything. We're all thinking of the new year and the possibilities it holds, but few of us act upon it. Instead of looking ahead, today I'm looking back.

2010 was a good year. It didn't start out that way. In fact, it was the worst New Year's so far. I drank too much, embarrassed myself entirely, dry heaved into my friend's toilet, sobered up slightly, went way out of my way to go find my boyfriend who was pained by my mere presence (even when sober), and ended up spending the majority of January 1, 2010 at my boyfriend's friend's house with the worst hangover in history, sitting alone in a corner while my boyfriend ignored me. A few days later we ended our relationship of 2 years. I moved in with my two gay friends, got assigned as assistant stage manager for a play, and started focusing on my life. I loved and lost in a matter of 2 months. I auditioned for two theatre schools and got rejected by both. I began using film cameras, and I don't think I'll ever go back to digital. I got my motorcycle license and bought a scooter.I traveled to Vancouver to see the festival of lights and The Lion King. I decided that acting wasn't for me and chose to pursue production. I made new friends and became closer with old friends. I competed in the Vancouver International Latte Art Competition. I assistant stage managed another play. I drank, I danced, I laughed till I was hoarse, I cried till I was dehydrated, I played laser tag, I played piano, I dreamed big, I had disappointments, I made mistakes, and I appreciated the little things.

In the next year, if I eat crappy food, blow every pay cheque, and still don't fit into that dress, I won't mind as long as I've learned as much as I have this year.

Ektar 100

I am not one to praise the mass consumerism that comes with Christmas, but I can not deny that this year I have been spoiled. My father gifted me a Yashica 35 MF. He found it in a second hand store. It still has the original leather case. He cleaned out some corroded batter acid, polished it up, and it's as good as new. My mother gave me a book of the pictures taken of The White Stripes throughout their Canadian tour that took them to every province and territory. First of all, they are my favorite band. Second of all, it's a perfect depiction of the vast beauty of this country. Third of all, it's entirely analogue.

Walking home from work yesterday with my Yashica around my neck, inspired by the photos of the tundra, I took a route I've never explored. I was standing on the edge of a field. Across the field was a road. On the other side of the road was a tiny wooden house accompanied by the skeleton of a large tree. Behind the house was an open snowy field stretching up into the tree line of a small mountain. The clouds opened up and the house was hit with very bright, low angle sunlight. The kind you only get this time of year. It was the perfect photo op, except for one thing: I was standing on the wrong side of the field. I only had a few seconds before the clouds would swallow up the sun. I had to take action. I sprinted into the field, kicking up snow and mud, ruining my chucks as I ripped out weeds with my ankles. Memo to me: take it easy on the Christmas baking next year. Gasping and wheezing, I reached the road with enough time to snap a couple photos, then the clouds swooped in and everything was grey.
Put that in your iPhone hipstamatic and smoke it.

Oh, those summer nights.

Flipping through old prints has made me extremely nostalgic for the summer. It's so grey this time of year.

Reederz

I feel like I should be trying to get more people to read my blog, but there are a lot of people I know that I don't want reading it.
How do I advertise to people I don't know? Spam?
Meat doesn't belong in a can.

Stop Motion

I have a camera that looks like this.

It takes pictures like this.

I broke the pictures down into single frames and strung them together to make a series of four frame stop motions. My friend Jeff wrote the music.

I went for a walk on a Winter's day.

I'd be safe and warm if I were in LA.

Which I will be January 16th.

My best friend bought me a trip to Disneyland for Christmas.

What did your best friend get you?

Run In

Every day I find myself in bewilderment of how small this city is.
We all run in the same circle.

S'been a while

Before I start this entry, I'd like to inform you of a thought I just had.
While taking a bite out of an Arrowroot biscuit I immediately thought, "These biscuits taste like babies."

Now onto the blog!

I'm sure that all three of my followers have been spiraling downward into a deep pit of depression at my lack of updates. The reason for this: Theatre.
I've been assistant stage managing a production of Peter Pan. I got thrown into that position a week before the show opened, and have had no time to do much of anything since.

Some fond memories of the show:
-Sweeping up fairy dust into the wee hours of the morning.
-Running over my foot with a pirate ship.
-Comparing my purple toe nails with the rest of the crew who also ran their feet over with the pirate ship.
-Going home crying on multiple occasions.
-Sweeping up fairy dust.
-Having the main curtain dropped on my head during a blackout while trying to strike Nana's dog house.
-Ripping the roof off Nana's dog house and throwing it across the stage while trying to avoid the main curtain in a blackout.
-Being informed that the 80 year old playing Smee was in the hospital 45 minutes before the show started.
-Being informed 15 minutes after the show started that the celiac crocodile had ingested gluten.
-Shoving a member of the fly team into the crocodile suit and pushing him on stage.
-The director telling Peter Pan that she should throw more fairy dust.
-Sweeping up more fairy dust.
-The Lost Boys asking me if they could "recycle" the swept up fairy dust and use it for their own entrances.
-Telling the Lost Boys that the last thing we needed was more glitter and that they're only to do as the director told them.
-The Lost Boys throwing fairy dust during their bows.
-Breaking their spirit and making them sweep.
-Burning my hand on a fog machine.
-Getting slivers from the rough set pieces.
-Surpassing my known strength and shoving set pieces at full speed.

I've endured too much insanity not to get accepted into theatre school.

I have two more things I'd like to share.
On Tuesday I was partaking in some excellent live music. Really, I wanted to jump up and dance, but I instead chose to tap my foot as no one else seemed as enthusiastic. While wondering if everyone else was having their minds blown I noticed the floor shaking in unison to the foot tapping of the audience.

On Saturday I had a particularly stressful show. Afterwards I went to a cafe to wait for some friends. The barista noticed at once that I wasn't feelin' too snappy and gave me my americano and a muffin for free. I wanted to hug her. Working back stage, you sometimes get forgotten in the shadows.

Forget Me Not

It's really tough trying to write about someone you've been trying to forget.
If I want this to work, I'm going to have to immerse myself in my memories.
Even the ones I don't want to remember.

It Has Begun

I'm writing about my online encounters. I've started with the most recent one, as it's the shortest.
So far, it's 4 pages long. Probably another page to go. The others are going to be novellas.
I don't know what I'm going to do with these stories once their written. I think they're too long to be made into a blog, unless I post segments at a time.
Maybe I could collect them all and publish a book.
I feel like a book needs more depth, though.
Who knows? Maybe I'll just write them and make nothing of them.

I Do Own A Trench Coat

It has been suggested to me that I write about my online dating experiences. Right now I don't have a focus. I feel like I should be doing it for more than just entertainment. Perhaps the theme will present its self after a couple of analyzed rendez-vous. I'm not saying that I'm going to do it. I will tell you that I have another encounter lined up. An encounter that I probably wouldn't have lined up if it wasn't for the fact that I may possibly have an ulterior motive for it. But that still doesn't mean I'm going to be writing about it.
It would be fun, though.
I think people would like it.
It'd be adventurous.
I'd be like a spy.
And I do own a trench coat...

I Was Walking With A Ghost

I saw a young man last night who looked exactly like a boy who moved away. Exactly.
He was walking past the cafe where we first met.

Was it him?
Was it an impostor?
I regret not running after him to make sure.

Pic-a-tures

I said in my post "Go Alone" that I'd put up the pictures that I took on that day.

An Autumn rainbow.

The Yacht Club

Fintry Queen

Love Like a Sunset Part II

P.S. In reference to my last post: Online dating won't be the death of me. I'll just write a book about my misfortunes to make it worth the havoc.

Online Dating

It's going to be the death of me.
Here goes something.

Hard and fruity now. Soft and chewy later.

Yesterday was a remarkably good day. An old friend called me up and asked me to help prop shop for a play she's working on. We picked up another friend and the three amigos dollar store hopped around town.

If you've never experienced shopping for props, I shall explain. You have a props list of all the things that you need for the play. Usually these things have little relativity to each other. It's life or death as to whether you find the items and you need to get them all for as cheap as possible. It all makes sense to us, but to the poor dollar store cashier, all they see is a bunch of nuts running around yelling about bungee cables, debating which butterfly net looks more Russian, and weeping with joy when they find a rubber duck.

After laughing obnoxiously for far too long about suggestive candy bar descriptions, we set off to find a Y shaped stick to make a sling shot out of. It wasn't until I was looking for a loose branch that I realized how well maintained this city is. Even searching on a mountain proved fruitless. I ended up extending myself from a boardwalk, over a swamp in a bird sanctuary to pluck the winning branch from the reeds. Success!

It's a great feat going to bed smiling, but it's an entirely different achievement to go to bed laughing.

Go alone.

I only had to work 3 hours today. Fine by me. I strolled to work eager to snap a few shots of the lovely autumn leaves, but couldn't do so because I had to maintain a speedy pace in order to be on time. It was quite a lovely day all the same. My coworker suggested that I go downtown, buy a bargain book, and read by the lake. I thought that was an excellent idea. After my 3 hour jaunt at the old grind, I headed to the bus stop only to find out that the bus wasn't coming for another half hour. Instead of waiting impatiently as I usually do, I walked in the direction of downtown, planning to stop at a bus stop down the road and wait for it there. I ended up walking about halfway, a good kilometer and a half. I managed to grab a few pictures before crashing on a bus stop bench. I had barely eaten anything all day and my hunger hit me all at once. I survived the ride downtown without wasting away. I took a quick stroll along the waterfront, took a couple more pictures, then snagged a window seat in an empty sushi bar. I feasted on green tea, miso soup, and some variation of a dynamite roll, read the paper, people watched, then continued on my merry way. I passed a film crew who were shooting in the street then stopped in a book store and picked up a copy of Fragile Things. A collection of short stories by Neil Gaiman who I recently started following on twitter, not that that's important. I ordered a caramel apple cider from my usual coffee house, snuggled into an armchair, and cracked open my new book. There's something so satisfying about making the first crease in the spine of a paperback. Perhaps I only feel this way because I'm accustomed to reading used books. Whatever the case, I took note of the experience. I sipped my cider and read for about an hour. During that hour I looked up three times. Once to greet an elderly fellow who was sitting down in the arm chair next to mine, twice to observe a young man who was working with the film crew I had passed who came in to use the washroom, but as he was not a paying customer was demanded to sing an uneasy rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle" in exchange for the key to the washroom, and thrice for no good reason at all. The funny thing about the third time is that while absolutely nothing prompted me to look up, when I did, I met eyes with a boy who works at the coffee shop who as it seemed had come in for a cup of tea on his day off. I have somewhat of a silly schoolgirl crush on this boy, which is why I find it funny that I looked up when I did. Had it been 5 minutes before or after, I would never have known he was there. Fate? Probably not. But as the entire basis of my feelings for him are completely foolish, I'm going to say there was some sort of telepathic romantic energy goin' on. Like a homing device for boys I fancy was beeping in my brain. As I said, I was in there for probably an hour until I bookmarked my page, picked up my camera, and wished good day to the old chap next to me. I ran into a girl I went to highschool with at the bus stop. She lives across the street from my work, so I see her from time to time. We took the bus together, taking note of a speedy old lady who was sprinting across a busy street, dangerously close to oncoming traffic, in heels. Go Go G-ma! When I stepped off the bus, there was a beautiful pinkish purple sky winking at me. I took its picture and headed home.

I'll share the pictures when I get them developed.

Starts With One

A few weeks ago I went to Vancouver for a few days. After late nights, long days, greasy food, and one too many vodka slimes, my immune system took a vacation upon my return home and I caught a nasty cold that left me bed ridden for 3 days. As soon as I was well enough, I bounced back to work and filled up my schedule with many a rendez-vous. While I was watching my diet a little better, I still wasn't sleeping properly and my body let me know in full force that it had had it. I was able to make it to work all of last week, but I wasn't capable of much more. I spent all of my free time in my room watching Sailor Moon, reading Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh, and thinking about my life. I think I did far too much of the latter. By the end of the week I had turned into a nostalgia-fested, mopey, recluse. Memories of "the better days" and bitter feelings of lost love came rampaging out of nowhere and totally annihilated my happy-go-lucky, sunshine attitude.
With exception to a hazy trip I took to the mall while hopped up on Dayquil, yesterday was my first day out of the house. I spent most of the afternoon with a close friend of mine and his significant other. While I quite enjoyed myself, I still couldn't completely shake whatever forlorn state had come over me. Yesterday was my friend's 19th Birthday. She had organized a dinner with all of her friends which I attended, happy to be out of the house and seeing people I hadn't seen it what had seemed like months. Still though, my thoughts were a total mess and I remained distracted by doom, gloom, and impending thoughts of eternal loneliness. I remained in this absolutely ridiculous mind set through most of today as well. I was miserable. I knew I was being absolutely impossible, but I just wasn't able to put anything behind me, even though nothing had changed since the previous week. Then, a coworker of mine entered the store. She has just recently gone through a breakup and has had a lot of stress at home, but when she came through the door, she was happier than I had ever seen her. I asked her why she was so smiley, and she said that nothing had happened. She was just having a great day and loving life. Then I asked myself, "Why can't I have a fantastic day, too?" I immediately perked up at the thought of it. Something fantastic doesn't have to happen to make a day a "good day." It can be good just because you want it to be.
I made myself a caramel apple cider, picked up my pay cheque, and strolled along the lovely path back to my home. (Don't worry, everyone I came across had pants on.) The weather was absolutely perfect. I was walking past the Middle School a block from my house, past the lines of cars filled with parents waiting to pick up their kids. A car pulled into an open spot. It was a regular customer who had been in the store earlier. She gave me a huge smile and eagerly waved hello. For some reason, I thought that was really cool. I'm just the chick from the coffee shop, but my mere presence was enough to make her smile that much. It was just, cool! I checked the mail. The first thing I pulled out was an advertisement for Irving Berlin's White Christmas in which my best friend will be singing in the chorus. Neat coincidence. The next thing I pulled out was a letter addressed to myself which contained a $150 cheque from the government. As I walked through the door, my sister informed me that my Dad, who lives out of town, was going to be stopping by shortly. What an awesome array of surprise happenings!
The rest of the day hasn't been anything special, but I'm all warm and fuzzy.This whole entry seems so cheesy, but I'm okay with that. I was in such a rut, and all it took to get me out was to see one person being happy.

You can go vomit now. I know this has been disgustingly Opera.

Mine is big enough, thanks.

Over the past few years I've become somewhat of a Francophile. One day I decided to change my computer's language to French in an attempt to immerse myself in the language. The only time I really had trouble was when I couldn't remember how to change it back. After an afternoon of fiddling in my control panel, following the icons that looked like they'd lead me to the languages, I eventually switched it back to English and that was that. However, ever since my Francophone adventure, emails have turned up in my junk mail written entirely au francais. It never occurred to me that spam came in different languages. I haven't bothered to find out what they say, but it's interesting nonetheless.

Another junk box mystery that I've never been able to solve is the gratuitous volume of emails I get concerning penis enlargement. These days, I find it amusing, but as a ten year old girl who didn't understand the male anatomy, I was horrified. Who was sending this? How did they find my email?  What's wrong with having a small penis? I've never received any offers for weight loss, soul mate searchers, or eager attractive women who will telephone naughty things to me for $5 a minute, so what makes these spammers believe that I am in need of enhanced genetailia? The subject lines vary from "Do YOU have a small PENIS?" to "Get 6 inches overnight!!!" to "MAKE HER SCREAM IN BED". I'm not bothered by the emails, like I said, I think it's funny, but I'd like to know how this started. Does everyone get these emails, or is someone out there spreading rumors about my manhood?

Expect the little things.

There are a few humble reasons that led to the creation of this blog:

1. I often have interesting thoughts (at least I find them interesting) and I often wonder if anyone is on the same page as I am

2. I work in a coffee house. I interact with hundreds of people a day. Some are downtrodden old souls looking for a cup of joe. Others are arrogant business-like people who order complicated drinks to show off their success. Most of them are just regular people who aren't particularly interesting. They all have stories, and I'm here to tell them.

3. Sometimes I see things that need to be documented and discussed.

I will kick this thing off by throwing a #3 your way.

I had missed the bus home from work and as today was an unusually warm Autumn day, I decided to take a stroll through the lovely park that winds its way along a creek, between various homes and businesses, and conveniently leads almost all the way to my home. I am just recovering from a cold, so imagine me with a dry cough, runny nose, and stuffy brain. It was a truly remarkable day for a walk. The leaves are in various shades of green, yellow, orange and red. The ducks are playing in the ponds. The quail are rustling in the fallen leaves, darting to and fro. I turn a corner, eager to see what more Mother Nature will delight me with, when I spot a true beauty. There is a middle aged woman standing in the middle of the path holding the leash of a sad, ugly looking mutt which is shamelessly going #2. In her other hand is a lit cigarette. The woman is wearing an over sized grey T-shirt, faded pink slippers and, my God, no pants. Now, I've seen a questionable array of shorts, but this woman was actually factually not wearing any pants at all. This isn't a secluded path. There were other people walking along there. Old women who's hearts' may stop at a sudden startle, young mothers pushing strollers containing wee, traumatize-able children, and people recovering from colds who don't need polluted air or public indecency lurking around the corner. 

I've got a couple questions. "Where are her pants?" and "What was she thinking when she left the house?" 

More to come.