Because or Why Not

2012-01-03T23:41:00.000-08:00

I'm not particularly fond of new years resolutions. Kind of hit and miss, depending on the circumstances. I do, however, like to use the new year for a little bit of introspection. This year, however, I haven't had the chance 'till now. I was tucked away at a refreshing winter camp. Then I was rushing home to rush through packing to rush back here to this mini-city. And, now, in the dying minutes of the third day of the new year, I want to think about the year past. I'm not particularly fond of memes, either. But every now and then I find one that's worth it.

What was 2011 for you?

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?

I travelled north into the territories.

I learned to rock climb, ice climb, and I repelled off bridges.

I went to regular full-time class for a full semester.

I was part of a quality music recording.

I volunteered at a camp.

I made gnocchi.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

There were none, but I knocked a few off my 101. There won't be any this year, either.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Yes, Jenni had another beautiful baby girl. One of my best friends and closest relatives is also due very soon!

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No. A plight I've mostly been saved from so far in my young life.

5. What countries did you visit?

The US of A. 2011, you have not been a good travelling year...

6. What would you like to have had in 2011 that you lacked in 2010?

A fulfilling job. And, in a sense, I did. But it was part time writing and other freelancing. The full time stuff was duller than dishwater.

7. What dates from 2010 will remain etched upon your memory and why?

Actual dates? Sitting through the night listening to hippis play guitar, sing French folk songs, and dance around the fire, and tentatively holding hands. It will be remembered fondly.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Four A+s, and an A, mastering freelance, and learning to love.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Breaking a heart, not maintaining all the right friendships, working through summer.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Nothing serious.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

The very best? Perhaps my motorbike... Good times were had!

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?

My siblings. All of them. I wish I could tell you how each has grown. How they've supported me. How I've loved them, even though we may fight on occasion.

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?

There was some unfortunate summer drama. I made some poor decisions. And I've also been disappointed by a past room mate/best friend. Why do good things end?

14. Where did most of your money go?

School. And associated expenses. Blech.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

University. And a boy. Silly boys.

16. What song will always remind of you 2011?

You want the unfortunate confession one? No Getting Over You... That one with LMFAO, Fergie, and all those other pop stars. 2011, though, has been a marvellous year for music.

17. Compared to this time last year, are:

a)happier or sadder? Happier

b)thinner or fatter? Thinner, I think

c) richer or poorer? Close to even... But soon to be much poorer.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

Travelling.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Working at my first-half job.

20. Did you fall in love in 2010?

Yes. Yes, I did. I freaks me out, and makes me excited-happy all at once!

21. What was your favourite TV program?

Big Bang Theory. I've never watched a single episode... But I'm pretty sure I think it's hilarious.

22. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

Hate... It's a strong strong word. No one comes to mind, so I don't believe so.

23. What was the best book you read?

2011 was a poor year for reading. To many I meant to read, and not enough that I actually did.

24. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Elllie Goulding, Florence and the Machine, Adele, Lindsey Stirling. Looks like my tastes are taking a feminine twist... How odd.

25. What did you want and get?

I wanted to leave my job and try something new. I wanted a solid relationship.

26. What did you want and not get?

I wanted to travel. I wanted to snowboard more than I did. My wants didn't happen, but they were twisted and exceeded.

27. What was your favourite film of this year?

I watch very few movies... And it takes a lot to really impress me... Tangled was good ;).

28. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 25. Somehow it phased me much less than 24. I entered it dancing in a barn loft with good people. I worked, another first ever, but briefly. And I got a stack of letters from the people I care for that I promised not to open until I turn 50.

29. How you would describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?

Increasingly athletic and tomboy, but I don't shy away from the feminine things I like. More make-up this year than ever before, which isn't saying much. Longer hair than since I graduated. Some kick-ass boots. Oh, and fake glasses everyday to school... Something has to help maintain those grades.

30. What kept you sane?

My family. Oh, and chocolate.

31. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

I believe last year was Channing Tatum... This year there was no replacement. I like to stay firmly in reality...

32. Who did you miss?

All sorts of people. Friends who's lives were part of mine, but who have moved on.

33. Who was the best new person you met?

My blue-eyed boy. We met on a hotsprings roadtrip early on but didn't get to know each other until summer months and carefree days.

34. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2010.

Compromising because you damn well want to isn't usually worth it.

35. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

One lyric? I think not...

I picked this up on Lexi's blog. She doesn't know I exist, but I very highly recommend you visit.

Christmas Amendment

2011-12-23T21:36:00.000-08:00

In the spirit of the season, and rejecting the spirit of materialism, I propose the following amendment. Gifts may be exchanged if they fall under the following guidelines.

I will not be offended if I don't receive any gifts.

Presents can be homemade.

Gifts can be bought second hand, as long as I will not be offended if they get re-donated.

I can purchase gifts that are locally made/grown. For example, items from the farmer's market or craft fair.

Presents can be something that you know the person really needs or wants (for example, socks).

Let's appreciate this Christmas season together!

Signed

___________________

My sister wrote this up two months ago on a scrap sheet of paper. At first it was just an idea, but each of my immediate family plus my sibling's room mate plus my boyfriend signed it. It's only binding to those who enter the agreement. It might sound a little Scrooge-like, but it makes you re-evaluate the whole Christmas thing.

What do you hope to get out of celebrating Christmas.

With times a bit tighter, out of our family of seven, plus the two extras, only two of my younger siblings are regularly employed. My Dad and brothers are waiting to sell a house. The room mate generally doesn't work and my boyfriend and I are both full-time students.

That's not really why this amendment has made us rethink the season, though. We don't need just more stuff. We don't need to just purchase to fill expectations. There has been some incredibly creativity, and a little bit of socially conscious purchasing going on in this household this season. I still have a few friends I shopped for more traditionally... But this Christmas is going to be a little simpler and, in some ways, a little more meaningful.

I absolutely love this time of year!

However you celebrate, I hope it's an excellent holiday for you!

Merry Christmas

Ladies Wear a Little Lipstick

2011-11-13T13:09:00.001-08:00

I am a girl of very little make-up. Always have been, I don't imagine that will change. For the most part I think it's a construction of society aimed towards artificial impressions of expectation on females and surface beauty. I also think it causes a level of consumption that is both expensive and extremely harmful to the environment. Now that I've ranted that out I will admit that I have a tube of mascara and some make-up left behind by my favourite cousin when she was my room mate. I wear them sometimes when I want to feel particularly girly. Boys I've dated have always said (if I asked) that they prefer me without make-up, and I'm fairly confident they meant it. Works out well for me.

This weekend I went to visit my Grandma. She thinks it important, to this day, to put a little time into her looks. She looked at my face full of natural beauty and asked, "Do you ever wear any make-up?"

"Oh, once in a while. Not much. I'm not at the moment."

"I can tell." Gee, thanks Gram. "You should really wear some lipstick once in a while, you know. Do you ever wear lipstick?"

"No. I haven't got any."

With that my Grandma dragged my off to the washroom and opened her basket, the one that always fascinated me when I was but a child. She handed me a light pink shade. Once she'd admired that she told me I could wipe it off and try another. After trying five shades she decided I should have one, and narrowed it down to a deep shade, subtle if applied lightly.

"And now let's powder your nose."

She's from a different era, my Grandma. One that delights in lipstick and stockings. Girls that remember the rationing of the war, the hippis of the '60s, and the silly acid washed denim age that I was born into. They did the twist and they prayed in school. They were teachers, nurses, secretaries and housewives.

They faced it all with a tube of lipstick. Looking good, working hard, and caring for the men they loved.

I'm not a lipstick girl. I'm not even a mascara girl. I'm sure the woman from my decade will never give up on this messy, clumpy black paste. Maybe they'll demand that they're liberalized granddaughters paint their eyelashes black. (I speak for Canadians. If you're from too far south feel free to continue with your lip liner and non-matching colour)

Somehow I having a tube of lipstick in my pocket and a bit of colour on my lips made me feel like a lady. I don't think I'll ever signify glamour but maybe, once in a while, I'll tuck it in my bag for an evening out.

Better Late Than Never?

2011-11-07T18:00:00.000-08:00

I realize the time for post-Halloween posts is almost a week past.

Still, I saw a another, but similar, costume post and thought, what the heck.

I mean, it took enough time to put together, right?

Who am I?

I told my guy that he better appreciate it since

this is the only year I'll be a geek-themed character.

If you need another hint scroll on down.

Several good nights were had by all.

Bowling, Barn dance, Karaoke...

I think Halloween is the only good chance we get

as "adults" to wear a costume (in public).

Oh, and eat candy unabashedly.

What's not to like?

Broken Pieces

2011-09-28T12:46:00.000-07:00

I think of you like yesterday,

(ElifKarakoc)

a smile on your face.

An array of broken pieces

all but dappled shades of gray.

I think of you as everything.

Deception that was chance.

The thought of what we used to be.

Fading error, trip and dance.

I think of us as nothing,

just the stories that we told.

The passion of a summer's morn.

Open water, flakes of gold.

I ponder. Pensive. Carefully,

a thought I should forget.

The heavy rest of midnights past

a glimpse I should regret.

For tightly tangled, hidden now.

Leather boots, my thoughts, this kiss.

The comfort of an autumn day.

So much I must dismiss.

I Don't Shop at Walmart

2011-09-15T08:26:00.000-07:00

I'm Loving it...?

It was when I was traveling with my sister that I first really started to notice an inconsistency with myself. I truly believe in things that I don't necessarily live out. An example at the time was McDonald's. I'm not a fan to begin with. At all, actually. I'm also not entirely supportive of globalization and I think McDonald's (or, to a greater extent, KFC) is a perfect representation of all that is negative with the concept. Still, there were a couple unfortunate times where we found ourselves with hours to waste before taking a bus/flight/taxi/ect but no hostel and we would park our over-sized backpacks on a tiled McDonald's floor and eat ninety cent sundaes that usually differentiated a little bit from one you'd buy in Detroit.

That's right. I am guilty of supporting McDonald's (but never KFC's) proliferation in third world countries. I always felt guilty about it. I don't even ever eat McDonald's here at home.

About a year ago I was talking to some friends and the subject of Walmart came up. Yup, as you would imagine I don't think they're all that great either. Now, I do realize that Walmart is not all that is evil and wrong with the world. The just happen to be the biggest example. My sister, who just returned from local clinic midwifery work in the slums of Manila says that shopping, especially in Walmart type institutions just feels gross.

So one of my friends said, "I don't shop there (Walmart), I just don't. I think they do a lot of harm to small business and ethical practices. Sometimes it's tempting to run in and scoop up the cheap 'natural' peanut butter but, you know what? It's not worth it."

I was all, "Yeah, Allie! Good for you. I'm really supportive of that. I should really do that..." All the while feeling some nagging guilt that, even though I don't believe that supporting Walmart is a good thing I do it wholeheartedly anyway.

Before I turned twenty-five I decided to quit Walmart for at least a year. There is no Walmart in my hometown so I figured it wouldn't be hard to avoid that six times a year that I would normally shop there. That was before I knew I was moving to a small city with a central Walmart for my school year. I went in there once with a friend. The price drop signs beckoned me, but I'm extremely happy with my abstinence. At least I don't have to feel guilty with my fifteen dollar jeans or swear at them when the zippers break after a month.

Maybe eventually I'll put even more effort into eating locally. I'll drive less, pray more, stop procrastinating, go to bed on time... Until then I'll just blame Walmart.

Worth Having

2011-09-07T13:02:00.000-07:00

Come Autumn I need change... and things.

It's been a summer full of fun, confusion and living like I was free. It was rope swings and barbeques. Rock climbing and iced coffee. It was boys and camping and a star spread sky. To much rain and not enough lightening. Best friends and family, the two of those combined. Long talks, happiness and the world beneath my motorbike. It was mistakes for all of us, decisions among us and more good relationships than I could possibly have hoped.

It was a summer worth having.

And now I'm here. In a big empty beige house with no furniture. And in classrooms discussing Philosophy, Psychology and knowing I'll be struggling through homework. Learning how to write creatively. Because I've never dabbled in that before. Thinking about taking on more freelance journalism through this all. With a blue-eyed boy I care for. In a city I've always thought was unattractive discovering hidden places where beauty exists.

Feeling seventeen sitting on the back step drinking lemonade out of mugs because we don't have chairs or glasses. Holding hands, smiling lots. Opening crisp new school supplies and learning my way around.

It's more change than I could possibly hope for. It should be a fall worth having.

Exciting Stuff. Unexciting Presentation.

2011-08-04T20:16:00.000-07:00

I've seen a few of these around these days. These brief and simple updates to let you know what's going on in everyone's lives. Let's blame summer, shall we?

It's the depressing irony of blogging: when things actually happen you don't write. Anyway, I'm going to list. I am sorry.

1. I am 25. I know that's a big number but I'm completely unfazed. Weird, I know. 23-24 seemed a much bigger jump to me. I'm not particularly accomplished for a 25 year old but I'm exactly alright with where I'm at. It's been a while since I was this fine with getting older.

2. I'm going back to school! I know, about time, right? Quitting my job and getting heading to university... Probably. Stay tuned.

3. I just got back from a road trip to Alberta. It's was awesome. I'm always excited to spend a little bonding time with my brothers. I'm also learning to rock climb. 'Cause I'm hardcore like that. And also I have to much money to throw away on gear... Apparently. Yeah right.

4. I'm going to camp! To counsel. 14-17 year olds. The easy age group, don't you think? Out trips and all. Yup. 101, you are going down!

That's all for now. In short I am ridiculously excited about life! I have to go camping now and I will be away sailing next weekend. I will update you in the future, though. I might even write properly once in a while. Cheers!

Wrapped in Fleece

2011-07-08T16:05:00.000-07:00

I'm lying on the floor. On the edge of the carpet. Wrapped in fleece. Trying to sleep. Except that I'm really actually looking at the footprints in the dust on the hardwood that blew through the open window. That I'm really listening to "Bookends" without really listening at all. Because acoustic guitar is just part of the background. Because that's just where I'm from.

And I'm writing this down on the space that's my mind. And aware of my breath and the things that unwind. Listening to "Blue Jean Blues" without really listening. Because that's just the way I am.

Needing this place. Some time just to breathe. A break from the best and a place for my dreams. Listening to "Old Love" without really listening. Because that's just where I'm at. Needing to be alone, wrapped in fleece and trying to sleep.

Wishing you were here.

In My Blood

2011-07-03T23:00:00.000-07:00

I'd like to start by saying that I grew up on motorbikes. I'd like to, but I can't. Still, I think it's somehow in my genes. My parents fell in love on a motorcycle. Riding out to band practice. Taking of their helmets to kiss on that first date when they were younger than my now-youngest sibling.

By time I came along motorcycles were traded for a brown Toyota with car seats in the back and an ancient pick-up to go with a budding construction business. Five kids later these eventually turned into a stubborn minivan and "Big Red," (hint: not a bike.)

I always knew, regardless, that my parents both held class 6 driver's licenses. At ten I had my first ride when my Dad's oldest friend brought around his cruiser. I don't remember what it was but I remember the thrill and the wind on my arms. I clung tight as we accelerated. I didn't know about counter-steering and had it explained to me after trying consistently to upright on corners.

Once a biker always in your blood, so I've been told. Once you start you'll never really stop. When I was fourteen my parents bought a little orange Yamaha Enduro 100 from roughly the stone-age, aka the 1970s. That's what I learned to drive up and down our lane. With a throttle in your fist and no license in your pocket 100ccs feels like a lot of power. 20MPH feels like a lot of speed. An old gold helmet from your parent's dating days feels pretty cool. And it starts to get in your blood.

At sixteen I drove it on Mexican highways to neighboring villages for an internet fix. The smell of tortillas and the muggy wind on my face was nothing but pure independence. I wanted more. My little brother drives it around mountain roads with his friends now.

I moved out and my parent's young family grew up enough to justify getting rid of the minivan. They bought a Honda 400. This time only from the Dark Ages. AKA, the early 1980s. It looked like this only until my oldest brother turned his mad airbrushing skills its way. I made it past the first two steps of licensing and then life got in the way. I still hoped for the wind on my face and a ride down the lake but my lifetime commitment of achieving my own class 6 was still out of reach.

My middle brother fixed up a Honda 400 dual sport from the same era and would take me burning around mountain trails and rock outcroppings. I learned to manage the kick start and I'd take it out on my own. My cousin let me take a less-than-legal spin on his 600 crotch rocket. It was only a matter of time. My license requirements finally fit themselves in last year.

Here's what I'm driving these days. Yamaha Seca 550. Check off item 24. Apparently we have a thing for old-school bikes. Yes, it's also from the dark ages. But it's still a whole lotta fun.

I Try

2011-06-28T20:55:00.000-07:00

She was from Stats Canada ("Or elections B.C. Or something like that..."). My sister was pretty much her choice demographic.

"Did you vote in the last election?"
"Errr. I was out of the country."
"So you didn't vote?"
"Uh... No."
"You weren't aware of alternative voting options?
"There are alternative voting options?"
"Alright, thank-you. How did you hear about last election?"
"Facebook."
"And your primary source of information?"
"Ummm, Facebook."
"Did you receive your Elections Canada voter's card?"
"...My parents might have..."
"How did you know you're registered to vote?"
"I'm registered to vote?"
"So, have you ever voted in a national or regional election?"
"Umm... I don't know. I don't remember. I don't think so?"

They say change should start at home. I try. Really, I do.

I am Canadian. I am Embarrassed.

2011-06-16T11:32:00.000-07:00

Alright, so we lost.

That doesn't even really matter right now. I admit that I never invested very heavy emotion into this series. Regardless, any disappointment in the loss is severely overshadowed by disgust in what followed in Vancouver last night.

I turned off the t.v. And went for a walk with a friend. I'm glad to say that every fan I know, personally, handled themselves with decorum, even congratulating Boston. Unfortunately, the gathered "fans" in Vancouver's streets had other ideas.

I'm embarrassed for Vancouver. They're going to have reason to wake up hungover and embarrassed for themselves. It's a beautiful city. I know that what I say won't have any neutralizing affect on international headlines but I want to say that the vast majority of us are appalled, anyway.

Maybe Canada needs to learn what it is to have something worth rioting about. Because apparently some of us think our tax dollars and reputation are worth burning away with RCMP cruisers and frustration of a lost hockey game.

Scratch That

2011-06-08T11:07:00.000-07:00

I kind of forgot what blogging is about. Actually, scratch that. I never really knew what blogging is all about. Quite honestly, I've always been confused there. I know I don't blog strictly for myself. I certainly don't blog for financial gain. What is it that's so fulfilling about posting my ramblings on the internet?

Regardless, I still managed to somehow forget. And, I suppose, sometimes a breather is needed. I have no intention of actually going away. I've been dreadfully sick with a tonsil infection but it's just now starting to clear up. I still like mutual-like guy, and it's still mutual. However, we just recently decided to just be friends for the moment. Mostly due to my reservations. It's kind of sad but also remarkably relieving and I'm happy with the decision. In an ironic twist he gained a lot of additional respect by concluding that I needed to be confident with my decision and either jump in or step back.

Today it's raining and I have on my rainy-day mood. All of a sudden I refuse to be carefree and I need to question everything. Here I am. Maybe that's what my blogging is about.

(Dannyst)

As Open as the Road Can Get

2011-05-28T18:36:00.000-07:00

And a good time was had by all.

That's Me, Alright

2011-05-24T23:20:00.000-07:00

Shayla: Oh, I love Taylor Swift.
Kris: I like Taylor Swift far to much for a self-respecting twenty-four year old who doesn't like country.
Shayla: I love country music. You don't like country?
Kris: Nope.
Shayla: What do you like to listen to, then?
Kris: Ummm, I listen to a lot of different stuff. Mostly like....
Shayla (interrupting): Hip hop?
Kris: Errr, no, more like.... Wait. Hip hop? Do I strike you as someone who listens to hip hop?
Shayla: Yeah. Or, you know, something you can groove out to.

Apparently I come across as a pretty groovy person.

Here

2011-05-02T17:35:00.000-07:00

This post will not be long. It will not have photos, it will not rhyme, and my wording will not be impeccable. I will not be telling you to vote (my ballot was cast advance) or commenting on certain political developments. This is the first full blog post I am composing via iPad, but my reasons are good.

I am in Prince George, en route in a two week back-country hard-camping road trip to the Yukon. Last night we slept under Jasper stars and watched a hint of northern lights streaking the sky.

I recently turned down a job promotion, met a boy I share a lot of mutual like with, found a room mate with a thirst for adventure and a long history of learning to appreciate each other (we're succeeding). Pre-wrote half a month of paid posts and put my car on the road after biking for a month.

It's nice to have an open road, a full tank of gas and two of the coolest brothers you can imagine to share this with. This is here.

Bloggerstock: Photo Inspired

2011-04-30T08:00:00.000-07:00

I'm so pleased, this month, to be hosting K. Syrah! I don't read many social commentary blogs (they're a little too biased for me), but K. has one I've been gladly following for a long time, now. Be sure to check it out. I'm certain her bit of writing from our photo inspired topic (how cool is that) will make you want to visit. Now, on to the post.

I’m K. Syrah, I blog at Shoes Never Worn, and this is a story about a Dad and his little girl.

He watched her grow up, in tiny shoes, and tiny socks, with floral dresses and mismatched little caps on golden curls. He remembered tying her hair up into little pigtails, combing the ringlets and ticking her under her arms until she squealed and giggled with delight.

He lifted her up, propping her on his shoulders when the Christmas parade came into town, just so she could see over the heads of the on-lookers. Her little gently hands wrapped around his forehead as she laughed she pointed and gawked at the fat man in red, with his wavy white beard.

Then came the day when she didn’t need him to do her hair, to tie her shoes, or to put a little bow in her sundress.

She stopped reaching for his hand, and she crossed the road on her own. First looking over her shoulder to see if it was okay, then later, looking straight ahead, because she knew it was okay.

Her little hands were swinging freely at her side, and he watched her grow up tall until the day came that all fathers dread; the day their little girl thrusts her hip to the side, with a stubborn hand on her belt loop, looks at him with defiant eyes.

“As long as you live under this roof, young lady, you’ll obey our rules!”

Then, she wasn’t under his roof anymore and she drifted even further; across the country, to a college dorm room. She’s talking to boys, saying, doing and acting like she can cross the road without him over her shoulder.

But she’s just a kid, in tiny shoes, and golden curls.

You can check out my post at co-founder Alex Weisman's blog! And, of course, you can sign up to participate in the next Bloggerstock through the home site.

If You're Canadian

2011-04-13T16:30:00.000-07:00

I was up 'till 2:30 last night watching the National Leaders English Debate (as any of you who follow me on Twitter know full well...). If you're American you might want to skip this post. Because, you know, it's international politics so it really doesn't matter.

In case you don't have over two hours to watch the debate's entirety here are the general impressions. If you're Canadian, though, I do recommend viewing it. And then voting. Because you live in a democratic country and you better appreciate that. Just watch a news clip on Libyan rebels for a little perspective.

The Bloc Quebecois: Duceppe treated this debate exactly as one should expect of a Blog Quebecois leader. Quite frankly, it got boring. He referred, at least twice, to Quebec as a nation. None of the other leaders were stupid enough to point out that he was sorely mistaken. The poor guy is a little misinformed. Not in good taste for a party leader. I, however, am an unpaid semi-anon blogger with no influence in Quebec so I don't mind saying that, in actuality, provincial referendums have defeated sovereignty twice. Grow up, suck it up, and learn to contribute to the actual country you help govern.

I'm not anti-Quebec. I've lived there and I have struggled to try and form some degree of pride in our dual-heritage. My redneck friends aren't helping and neither are the separatists. It's extremists that make me want to swear off French. A shame and something that's not going to do Canada a bit of good.

Oh, and taking a question about immigration and using it to yell at Layton about bill 101? Not classy. In the end I just want to laugh at Duceppe's obvious agitation, singular agenda and pronunciation of "ghetto," (geeto) and "ship." I'm sure he's owning in today's French language debate.

The New Democratic Party: Jack Layton was clearly upset at references throughout the debate to the fact that the next government will be either Liberal or Conservative (even if, more then likely, a minority). I can understand that it gets frustrating being the head of a party that never even gets the title of official opposition. However, Layton needs to realize his party is unproven. His flippant idealism has to be accepted because it's never been tried nationally. Somehow he managed to avoid straight-up saying that the NDP really isn't all that concerned about the deficit or tax cuts. The NDP wants to promise ready medicare solutions, open immigration policies and an environmental agenda.

Layton also went out of his way to slam the Liberal leader for supporting certain initiatives brought through by the Conservatives. Look. Nothing wrong with that. If it's something they can support then, for crying out loud, support it.

NDP's economics freak me out. Jack Layton will appeal to the buy-now pay-laters. People without foresight. In short, the NDP will win a few seats thanks to socialist votes. I think high-spending socialism is something Canada has taken to far already. Layton, however, is also the most engaging of the four leaders. The one that I can most easily imagine buying his grandkids ice cream. He was well spoken, at least.

The Liberal Party: This is where the politics gets serious. We're down to the two top parties in Canada's history and the Liberals want their lead back.

There is really no argument that the three participating opposition leaders pounded away on Steven Harper throughout. Ignattief contributed his share in attempting to paint the Conservative party as one full of scandal. Expected, I suppose, given the historic coalition and the contempt of parliament against the current minority.

The Liberal leader did, however, bring some valid points to the table. He is fairly adamant that something must be done to remedy Canada's falling reputation on the international stage. He was the only leader who pointed out that an American justice system doesn't work. He was also the main voice for initiative in healthcare that begins with education and Canadian effort.

Ignattief readily stated that he's fond of the idea of raising corporate taxes. He figures this will fund extensive moves in post-secondary education, in child-care, in green initiative and in international policiy... For a start. Certainly strong promises.

The Conservative Party: Harper certainly took attack after attack in this debate. Not surprising. He has been governing the country for five years so everything can be blamed on him. Opposition mostly had to do with a lack of releasing certain financial reports, a plan to buy fighter jets and the traditional conservative tendency to avoid international spending and meeting environmental targets.

Harper was steadfast and brought replies to the table that focussed on his party's commitment to easing the deficit and lowering taxes in a bid to improve the economy. In my opinion Harper was the only leader who willingly laid out strong economical intent. He also stated several times that we're in the throes of an election "that Canadians didn't want." He's actually being ballsy enough to say he wants a majority so he can get things done.

Harper may hurt himself with an endless focus on tax cuts. What do Canadians really want? He's refusing to make promises in regards to the international stage and the environment. Healthcare is a major debate that I did not hear any definite conclusion to from Harper. Medical coverage is something embraced by all Canadians that is not going anywhere.

Harper doesn't have all the answers. He certainly doesn't have all the election promises. But if they country wants a stodgy follow-through on solid economic effort he may be in the right place.

I don't actually like politics. They will not be making a regular appearance on my blog. I will, however, be voting. If you're Canadian then I expect that you will be too.

Debt: A Crisis I Can't Make Sense Of.

2011-04-11T22:45:00.000-07:00

There are ~~several~~ many things in life, in our society, that I don't even pretend to understand. Our disrespect for our elders. Our tendency to be workaholics. Our willingness to cheapen so many experiences. Our fear of death. Even the ones I engage in I don't understand.

But this post is about debt. I just don't get it. We're a society driven by the stuff. When I Google "Average debt in the Canadian household," the front page is full of articles on how Canada's average debt surpassed $100,000 this February. One. Hundred. Thousand. Dollars. On average! Americans are in even worse shape.

Why are we okay with this?

Back in the day if you wanted more land you went out and grew some wheat and if your crop succeeded you expanded. If you didn't have a crop and you needed a new jacket you went out and harvested someone else's until you got paid and then you bought what you needed. I'm sorry, but doesn't that make sense?

The worst part is we're not even over our heads in order to put food on our tables. We're buying homes that are significantly larger then they were just a decade ago. We're charging brand-new clothes and restaurant meals on credit cards that have interest rates to the tune of 20%. Twenty. Percent. Is that annoying? I can quit spelling it out like that.

I don't mean to be down on anyone who lost their job because of the downturn and can't find other work. Or any American with unexpected medical expenses. Or the single Mom, or someone reeling from a nasty divorce. Or the student who got in over their head. But where do we draw the line?

Some debt makes sense. A mortgage on a basic home, for example (take into consideration, first, housing prices). Also certain small business loans. Let me put a disclaimer here: I am not a gambler by nature and I will never treat my finances like I am. Low risk, low reward.

I'm also not an economics expert. I almost definitely make less money then you. I don't fully understand credit scores or RRSPs. I do have the advantage of not having to pay for a degree at a prestigious school. I live in a small home with a room mate. I drive a car from 1998 that I work on myself and sometimes I buy clothes from a thrift store.

But I live very comfortably. Admittedly, I don't have children and I live in a low-cost part of the country (read: rural). I prioritize. I get a thrill out of saving. I also travel extensively, but cheaply. I choose to go through periods without steady employment. I volunteer. I market farm.

I know, I have the luxury. I live in a prosperous society. But I could live for years on what my fellow countrymen owe, on average.

I work and then I buy the things I want.

Doesn't that make sense?

Shades of Gray

2011-04-06T22:43:00.000-07:00

Why so complicated?

Painting, of course, by Norman Rockwell

If Evil Lady is the Look You're Going for...

2011-04-04T23:46:00.000-07:00

We all know someone who thinks they're rocking this hairstyle right now. Yup, I'm talking about the two-tone-blonde-black whatever you want to call it. I'm actually not sure what "look" it's supposed to convey so if you're in the know please fill me in. Is it punk, emo, ~~trashy~~ fashionista?

If you have this hair you can make plenty of excuses to over-ride my opinion. I'll actually nullify it for you. Here: First of all, I know a hair student who currently has a ~~frizz~~ bouffant in white-blonde that features black bangs. Hair students clearly know more about hair then I do. Me with my boring brunette curls. Clearly leaving my hair healthy and the close to the way it grows out of my head can't be very cutting edge. Then there's also the selection of decent looking celebs who've tried this out. Rihanna, Christina Aguilera, Shakira...

Even though I'm pretty low-maintenance I don't really care if you want to experiment with your image. Whatever. turn your hair purple. Defy gravity with the assistance of products called things like "hair glue." Dye it white-blonde or black or flaming red. Cover yourself with ink or poke holes in your tongue. I really don't care, life can use a little variation. But, quite frankly, this particular two-tone comes across as the opposite of class. It's not evoking a rebellious image. Ditto edgy, unique or young.

Maybe I'm the only one who consistently makes a connection between this "look" and this particular ~~literary~~ character. Probably not, though. Which makes me wonder, what kind of world do we live in when Cruella De Vil is a trend-setter?

She gave my sister nightmares for about eight years

Bloggerstock: Stop the World I Want to Get On/Off

2011-03-31T07:08:00.000-07:00

It's Bloggerstock time again! Don't forget to check out my post at the ever-funny Good Music, Bad Math. With a name like that how can it not be good? My guest, Jessica has a great blog and has written me a really great post! She's also introduced herself. So, without further ado...

Thank you to Kris for hosting me for Bloggerstock! I also want to ask all of you to check out the great and wonderful Lily on my blog Cerebral Lunchbox.

Now, I’ve procrastinated enough, so I guess I should really get on with it.

Stopping the world. It sounds like a nice proposition. I first thought about all those painful moments that I wanted to escape or hide.

But then my mind turned the to moments that linger even more powerfully in my mind. Those moments that I want to freeze the world and hold the moment for just a few more seconds. Or hours, or years.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to give you a laundry list of precious moments that will mean nothing to you because you weren’t there. You’d just roll your eyes and skip to the next blog. Or maybe laugh at my moments and joke about them.

No, instead, I want you to think about those times in your life. The moments that to you encapsulate what it means to be alive, in whatever state you might have been: radiant, wistful, triumphant or simply content.

Those moments, however brief, are more powerful because they were so short. Because we couldn’t stop the world, we couldn’t become bored with the sensations. We can replay those moments and they still feel fresh and important.

Life is short, too short many times. But that’s what makes life so precious.

What is it about us creative types? We can go on and on about something we've created, but when asked about ourselves we suddenly clam up. Well, I'm no different, so bear with me. Where will I go from here? Who knows, but I know now that one way or another I'll see my name in print (even if it's in the local blotter sheet for a caffeine induced crime spree.)

The Granola Temptress

2011-03-24T23:14:00.000-07:00

I can't buy granola bars. Well, I mean, I physically can. It just never works out for me.

Before I go a little farther let me admit that I'm well aware that "granola bar" is actually secret code for chocolate bars you can justifiably eat for breakfast. I've had ones called things like, "Peanut Butter Caramel Chunk." or maybe "Decadent Double Chocolate." The term Granola and about eight flakes of oatmeal means they can market to mothers who don't want to feel guilty about what they're sending their kids to the bus-stop with.

All this taken into account you'd think I could be an adult about granola bars. Sometimes I think I can. I walk down the aisle and think to myself, "okay, well, I'll just buy this box and take one in my lunch this week."

...Right.

Here's what really happens. I get home, open the box, and eat one well I unpack. That evening I'll eat two before bed. Chocolate for supper anyone? The next morning it's two for breakfast and that leaves one for work. Which I'll eat on my coffee break.

I'm actually well versed in nutrition and follow that a majority of the time. I was, however, raised having desert after dinner. We always had homemade cookies or cake. From scratch. My Mother is a housewife. And now I can pass on those. It's those darn processed granola bars that we only got twice a year when my Grandma would give them out as treats.

So now I can't buy them. I suppose I could just go through fifty boxes in a month and wear the learned novelty out. Also develop diabetes, gain twenty pounds and get out of breath walking up stairs... On second thought, I'll just walk past them when I'm picking up a box of cereal.

Because when they're in my cupboard I turn back into a buzzed little kid with a severe sugar craving. Only this time with no imposed limits.

Big Girls Don't Cry

2011-03-22T00:18:00.000-07:00

"Big girls don't cry."

I spat it out. A reply to a taunt. An answer in place of the one I refused to give. I meant it.

If someone could make me cry I'd feel like they'd won. They'd feel like they'd won. I'd feel weak. I learned to hate crying. Something I never was very good at and something I never did often. I forgot how. I tried to learn to clench my jaw instead. To pound with words well I'd defy the tears.

I'm not sure where I got this from. Society, probably. From a personality that told me I had to always be strong. I'm just not sure what it is about tears that we consider so weak. It's an emotional reaction, isn't it? Why is a natural display of our emotion something to hide?

I still hate crying. I think that's so deeply ingrained it will never change. People who know me can immediately tell you if they've ever seen me cry. It's memorable. Awkward, ugly, uncomfortable. And vulnerable.

I hate feeling vulnerable.

But if I'm going to cry then I still can't stop myself. When my re-channeling doesn't work my eyes well up, my chin quivers and there's not a freaking thing I can do about it.

Big girls don't cry. I'll get there someday.

Never Lose

2011-03-16T23:04:00.000-07:00

Insinuate that I'm less than you.

I'll hate you.

Call it insecurity and see if I care.
You might be right.

(Eonn)

Fought and Forgot

2011-03-14T23:35:00.000-07:00

I listen to Eminem, sometimes. My headphones on, the volume up, my angst and anger cringing in the face of pop's greatest claim. But that's not why.

I listen for the blonde crew cut. For the baggy jeaned white wife beater of a culture not my own. For the thrill of memories I'll never have except scrawled in this poem. And with you.

For those times we parked and fought or didn't fight and I forgot. For the words that say you better then I ever could. For the ones that are actually good. For Stan. Haunting obsession and dysfunction.

Do you listen to Dido, thinking of me?

For regretting your past, for you. My present, with you. A future without. Not dreaming I'd end up with some commercialized beats on a mix disc of songs we could both appreciate. For Cleaning Out the Closet. Our one common conquer of communication. For the times that disagreement and you lips on mine were a confused passion. A plethora of emotion, of action. And of painfully knowing I could never like Eminem.

Because he reminds me of you.

Lonely Again

2011-03-03T20:54:00.000-08:00

My room mate is leaving tomorrow and I'd be lying if I said I'm not even a little bit sad.

(Aly-Wan)

Not because she's the best room mate I've ever had. She's not. Not because we spent a lot of time together. We didn't. I alternate between sadness and very glad that never again will she eat all my food when I'm not looking. Never again will I have to listen to her boyfriend and her at 2:00 AM through cardboard walls. Never again will all the dishes and the salt shaker end up in a pile on her bedroom floor. Never again will she leave the toilet paper empty and the lights all on. Never again will.... Umm... That's it actually. She's a beautiful (and incredibly hot) seventeen year old who's sweet and mostly pretty considerate.

She makes me want to mother her. Not to worry. I never treated her as anything but an adult.

I'm also kind of excited for her. Because she's excited with the excitement of a seventeen year old who's never headed out on her own. And I'm a little bit jealous because she's going on a road trip with the boy she loves to plans she's optimistically thrilled about.

Oh, to be seventeen again...

But I'm sad. Because I'm not nearly as optimistic as she is. Because we'll never eat popsicles for breakfast and talk about travel plans together again. Because I never met her brother, never saw her step-dad's straw house construction, never talked to her about things I think are most important. She taught me I'm not quite as confrontational as I think I am. Especially with someone I don't know and wish I did.

And I'm selfishly sad. Because I know in two weeks I'll be talking to myself again. I'll be sitting on my couch eating a meal I cooked for myself. I'll realize I'm more comfortable if I know someone else will come home. Or that, even if she rarely emerges, there's someone else in my other room. And I'll realize How much I don't like living alone.

Worn Jeans

2011-03-01T19:40:00.000-08:00

"A penny for your thoughts?"

"They're worth more then that," she protests. Less adamantly then intended.

"Alright, then. A nickel." He reaches, this time, into his pocket and searches through a spattering of change.

"Here." He places a dime on the table between the. "When you're done I'll owe you some of mine."

Kalee glares at the dime. She's normally more words then thoughts. Crafting opinions, stories, debates as she goes. She usually sounds good every time. But today, no, this whole damn week she doesn't feel like it. Who is he to wait patiently for her attempt? The dime will end up in the pocket of somebodies worn jeans. Kalee can't decide who's.

Her thoughts aren't worth five cents. Not, at least, to you or me. But they're labour intensive. For once she's struggled to build them and she doesn't want to let them go.

"I don't know," she sputters. He lowers his chin, raises his eyebrows. A man who can say more with an expression than a phrase. Of course he expects more.

"I don't."

There was Madison. She had always been the pretty one, the domestic one, the nurturer. Well she started dating soccer players and doctor's sons Kalee had done what little sisters do best. She shaped herself into someone completely different. The student, the scrapper, the arguer. They were comfortable in these roles and friends and competitors. Each knowing they would never succeed wherever the other excelled.

Kalee had one boyfriend in high school and another in university. Boys she shared notes and lunchtime sandwiches with. Ones she could attend parties with when she had time. They filled a role but mostly they were boys she could talk to. Endlessly. On the phone, in the car, late at night. Around campfires at the lake well everyone else played drinking games and dared each other to come skinny dipping.

Kalee could thank these boys for her prowess with words, her lauded communication skills. Her honours degree in journalism from McGill. They were what she needed. When she shut-down with her family she always had someone worth shaping her thoughts for.

And now here was Daniel waiting. And she couldn't do it. She is tired. Twisting her white ceramic mug she hopes the waitress will bring another refill. Kalee never drinks it black but she is today.

So, Madison is married. Of course she is. Finally she is. Married in a beautiful ceremony on a beautiful beach. A beach on that pretentious B.C. island with the waves rolling in, the sun overhead and the shells lining the aisle to the alter that wasn't an alter. The spot where Kalee had stood holding the bride's bouquet, smiling and acknowledging that she had a different lot in life.

Hers was the flight back to Toronto. The pumps, the meetings, the assistant editor's job and the ambition.

"I hate my ambition," she spits. "How dare they downsize? 'Cut my position' when I'm at my sister's wedding, of all things!"

Daniel nods. Kalee continues.

"Screw them. Screw Madison. Screw my student loans and my so-called career."

She is tired. Wondering, briefly, why Daniel is listening. If he recognizes that this is just a little piece of her incoherent thoughts. The little part that's a little less vulnerable then the rest.

The diner door swings shut behind them and they pull their hoodies tight against the autumn breeze. A caffeine buzz and plans not made.

She doesn't know. Nothing apart from that Madison is married, Daniel is here and she is unemployed. She'll take herself away if she finds that scrapper's courage.

The waitress is right behind them, coming off shift. She's changed her flats for scuffed leather and tied a scarf around her hair. That last booth is empty. She thinks it's about time. Might as well check before she goes... C'mon. Seriously? Sure, there's a downturn but this is friggin' ridiculous.

And she slides a dime into the pocket of her worn jeans.

New and Improved. I Think.

2011-02-28T02:33:00.000-08:00

Because or Why Not has gone through some purely aesthetic changes. New packaging, same great product. It started with trying to eliminate the header white space and... Well... It still has a sort of orange/gray/burgundy colour theme.

Your feedback is appreciated. Especially if it's in the form of endless praise and appreciation. Thanks to Rish for the early suggestions (including header photo, by dorguska). It took some messing about, I'm not much good at all this, but I've done what I can.

I've cleaned out my sidebar as well. You can now find my blog roll on a separate page. Because I can't have them update I have tried to include my favourites that stay current. If you still blog and have featured me on yours please let me know so I can return the favour!

Does anyone know how to put a Reddit button on each post?

2011-02-23T22:27:00.000-08:00

(dorguska)

"If you should leave here tonight feeling... Unfulfilled, please remember that this is a human condition." -KD Lang

"Because or the way you write, and what you write about, I'd expected you to be much older." -The Mayor

"I know about Hitler, and I know Japan wanted half the world, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't mourn war anyway. That doesn't mean we shouldn't feel grief at the terrible way conflicts are negotiated in a world absent God." -Donald Miller

Crushes and the Blogger

2011-02-20T20:13:00.000-08:00

I have a blog crush. Yes, I do. But, warning: You can read this whole post. I'm still not going to tell you who he is.

See, because this is a real blog crush. There's the "Hey, Girl! I think you're funny and a great social network connection so, guess what? I have a crush on you!" Those are fun. They're fine way to tell people I like their writing, I like chatting, I like their twitter and the pictures they take of themselves in the mirror (just kidding. I don't "crush" on anyone who does that.) But I think it's a lame use of the term.

Then there's the real crush. As in, I think I'd like you for real. I'd like to hang-out with you, go on epic adventures with you. Maybe, you know, marry you. That's all.

I think you're funny, intelligent and kinda cute. Yes, I think about you. Mostly when you post. I wish we could be friends. It would be nice if I could see if we're both the same as we seem to be when we write. If we could really argue about music on road trips to places we're both excited about. If we could really talk about what's important and where we want to go. If you'd let me tag along when you do fun, creative things. If you'd want to learn to do the things I know.

I never had any sort of never-met-before crush until I started blogging again. I thought it was stupid to like celebs or people you'd never meet. I still do, actually. I like myself better in real life. I simply like the real part.

Still, though, this post is about someone specific. The only blogger crush I've ever had that I honestly thought maybe I shared values, lifestyle opinions and interests with. But he's far too far away. I've never stalked his Facebook (because I've never thought about it before. I know what I'm doing after this publishes) or anything silly. I'll just keep reading his blog and thinking that he's a pretty cool guy.

The internet sucks.

Memes: Blogging isn't Blogging Without Them

2011-02-10T10:30:00.000-08:00

I'm not doing a very good job of blogging here by myself these days. Instead of fulfilling my role as pessimist I'm going to use this opportunity to complete a few of those tag thingies. For those of you who hate memes (me, on a good day) hold on. I'll write something better next week.

This one, though, is really pretty cool. A chance to check out someone's handwriting? Yes please. Here as I usually write (just a little bigger). Non-perfectionist and in my notebook with a Bic ballpoint.

1. What's your name/your Blogger name?

2. What's your blog's name/URL?

3. Write "the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog"

4. Favorite quote?

5. Your favorite song?

6. Your favorite band/singers?

7. Anything else you want to say?

8. Tag 3-5 other people

Just realized it's crooked. Heh, sorry.

The other tag comes from the ever-funny Coyote Rose. She wants to know my five current loves.

1. Random adventures in general. Road trips, more specifically. I may be planning one now. It may involve a camperized bus, seven friends, and the Alaska highway. Having something to look forward to keeps me relatively sane. Stay tuned in a couple months. Or, like, May.

2. Thrift stores. Eco friendly finds that give me a double rush of endorphins. One for cool "new" clothes. One for saving money. What's not to love? Although I did go on a bad actual-new clothes bender just lately...

3. Slippers. I used to hate them. Being all barefoot-tomboy and all. But my great-aunt from England sent me some for Christmas... And I've been wearing them every day. Yes, I am getting old.

4. Dancing. Of almost every variety. I can't wait for summer barn parties, since that's about all the opportunity I get around here. Well, other then break dance episodes upstairs with my brothers.

5. Sunshine! We've only seen little bits of it, but it gives me a little high every time. And now that I'm almost giving up on more successful snowboarding I'm 100% ready for spring. Green, warm, lovely spring.

Again, I'm not tagging. But this was a good no-blogging-slump remedy. Thanks girls.

Seventeen 'Till I Die

2011-02-01T21:13:00.000-08:00

Today my room mate turned seventeen. I told her, as I always tell people who turn that age, that seventeen is the best year. In my mind I could fairly happily stay seventeen forever. But why?

(xCoffeeAddict)

It was actually a pretty crappy year. I was lacking direction and fought to no end with the school I'd chosen to graduate with. This ended in tears and the principals office. As well as fantasies of judo-throwing her incompetent self through the floor (she got fired the next year, and had been shuffled around repeatedly because she can't do her job).

I got kicked out of home. It didn't last long, but was something of a reflection of my family situation in general. I never got pregnant, did drugs or assorted rebel behaviour. My parents just didn't get down with my lack of respect for imposed authority.

I spent three assorted months house sitting. Nothing seemed more magical then a place to myself.

I questioned the beliefs I was raised with late at night, realizing they'd have to become mine, and not sure if they could.

I built. Houses, with my Dad.

I passed my road test and took to driving like I was made for it.

I dedicated myself to judo, and subsequently reached my peak.

I struggled to establish a social group after the six month trip earlier that year threw a massive friggin' wrench in the one I was supposed to have.

For whatever reason, all that compiled into a belief that seventeen is independence, freedom and life more abundantly.

In the month before I turned eighteen I bought my own little car that I learned to love. I also graduated, put a down payment on a place, moved out and got a full time permanent job.

Maybe it's just that I never much cared for being an adult.

I Hate the Fact

2011-01-23T23:23:00.000-08:00

I hate the way he whispers

(AvrilkaTff)

in your hair when I'm around.
I hate the way you close the door
And pretend there's not a sound.
I hate the way you giggle
like you're happy, 'cause you're not
I hate the way I tell myself
I won't give this a thought.

I hate that this is temporary,
everything will change.
I hate the way you look at me,
you think that I'm insane.
I hate his twisted eyebrows
and his soft but piercing stare.
I hate that you convince yourself
you make a perfect pair.

I knew you as a child,
yes, I knew you better then.
Getting to know you better, now,
is something I intend.
It's hard, though, when he holds you close,
and knows I know the truth.
It's hard, though, when you hold his hand
and won't accept the proof.

I've made my own mistakes, you know.
I'm not one to pretend.
I'd take my own advice, you know,
if I could do it all again.
I've learned a few hard lessons,
guess they shaped me as I grew.
I think about it now,
the same will happen to you.

I hate him for the way I know
he'll let you down one night.
I hate there's nothing I can do
to help you learn to fight.
I hate the fact I care to much,
I just can't help you see.
But I know you're just becoming
the beautiful woman to be.

Hello to any awesome new followers, and welcome! Don't worry, I only rarely inflict my "poems" upon you all.

Getting in Hot Water

2011-01-10T22:25:00.000-08:00

"Can you girls just hand me that beer?"

Let me back up a little.

After taking the wrong back road we managed to arrive just at dusk (this is Canada in January so, like, 5:30). My Civic braved the mining road like the gem she is. We'd parked on the far end of the pull off and set up our tent on top of two feet of snow and three tarps. After unrolling our sub-temperature sleeping bags (that means "You will survive." Not, "You will be comfortable.) We finally shivered our way into bathing suits, hoodies and snow boots.

Cue: Classic natural hot springs. A beautiful set of pools surrounded by snowy overhangs. large flat rocks, river within fifteen feet, the toking crowd and snowflakes that melt in your hair. A star spread sky.

What makes it all worth it, as inclusion to the joy of getting in hot water, is the chance to spend hours with people you care about. The rare opportunity to do so without cell phones. Without texting, social etiquette concerns or pressing engagements.

Finally as our single water proof time-piece neared one AM the girls in our group climbed back onto the path. By now the only people left in the pool were the guys from our group and a few others we came to dub "The Canadians." Strange, yes, seeing that the rest of us excepting one fit that definition ourselves.

Rather then braving the outhouses at the top of the trail we opted to change on the path. Four of us took turns holding up towels and dropping our wet suits into a frozen heap on the ground. I stood holding the towel for a very naked friend. The other two of us were also engaged in providing and using these make shift change rooms. That's when The Canadians piped up.

"Uh, girls. Is there, like another beer up there? Just, yeah, do you see a Molson?"

I glanced down. three feet to my right I could spy the top of a can.

"Yeah. There's one right here."

"Oh, yeah, cool. Do you, like, think you could just hand it to us?"

I glanced down. My friend was looking for a bra in our snowy pile. I was balancing a flashlight and a the two corners of the towel. Since we'd been at this ten minutes already I would've thought that The Canadians could have figured out the inappropriateness of the request.

"Seriously? Hand you your beer? Umm, yeah. Just let me drop my towel on my friend here and hand you your beer."

No, I didn't say that. I mumbled something about in a minute. Canadian dude started scrambling up the bank.

"Oh, there it is. Just out of reach."

Luckily girl number five managed to reach us in time to hand him his Molson and they faded off to the bottom pool.

Why did we call them the The Canadians? They were proof as to where our stereotypes actually come from. And very much thanks to this quote.

"I f***in' drink beer all the time. F***in' Christmas shopping, I drink beer. In the f***in' shower I drink beer. Driving to these hot springs I drink beer. F***in' love beer, man!"

We figured out a better process the next morning. Arrive at the pools when there is nobody around. Toss a frozen chunk of suits and towel into the hottest pool. Proceed to change. It's really too bad that the colder it is in open air the better the hot spring experience.

I Like Boys Who Wear Bandannas

2011-01-06T20:00:00.000-08:00

It seems as though I think it's hot every time I see a guy rocking a bandanna. At least in real life. But I didn't just say that.

Well researching this topic I discovered that online I can't like boys in bandannas. First of all, "research" means, of course, that I was lurking Google images and Deviant Art looking for good looking males wearing bandannas. Imagine my chagrin when I realized there were so many bad pictures of said topic, and virtually none worth showing my readers.

The idea started when I was watching this music video on Youtube.

Of course I soon remembered that I can't possibly admit to watching this band even if it's because it has this guy and I'm checking out this wrist bandanna. I then started to think about how I could list off all the super cool ways of wearing them. It wasn't long before I realized that I can't really do it without sounding like a douche.

I can't do it without sounding like some degree of hippi, redneck, punk or emo (whether or not I am has yet to be seen...). I'll sound like I like smelly old bikers, highly image-conscious jerks, wanksters or illegal skater kids (whether or not I do is quite well established. Negative, thank-you very much).

(colinhill)

(loudxmusic)

So, on Because or Why Not I formally find guys in bandannas a very large turn-off. I also would never consider wearing one myself. Nope. Bandannas are not hot. Bandannas are, in fact, unattractive.

I won't let on that I have checked out young guys wearing bandannas the right way (no do-rags please!). I also, without a doubt, believe that good looking young women should consider it a serious strike against their self esteem if they've even considered wearing one of these trashy accessories.

Unless I actually meet you. Then, maybe, we can talk about bandannas another time...

Judo is a Like

2011-01-03T22:55:00.000-08:00

This is not judo,
but you probably don't know that

When I was seventeen I loved judo. Basically lived and breathed judo. I found no better high then a perfect throw or a gold medal and a small town tournament. I'd get nervous, pumped, determined. I got in the best shape of my life.

Now I like judo. I think. What do I love? I guess adult life means I don't get passionate about athletic pursuits like I used to. I almost love dancing. I know. From a fighter to a lover. Tomboy to girl. I almost love snowboarding. At least with that you have speed, adrenaline, challenge and a effin' cool image. I almost love hockey and volleyball.

I'll keep doing judo. Nothing kicks my butt like a martial arts class. It's productive, and I like that in a workout. Best of all, sometimes, I still get the thrill of a perfect throw.

I've learned, for myself, I need commitment. I learned this through the times I was a complete hypocrite and got badly out of shape (I was mostly out of the country). I also learned, though, that I'm much happier when I have a physical way to channel my energy.

What I'm saying is this. Find something to love. I don't know what it will be. Maybe you're one of those freaks who gets runner's high. Maybe you love pilates, rock climbing (this is one I want to do more of), swimming. Basketball, biking (I do this, but only because it's practical), hiking. Whoever you are, I'm pretty sure you can find a workout that even you can convince yourself is worth your time. Parking on the other side of the lot and taking the stairs are good things. But they shouldn't do more then supplement.

Trust me. It's worth it to find something you love.

PS, I don't care how good your sex life is. First off, It probably isn't that great if you're not into any other physical activity. And it's not gonna make your active lifestyle requirements anyway. Quit trying to be a smart ass.

Bloggerstock: What Inspires You?

2010-12-31T05:55:00.000-08:00

It's Bloggerstock time again! I'm hosting the lovely Lily (see below) with a really great post! Feel free to visit my post which is, once again, hosted over at Michael's blog! Isn't this a great topic for the end of the year? On to the inspiration!

******

Why, hello there! My name is Lily and I write for a little blog called Is it too early for a martini? I’m writing on “Because or Why Not” because both Kris and I signed up for a cool project called Bloggerstock. Each month there is a different topic. This month, the topic is “What or who inspires you to do whatever it is that you do be it blogging, writing, school or your job”. Be sure to check out my blog and read what inspires Riley from Wayfaring Warrior.

******

Different things and people inspire me to do different things.

But the one who takes the cake is my little sister, Alejandra.

Even before she was born, I always wanted a sister. I hated that I only had an older brother, and that he was kind of mean to me. He would punch me and take my allowance. And then would threaten me with another punch if I told my parents that he took my money. He stopped taking my money when I learned to punch back, and punch back harder.

Before my sister and I become friends, I was a typical kid experiencing middle-child syndrome. My older brother is the only boy so he got all of attention, and my sister was the baby so she got alot of attention. And in my mind as a 10 to 19 year old, I could be doing flips in the middle of the street with on coming traffic and no one would care.

But I was wrong.

I guess I never noticed it; I was in my own little world. Unnecessary partying in high school, not focusing enough through my first round of college, and being too busy trying to find someone to fix a broken heart. Though I thought no one was paying attention to the destructive things I was doing, I had a little sister who was growing up and was taking notes. I had to sit back and reevaluate my life and how I was making decisions. Do I want my little sister to feel like me? Do I want her to think that what I’m doing is right? No and no.

To me it’s kind of sad that I didn’t realize that she looked up to me. I feel dumb that it didn’t even cross my mind. I am her only sister. And I am her older sister. I never wanted to be a role model for anyone. Nor did I know how to be an older sister. Still, I stepped up.

My sister is now at the same age where I started doing things that, in hindsight, I regret. I told my boyfriend that I didn’t want her to do the same things I did, and that she should enjoy her childhood. I do think I grew up way too fast- kind of like all the Disney kids, but not as glamourous … but a bit more alcohol and drugs. His response was “then you have to give her the talk”. I didn’t think that was my job. She has parents… they could do it… but then he responded with “who do you think she’ll listen to more? Your dad and stepmom or you?”. I hate it when he’s right.

I’m not trying to toot my own horn, or say I’m the best sister ever. Because I’m not. I’m human, and I have a low patience level. I try to be as best as I can.

She inspires me because I see myself in her. I want her to be better than me. Even if that means she’s actually better than me.

******

As two of my favorite people have said (Kanye West and Tyler Sutherland): “One bad bitch from the Chi-city, crusin down Lakeshore doin’ at least a buck fity”. Okay, maybe not so much. But I do live in Chicago, but obey all speed limits, unless I’m running late for work.

Bitter New Year To You

2010-12-28T19:45:00.000-08:00

(dinudey1985)

New Years isn't something that was ever tradition when I was growing up. I remember bitterly spending it with my family. Or, even more bitterly yelling it in with our lamps defiantly on and my sister's wrist watch reminding us the rest of the world was partying. Once we avoided a party because the adults were going to have one upstairs, and us kids were going to party in the basement. Family first. I was bitter about that, too.

As I got older we spent New Years eve playing pool in our church basement or watching the ball drop in New York through my Grandma's television. One of the more memorable was being at the top of a pine tree. My sister and cousins perched on branches below me. Driving around town and trying to set off car alarms. I was bitter then, as well. My friend group had intentionally uninvited me. Or fighting on an Israeli beach at midnight in a country that doesn't really acknowledge the holiday. Or getting slurpees on a volunteer program that required us back by midnight.

I've kicked off too many of my years bitter and lost. My toughest break-up happened on a New Years day. Despite all this I still anticipate the holiday with a sort of respectful admiration. Maybe I have a little glimmer of optimism that insists on the possibility of fresh starts, dynamic celebration and successful resolutions.

Or maybe I'm just a fool.

Just This

2010-12-25T14:58:00.000-08:00

If you read this blog this month there's nothing to indicate that I celebrate Christmas, let alone that it's altogether and absolutely my favourite holiday of the year.

If you read this blog this month you wouldn't know how proud I am of my Christmas tree. You wouldn't know the joy I find in Christmas music, the people who smile at you on the street. A white season, gift wrapping and baking. Hockey on our outdoor rink, snowboard plans, cards thanking the people in my life for a year of memories.

I savour tradition. Stockings, paper snowflakes adorning the windows, real ones caught in my hair. Smiles, Charlie Brown's Christmas, memories.

So, I am sorry. If you read this blog this month I never shared any of this. As usual, it's also the busiest part of the year. Ironic that Christmas day is when I get time to sit and type this to you. Really all I want to say is something you've heard a million times before.

Merry Christmas!

The Middle of Nowhere in the Middle of the Night

2010-12-18T13:25:00.000-08:00

Dec. 31st, 2009, 11:30 PM. I needed change.

11:30 PM and someone said we should climb the lookout. In the middle of a wildlife reserve. In the dark. We were in the middle of this nowhere anyway. We were tired of flying down an icy hill on over-sized tubes and throwing gasoline on the fire. I was tired of chocolate Christmas baking and being the oldest in the group. I was tired of doing doughnuts in empty parking lots and hours spent running in a mild winter out of pure frustration.

twenty five of us piled into four cars and sped down to the empty reserve and a clear starry sky. We ran down clapboard paths over dead winter marshes and up the four flights of steps to the open top. We made it, breathless, by midnight.

I screamed at the emptiness and my small town's lights in the distance. I grabbed my blonde friend and we looked at each other, jaws set.

"Get lost, 2009. We're so done with you!"

She was going to Calgary. I was going to Arizona. I haven't seen her since. I miss her, but I know her life has gone the way she wanted.

And myself. I just didn't know. I'm not my brothers that were hugging me, lifting me, threatening to throw me over the rail. I'd given up construction long ago. I was twenty three. I'd seen the world.

Twenty four of us yelling in the new year. Crammed in an open look-out tower blindly hugging and looking forward to 2010. And me.

Foreign Flavour

2010-12-09T22:20:00.000-08:00

(Jahblessme)

I think I think I like you
'Cause I really think you're cute
You're sweet but you are edgy
Like you're trying to improve

You smile, hold the door,
but in every conversation
I'm really very certain
you swear without realization

You're genuinely thoughtful,
even when I know you're wasted
Like a new and foreign flavour
that I've never really tasted.

You wear death metal t-shirts.
Yeah, you seem a little shady,
but you really are exceptional
at helping out old ladies.

I think I think I like you,
and I know you think I'm hot.
So this may seem a little crazy...
I won't give us a shot.

Brave Enough

2010-12-05T19:42:00.000-08:00

A string of lights in a summer evening. She's brave enough to dream. Like dreaming is enough. ---

(violetda)

The hours feel long. Endless smiles for endless customers. Peppermint gum and a particular aptitude with the Numerical keyboard. Something to be proud of. Gossip with the next cashier over the party last night or customers best forgotten.

Jostin in deli is leaving, she's been told. She'll miss his smile when he comes through her till with a sandwich for lunch. She'll miss quirking her eyebrows when he offers her a ride home in his pickup truck. And saying that she'd rather walk, thank-you. She'll miss the reminder of an awkward kiss between the shelving in the back before Julie asked him out. Before he said yes.

She's drafted a cover letter. She'll make the deli position hers. It's opportunity. To learn to slice peppercorn turkey, weigh salad and hang her white apron on her own hook in the hallway. And benefits. After two years it's certainly time.

This is where she's going. But dreaming... Dreaming is what she does in the silence of home. When she gets caught in the quiet with her guitar in her lap. And on lunch breaks. Lying on the picnic table. Eyes closed, salad forgotten and sun on her face.

Winter isn't for lunchtime naps and dreams. Winter is for reheated soup in the staff room. It's icy breaks and cigarettes on the plastic chairs outside. There's nothing better then her burgundy trench with the lighter in the pocket. It's winter. She doesn't care.

Her favourite season. She forgets how to dream.

---One light fades. It fails. The string drops into darkness and a wounded socket. Just a moment, a shadow. Not even a hope. One day she'll let it go forever.

Change Your Life Challenge

2010-11-27T14:11:00.000-08:00

So I signed up for this.

This month's challenge is this.

The strange thing is that I don't actually consider vegan/vegetarianism healthy.

I think meat should be a integral part of most healthy diets.

Not to even begin to discuss dairy and eggs.

Also, it takes more then a week to change habits.

But, I signed up. Mostly because I like the idea of challenging myself every month.

And going vegan will certainly be a challenge.

I don't figure a week can hurt much.

Also, my new room mate is vegan, and I think understanding is a good thing.

So, I'll be going animal byproduct free within the next few days.

And I'm excited to see where else this goes.

If you feel like joining us check out Monica's Challenge for yourself.

This Entire Post is Borrowed

2010-11-23T22:33:00.000-08:00

(ThatOnePhotographer)

I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought
how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.

-Virginia Woolf

The Biggest Role Boobs Will Ever Play on My Blog

2010-11-15T21:16:00.000-08:00

I want feedback. I specifically want feedback from my male readers out there. I'm sure you guys exist. Even if I never do post boobs for real (sorry for the tease). But I have a very specific question.

First of all, I've never watched Jersey Shore. Not even a little piece of a little clip of the show. But the general impression I've formed about the show made me think it would fit this post well. Here's what confuses me. I know girls who channel Jersey Shore with all their might. You know. Pale lipstick, excessive eyeliner, trashy hair extensions, that disturbing orange hue, single line eyebrows. That kissy face. I wish I was ~~rude~~ gutsy enough to snag some of their ten million pictures off Facebook and show them to you. But I'm not, so these shots of Jersey Shore are gonna have to do because, frankly, it's pretty much the same thing.

So, the thing is, I've never heard a guy say they like that crap. As a girl I honestly think it's a little disturbing (and I feel the same way about the fake orange males wearing Ed Hardy and trucker hats). It's trashy. Period. So, guys tell me they like girls who act like ladies. They say they like girls who can rock the natural look. They say all sorts of stuff, and then chase after girls who leave the house looking like, well... Check attached images. Then... then they get all over these girls like their the hottest things their poor horny selves have seen all year. I've seen it, and I know you have too.

I have three theories.

1. Boys are shallow. They think they like genuine girls because they like the idea of a genuine girl. They also don't quite understand how much of the Jersey chicks are fake.

2. They actually like genuine girls. However, the thing is that genuine girls take a little more work. The Jersey chicks are easy. What other kinda girl would put this out there? And, really, why go hard when you can go easy?

3. The Jersey chicks just know how to play they guys. They know when to smile, when to flash boob. And, oh yeah, they know how to flirt. Flirt like you'll get somewhere. They know how to make any boy feel like he really matters. Like sex is the biggest objective in their life. And, yeah. It probably is.

So tell me, guys. Why does this work on you? And girls, do you get it? Or are you a little bit Jersey yourself (in which case I do apologize).

Don't be surprised if this post only survives a week or two. I doubt I'm brave enough to risk the Jersey chicks in my life eventually stumbling across it.

Abortion, My Thoughts

2010-11-07T13:09:00.000-08:00

I'm confused as to why the abortion debate is considered a religious or feminist issue. Either an unborn baby is a life, or it's not. If it is, terminating a pregnancy is wrong by every standard. Abortion is a humanitarian issue.

It's dangerous to draw a line defining when life begins. Is it when a fetus can feel pain? Is it the first time it cries? It's first breath of oxygen? The day it enters the third trimester?

I'm aware that pain is caused every day to women who attempt their own abortions. I'm aware that rape and marital molestation result in countless pregnancies. I would never ever argue that these are anything but tragedies.

It's unfortunate that sex, even uninvited, can result in accidental life. It's unfortunate that birth control fails, or isn't readily available in parts of the world where population control is needed most. It sucks that life sends us challenges, responsibilities and mistakes. And it really hurts to realize that this is passed onto the helpless little lives that result. We need to work on fixing these issues.

Regardless, hundreds of thousands of abortions exist simply to terminate an inconvenience. And yes, illegal abortions can kill women. Abortion is a possibility and a fact. It's not going away. But here's the thing. If I believe that a fetus is a child. If i believe that the emotional upheavel experienced after a miscarriage or an abortion isn't simply a coincidence. If I believe it's a life, then advocating for the privilege of ending it is a terrible injustice.

I'm not pro life because I'm religious. Certainly not because I'm anti-woman. I am pro-life because I have an adopted little brother I love into a million pieces. Because I think that even those without voices need rights. It's an opinion I'll never apologize for.

I'm pro life because I believe in living.

Goodbye Autumn

2010-11-04T17:48:00.000-07:00

(dorguska)

Yesterday is but a memory.
Tomorrow's just a dream.

'Cause That's How We Roll

2010-11-01T23:08:00.000-07:00

(C-Money)

Guess what I did?

You didn't guess.

That's okay. You wouldn't anyway. I entered a singing contest.

It better be fun. I managed to convince a couple friends to join me. One of them has the voice of that's as rich and strong as hot honey. Hearing her sing puts me to sleep. I wish I had a recording I could let you hear.

Which means I'm not going to win, but I'll have a good time. That's o.k. Who enters competitions with an intent to win, anyway? I just love music, and my voice has always been my strongest instrument. I sing without realizing it.

So now I'm hitting up Youtube Karaoke to see what I'm actually capable of.

That's all I wanted to say and only 'cause I think it's cool. Sorry :)

A Halloween Wedding, Asian Justin Bieber and a White Belly Dancer.

2010-10-31T18:19:00.000-07:00

Most of last week I was thinking to myself, "I should really do one of those trendy 'last minute costume option' posts." I love dressing up. Unfortunately, I also kinda suck at it. I'm far too last minute and lacking in basic creativity. So, lucky for you, I refrained.

I did work today. One of my co-workers came in with her entire wedding (three family members, in costume), post wedding. They got married in the park on Halloween. Her dress was exactly like the picture at right, only purple instead of silver. Her husband was rigged out in top-hat, bungee boots, leather pants and one exceptional coat and tails.

unorthodox, to say the most. And I was thrilled for them. It's so them, and they should tie the knot exactly the way they want.

Later I heard a little about a juvenile party my littl brother and his cohorts are throwing in a pasture. It sounds like a lot of trouble. What else is Halloween for? I was cracking up as I was told about the little Asian kid dressing up like Justin Beiber. My older brother gave me a play on how he was standing in front of the mirror trying to make himself white. And turning out like Barbie. Ah well, it's only a short step from there to Beiber.

And my Halloween hasn't even started. Now I'm off to break out my Aladdin pants, scarves and eyeliner. It's gonna be a good Halloween. Hope yours, by time you read this, was appropriately creepy.

Blah

2010-10-26T01:22:00.000-07:00

I've always said I don't get depressed. I've always stuck by this statement pretty well. I do, however, get pissed off. Seems like this time of year I end up frustrated at almost everything. It's like I'm suddenly realizing that summer was far too carefree. And that somewhere, in the suntanned bliss of eternal youth, I turned yet another year older.

I wish it didn't happen. I get to thinking about where I am, what I'm doing, and who exactly that makes me. Very very dangerous questions. Especially when you don't have good answers. And dammit, I do not have good answers.

I like to redirect my energy. I love skating hard and scoring goals. I like getting slammed into the mats by kids with brown belts. I like pretending the little things I've accomplished matter.

I love arguing. Always have, always will. It's a skill I've honed until I'm pretty good at it. Which is too bad, because that's not a beneficial thing. Especially when I don't have anyone to argue about anything worthwhile with.

Either that or I employ frighteningly brilliant avoidance tactics. The fact that I have no television doesn't even help that much. I'm just that good.

And I don't get Seasonal Effective Disorder. Yeah. Right.

(Ronaaa)

Hetzbasheket

2010-10-24T23:49:00.000-07:00

Today I miss Silent Arrow. I miss almost everything about it. Dancing with poi in the courtyard, walking into Mitzpe to bring back grocery staples and asking for two reciepts in my best Hebrew. Laughing at absolutely everything all the time. I miss talking to Ori late at night and having him think I was insightful, despite his superior mastery of my language. I miss lighting the candles or stealing Sason's mp3 and listening to his techno because we didn't have other music. I miss the hand drums and the guitar.

I've talked about the desert before. There's something about the silent sky, the blazing stars, the eternal aridness that calms this mountain girl. Silent arrow is where I learned this. I'm not sure why this is so, or why I'd never learned it earlier in Mexico. Perhaps I never needed it before. Maybe it was being abandoned when I was vulnerable. I miss sitting over the crater talking to Sason all night about our futures because we knew we'd never talk again. I miss the stoners and the wanderers and being on my own.

If you ever make it to Mitzpe Ramon say hello for me.

I miss feeling like I could be gone forever, or as long as I needed to be. I miss walking barefoot over sun warmed stones. I miss chopping crates for firewood and stoking the fire late at night when I should've been curled up beneath my hippi blanket. I miss doing the dishes because my best friend cooked us dinner. I miss endless cups of desert tea and I miss arak mixed with grapefruit juice. I miss smoking sheesha with the kids who drove down on weekends.

I miss the freedom and knowing everything would be alright.

All photos through Hetzbasheket on Facebook

Well, now. Buenos Dias.

2010-10-22T00:32:00.000-07:00

(noahlee)

Left to my own schedule I stay up later and get up later until I'm frightfully near nocturnal. Fortunately life requires me to stay on a slightly more realistic time frame. I'm really not a morning person, and I never will be. Maybe this is partly because I've always refused to embrace caffeine.

I have learned to detest the sound of an alarm clock more then almost anything else. Bed suddenly seems the best place in the world. I will gladly hate morning song birds. And don't get me started on those cheerful people happily belting out their "good morning"s.

Once I'm up and about, though, freshly showered and munching on toast and homemade jam it begins to seem as though anything else would be just a waste of time.

Morning is the most productive part of just about any day. At least if I manage to rub the sand out of my eyes. It's a great time for thoughts, and also the best in which to spot a sunrise. Funny how that works. I like watching the world coming alive. I'll never actually manage to regularly get out of bed early for a morning run or even a cup of tea on the back deck. I'll just have to take the moments between the snooze button and my true day's beginning to gather my wits and warm up to the day.

I also might want to work on heading to bed a bit earlier. Something that is easy to avoid until the alarm goes off and I consider the benefits all over again.

Of course, the fact that I'm posting this at 1:00 AM might be an indicator to how that would actually go.

I have to thank Riley for causing me to post this. She's written out a highly effective blog review for me which has resulted in the subscribe button and About page now on my blog. I will be working on implementing a few other changes over the next little while.

I've been known to recommend her blog before, which is a really good read. But now I'm also going to recommend her reviews. Well worth it if you're actually serious about improving your blog.

It Ain't Just an Excuse

2010-10-15T23:36:00.000-07:00

(AtlanticLoner)

I like being busy. The ironic bit is that I'm not good at motivating my free time. I need to find something that will push me, that I can get involved in.

I like talking about deadlines. It makes me feel important. I like having to reference my schedule. What it comes down to, I think, is that I enjoy being productive. I thrive of knowing I'm getting things done (and maybe a little bit of stress). And keeping busy allows me to forget that I'm staying in one place. I like forgetting stuff sometimes.

But if left to my own devices I'll sleep in 'till ten and stay up to late. I'll get distracted by Youtube, novels, and my guitar. When I get frustrated with my wasted time I'll go for a pathetic run and maybe check my mail and pay my bills.

And I hate that. Procrastination is my worst trait.

I like when writing and a cup of tea is time to unwind instead of it being something I've accomplished.

Yeah, I was a bit of a burnout when I didn't know what I was doing, and it didn't work to go anywhere. If I don't work, I'll go crazy. And I know it.

So, I've packed up my schedule. And it's doing me good. Do you secretly like being busy?

More Blogging BS

2010-10-14T00:55:00.000-07:00

Here's the thing. I get paid to blog, now. Seriously, I do. Not much. Like, I'm not professional or anything. But I get paid to blog.

Unfortunately it's just not here.

So, the job blog is actually not too exciting. It's not quite as creative and fun as one. So, as you can see, I'm still completely into Because or Why Not. It's the blog I really care about, even if it doesn't make me any money.

Just, you know. Bear in mind that I'm force posting every weekday. It's a little tiring, and everything.

Sometimes

2010-10-06T23:25:00.000-07:00

I mismatched my hair elastics sometimes just to piss you off . Because you needed to lighten up and learn that red and orange on my braids was fun. Sometimes I pretended I didn't care, and you didn't call my bluff. Sometimes I held your hand in the backseat and decided to think that no one noticed.

Sometimes I told people it was nothing. I told them what I couldn't stand so they would believe me. I told myself it wouldn't happen, and wasn't happening, and would never happen.

Sometimes I got tired of being the strong one.

You let me cut your hair, and wore the shirts I got you. I looked in your eyes. That was my mistake. Your eyes, your phone voice, your endless adoration.

Oh, did I say endless? My mistake. Oh, no, wait. Yours.

(luna-aino)

A Blog Rant About Blogging (and awards. See how that works?).

2010-10-04T23:24:00.000-07:00

"Actually, don't be surprised if I blog more, and better quality."

Nobody thought it prudent to call my bluff?

Maybe the blogging honeymoon is over. Mostly, I have other preoccupations. Really boring ones that provide pretty lousy blog fodder. I still love my Because or Why Not, though. It just takes a lot of work and focus to write truly quality posts.

Blogging has brought great things into my life. Ideas, distraction, people, a really great creative outlet. I'm not about to give that up.

You know what I haven't done for a while? Just had a good rant. And now I'm ranting about blogging. Classy.

Here's a new one! It comes from a fabulous blog Called The Far Too Important Blog. Best off all, Jeff gave me "art." Which makes it my best award ever (of course I had to go post that on my crappiest least-artistic post of the year). Also got an award from another really good blog called Pretend You Don't Read Me. How do they come up with such great names? It's an award I've posted a few times already though, so I'll just tell you to go visit Ella. She's very cool.

As usual, three blogs in my reader along these lines that I also recommend...

The Wayfaring Stranger- Sometimes Riley's attitude pisses me off, and best of all she really doesn't care. I'd never say that to her face, because she makes it clear she could kick my butt. Anyway, she writes a good social commentary blog from a point of view that's occasionally different then mine. And she's inspiring through her go-getter attitude. What's not to like?

The Curiosities of a College Kid- I've always liked this guy, even though we've never spoken. He's often amusing, but clearly intelligent. Also, he provides some good insight seeing that he's in Senegal right now.

You Can Read Me Anything- I have loved Rish's blog for a long time now. She is of substance herself, and that doesn't stop occasional raw heartfelt honesty combined with brilliant writing skills. She's quite simply a passionate person and that comes across in her posts. Do yourself a favour and go scan through what she's written.

Seriously though, they're all good. And now, well, I'll have to connive some decent posting myself so the top of my page isn't a blog rant/award post. It'll happen.

The (No) Internet Experiment

2010-09-25T00:06:00.000-07:00

Here's the thing. I like the internet. It's an endless resource ever at my fingertips. So I abuse it. I don't even want to know the amount of time I've spent online over the last year. If I am away for a week I don't have any trouble going offline, but I spend far to much time in front of my screens when the option is there.

Let's face it. There is much I want to do. dreams I want to pursue, thoughts to be had, family and friends I know I don't see enough of, cooking, music, cleaning, studying, exercise. All far more worthwhile then catching up my FB feed or watching movies on youtube. (hey, at least I don't have an actual television).

In short, I am so much closer to the person I want to be without the internet.

I'm not about to delete my facebook, or give up blogging or online courses or news sources. I'm not doubting the online world is useful if we make it serve us the way we want it too.

This is, essentially, the first time with my own place and internet and computer. In the past I've relied on stops at friends and the library. You know what? It was better that way.

I love the outdoors. I love conversation, adventures, life. You know, the real version. I'm just terrible for procrastinating it.

So, here's the plan. For the next week I'll be online for no longer then half an hour each day (including my apps), outside of studying. I'll still be blogging, but I'll just c/p from word. Actually, don't be surprised if I blog more, and better quality.

I'll miss some of my mind numbing time wasting standard habits but we'll see. Maybe I'll have to enact this as a standard part of my life.

The Notebook Chronicles

2010-09-18T19:13:00.000-07:00

The little bald one with the glasses is the regular. I know him only as the milk truck man. He actually wears a blue collar. I like to think I belong in that class, despite my ripped t-shirt. We make our living off the same industry. His job occasionally overlapping mine. But that is all.

The milk truck man.

We exchange pleasantries before most of the world has even woken. "Good morning," and, "How are you today?"

This morning as I finished clean-up I felt like we shared a bond. Both of us the working class. Earning our keep at jobs we do well. Keeping our hours and making sure you get milk on your morning cheerios.

I grinned at him. As though, somehow, we knew a common secret. It not occurring to me that it was a connection noted only in my mind that particular AM. He probably only thought I was strangely cheerful at a time when usually I look forward to is going back to bed.

I leave our farm as the sun rises. My part of the process complete for now. He finishes loading the fruit of my labour and continues on, his day just beginning.

The milk truck man pulls up to another parlour as I crawl beneath the covers.

The feature where I let you read the ramblings of my past.

Randori, Newaza and Other Japanese Words I Don't Remember

2010-09-15T12:49:00.000-07:00

All of me hurts. Well, when I try to move. This is specific to, but not limited to thighs, upper stomach, neck and upper arms. Not to mention the bruises running pretty solid up my left arm. Does that sound bad? I think it's because that's the arm I usually break fall with.

Yeah, I'm back at judo. Item 46.

I might not be coming back with the obsession I had at 17. I always wished I had a chance to start younger and train harder. But, I've missed it. Practicing this year will whip me back into some much needed shape. I build muscle easily for a girl. I miss my chiseled shoulders, and my masculine forearms. Wait... what?

Maybe I'll fall in love with the sport all over again. And if not I'll be able to leave some energy on the mat. My Mom was never a big fan of her teenage daughter rolling around with sweaty guys, or the part where we try to choke each other unconscious. But she once said it was good because it was an outlet for some of my fight.

if nothing else I'll leave healthier (unless I tear something in my knee). Right now that's hard to remember when sitting down necessitates a five inch uncontrolled fall. In a good way.

Maybe you'll see why I find judo beautiful. This is the international competition scene, no choreography here. I can understand why a match would be dull for someone who isn't a judoka, so feel free to check out these highlights. Bobby says to warn you to turn on the mute.

I Done Got My Schoolin' at Home

2010-09-07T22:36:00.000-07:00

(JoySuke)

I was home schooled.

A lot of you already know that, on some level or another, but I want you to tell me your reaction. What biased did your mind jump to when you read that sentence? What are your preconceived ideas and judgements?

See, I still don't really seem to get it. Over the years I've bragged about being a home schooler. Now it's less relevant to my life (hello adulthood. You and I are old friends now) and I prefer to think of it as advocating.

I'm also starting to realize what home schooled actually means. Or, rather, what people think it means. And, yes. I am personally aquainted with some of these stereotypes. The ten kids, denim jumpers, headcoverings. Classical piano, Rod and Staff (err, that's a curriculum), and repressed social development.

But... But, that's not what home schooling was for me. There were a lot of "normal" experiences that I didn't have. A good chunk of my sex ed came from magazines and late night talks with my friends. I never shoplifted gummy candies on my lunch break or smoked cigarrettes under the stairs. Personally, I don't think missing this out did me much harm. Most of my "home schooled" friends have grown into functional, responsible, intelligent adults. The ones with the most trouble are the families I've known that have been extreme (see above paragraph). Honestly, those kids often go crazy, but do you blame them?

Those of us with a better balance may question our social roles a little earlier and learn to make out in the backseat or a car a little later. But, in the end, we usually seem to work things out just fine.

Education at home is a concept that has continued to capture my attention. I have no interest in working in education, but the idea of alternative education fascinates me. I have little tolerance for anyone closed minded enough to override home school as even a possible beneficial option without any previous experience or reason.

Do I think everyone should be schooled at home? No. Not every parent is anywhere near capable of that commitment. Do I think home school is ideal in every way? Not even a little bit. I do, however, think the public system only serves a certain portion of the population very well. Obviously, it's a one size fits all, and has to be that way. And that, essentially, is why I continue to support home education.

The potential for a personally tailored education is endless. So much so that I can see how mistakes could be made, and parents could easily feel overwhelmed. There is much to take into consideration. This is also why I'm bothered by such a sweeping generalization of home schoolers. There is no norm. I have some of the typical traits, but not many. Where I'm from almost has a separate culture just for us. We always walked the line.

I, personally, am thankful for my home tailored education. There is much I would do different if I went back. Would hope to do different if I were ever to have children of my own. And high school should be (and was for me) a personal option. Proof of academic achievement and a social structure are two aspects of home schooling that must be thought out where there is rarely need in a public school.

Just, please, tell me this. What do you think when I tell you I'm a home schooler? Is all this defense necessary?

Autumn Beats Me Up

2010-09-04T21:22:00.000-07:00

(Source)

I know it's still the end of summer. A season for freedom and carelessness and passion. I know I was jumping from cliffs into beautifully fresh water this weekend. Around this time we're usually melding into a beautiful Indian summer. However, this year I've already tasted the crisp tang of fall.

The first emotion autumn brings me is an extreme urge to move on. Summer's dying and I need to travel, quit my job... leave. I need to learn, wander, wonder. Time to work and move on and join autumn sports. September is a learned habit to pack up, start school, travel, move.

Change.

And then, or at the same time, I start to want to settle down. Cooling air makes me want fuzzy blankets and someone to share them with. I want fall colours and cable stitch sweaters to wear with my bluejeans. I want to make jam from our harvest, collect firewood, hunt and knit burnt orange touques to keep me warm through the winter cold. I want an acreage and an orchard. Some dark cool dirt to dig in and a fireplace to come inside to.

Settling in.

Here we can climb wooden ladders with laden canvas totes. Gala, Honeycrisp, Delicious, Macintosh. You better believe I can bake a mean pie. I can milk a cow, make yogurt, cut meat to stock the freezer. I've pressed juice, made pickles and dug potatoes. This is where I'm from.

But I have a backpack by my bed. And a tendency to search airline tickets when I'm supposed to be paying bills. I have mind-stretching universities in my bookmarks and a tank full of gas that begs me to use it every time I drive to the edge of town. Rusty Spanish that begs to be stretched out. Energy to wear out on the ice, the judo mats, the ski hill.

Fall brings out both sides of my excess energy. Estrogen and testosterone in a mad and endless clash. This fall neither will be much of an option. I'll need my silly little side projects. No month long road trips or beer in hostel basements. No international markets, or no running my own local booth. I'll be wearing out my fight in a dojo and wondering why I'm settling for middle ground.

Things To Love About Road Trips

2010-08-24T09:35:00.000-07:00

~ The opportunity to actually get tired of driving.

~ Taking photos (see left).

~ Ice tea and ice cream from greasy gas stations.

~ Flea markets, roadside stalls and garage sales.

~ Young international hostel crowds.

~ Feeling like a rebel spending nights in the car.

~ Adventure.

~ Couchsurfing.

~ City streets and checking off a list.

~ Coast line, mountains, plains, rock formations and sunsets.

~ Hiking, swimming, stretching after sitting too long.

~ Fresh visits with old friends.

~Never feeling restless.

Dance Like Summer Will Never End

2010-08-22T22:05:00.000-07:00

(Timothy-Sim)

We'll blow the speakers by the end of the night playing last year's dance hits. Everyone is here, now. The kid in the fedora wanting to play dj. There's always one. The gorgeous indie girl kissing her boyfriend on the bale couch. It's covered with a denim quilt. The hipster, the player, the thinker. Tonight this barn is the place to be.

The big dipper is visible through the door to this loft. I can lean on old silver wood and breathe in the field air. Fill my empty can from the hose or sit in the other room by an overturned washer to gossip with my best friend or chill with the guys.

We'll line dance, slow dance, and do the Macarena. Someone will teach me the Cha Cha and someone else the square step. Mostly we'll just dance and laugh and flirt a little.

It feels a little bit like prom night in skinny jeans and tank-tops. And a little bit like a bush party with a dance floor. A little bit like the club we're trying to imitate. A little bit alive and a little bit young. Christmas lights and a strobe light. Tonight we won't complain about the local nightlife. Tonight we've created our own.

You learn to love the summer nights here. The cool breeze on sweaty skin. An outdoors far too big to hold. Racing cars across the flats, evening fires by the lake, long talks and love and travelers to share a glance with. Autumn comes to soon.

I apologize for not taking any pictures of my own. I came nowhere near finding a photo that captured this post properly.

This week I am Mama M's date from over at My Little Life. Makes her the hottest Mom on my block. I'm honoured, and a big welcome to all my visitors!

Also, I told you to visit The Spiraling Chronicles and leave a comment. For my favourite followers in the world you're all pretty disobedient. You're still the best, but you might want to think about it.

That There is My Sister.

2010-08-19T23:43:00.000-07:00

I know I owe you all some halfway decent writing. But first, I get to introduce two cool things in one post...

TBG winner and my sister's blog! Yup, they're the same thing. Don't worry, though. I didn't tell anybody until judging took place.

You've heard me talk about Meg. It would be impossible not to. I've fought with her and hugged her more then anyone else in the world. I've faced Spanish ghettos at night and I've conquered Scottish ruins with her. As is often the case with two siblings so close together, and of the same gender, we're dynamically different. Except for those ever present family influences and tendencies.

Anyway, she started blogging just for this give. You should really read her top post. But if you want to see the whole story of her give, including vlogs and all, click TBG label and start at the bottom. Please comment so she knows you exist!

I'm sure you'll agree it was a little unfair of me to unleash that organized motivated fury on our little contest. And you'll also see why she took first prize.

The Joys of Public Service

2010-08-16T20:08:00.000-07:00

My sister relayed a piece of urban myth last night around the dinner table well I was visiting.

A male flight attendant had a passenger complain to him about her overhead luggage before take-off. As the story goes he turned to her, stated, "Have a good flight you F***ing Bitch," and grabbed two bottles of beer. He then proceeded to jump down the escape chute and run out onto the runway.*

He got arrested for creating a disturbance, or endangering airport security, or something.

I sat and laughed. Meg sat and grinned. The rest of my family looked at us like we were idiots.

If you don't think that's funny, then you don't understand and you may want to consider getting a service industry job. At least short term.

Or at least realize you're not special, and actually being nice to anyone serving you will get you farther.**

*Unfortunately I can't find any news accreditation for this. However, all I can think of is to google the "quote."
** We will sit in the back and laugh at you. If you made our co-worker cry you'll probably pay.***
***Let it be noted that I am referring to previous jobs. Not my current one.

To Apply or Not to Apply?

2010-08-11T13:11:00.000-07:00

Some of you know I have a job I'm not terribly excited about. Don't get me wrong. The people and the company are great. There's just simply nothing challenging about the job that I'm doing and now that I've been there a bit the learning curve is closer to a straight line.

So, I have the opportunity to apply up. It would be moving into the office side of things. Balancing numbers, accounts, that sort of thing. Traditionally, I'm not an office type... at all. (I was 18 when I wrote that, though). Last night I promised myself I'd write a list of pros and cons in the morning. The morning is here (and gone), so in the interest of being a little more personal on my blog (and really hoping for a little feedback) I'll post it here.

Pros:
Full time hours.
Variation in work (would mix with my current position).
Benefits.
New experience.

Cons:
Not very experienced.
Commitment (I like the fact that I can justifiably give notice anytime).
Would probably end up hating office work.

Those are far less exhaustive lists then I thought they'd be. Bear in mind that just because I choose to apply does not mean I'll get the job. Another reason to just give it a shot? The two last cons are the biggest ones, for me.

My sister says I too often do things because I think I should. Rather then because I'm interested. Or because I have a drive to book up my time. I'm an odd sort of workaholic. It has been refreshing to work fewer and better hours then I used to. And for non-stressful management. Although, the hours would still be good.

I'm just rambling now. Your thoughts, please?

Because We Don't Like the Way it Hurts

2010-08-07T12:15:00.000-07:00

I was torn about embedding this so if you're going to watch this video then please also read the post.

Now I've only just got around to actually watching this music video, and it is full on pissing me off. They have the attractive actors, the big names (hello Eminem and Rihanna), and all the documented passion of a physical relationship.

Is it just me, or are they enabling abuse? Rihanna? Seriously? You never liked the way it hurt, and it's wrong for you to tell the seventeen year olds watching MTV that they should.

The worst is the conclusion reached...

"If she ever tries to fuckin' leave again I'm gonna tie her to the bed and set the house on fire."

I'm all for entertainment that enters a real life emotion. I'll never cringe from an honest exploration. And I'm not doubting that this one accurately portrays one side of the emotion involved with abuse. It screams, actually, of relative accuracy. Especially Eminem's dialog.

But I'm not impressed. I'm a fighter. The hardest act is leaving. That's what we need to be enabling.

Tracing Patterns

2010-08-05T11:18:00.000-07:00

She likes the way her fingers trace patterns on her arm when she's nervous. She likes the way he's started to do it, too. She likes that his head is up, his shoulders back, and that she can still tell by the small circles working their way up onto her shoulder.

She likes that she fits in that crook of that shoulder. That she can shoot darting looks of contempt, all 5'3 of her, and feel safe. The circles will trace faster well jaws get clenched and chins raised. She likes wearing leather boots and bandanna cuffs and feeling bad-ass. And she likes that if she could choose to wear heels and a summer dress it would still look good with his jeans and black t-shirt.

She likes that he's in control. At least right here, right now. And that she could turn it around by sliding her own hand down his back.

They are like this. Her hands pushed deep in her pockets. Nonchalant and brooding. Comfortable. Everyone knows them. Not by name, just by the toques and bored glares.

You know they're not going anywhere. The best part is that they don't care. And, if they don't care you've got nothing on them. They can own it, here. Get off their main street. Leave their concrete bench alone. You don't want to sit there among broken glass anyway.

She doesn't remember when he first put his arm around her. She knows it was somewhere back in grade nine. Probably around the time she first started getting stoned on lunch break. Back then when she wore her Silver jeans every single day. Leaning against the chain link fence at the back of the school.

What she will always remember is sitting in the back of employment workshops, his arm around her. She'll remember wanting to practice an interview, but making snarky comments instead. It's the way they are. Learned complacency.

She likes it this way too much. Needing it. Suddenly realizing he also needs her. She starts tracing circles on her arm.

(OrazioFlacco)

An American Dropout inspired me to try my hand at a little more fiction. It's always been my favourite to write, so don't be surprised if you see more. I'll be sure to always label it as such. Thoughts?

A Brief History of Because or Why Not

2010-08-04T23:24:00.000-07:00

Honestly, this comes up if you Google Image Search
"Because or Why Not"

That's right. I named a post after my own blog. It's a devious plan of mine, actually. I'm a little upset that I can't google my own blog. All sorts of other useless stuff comes up, but not Because or Why Not. So part of me thinks that if I write a post with "Because or Why Not" in the title and scattered frequently throughout then maybe It'll eventually show up in the first twenty pages that I'm willing to look at.

Yes. I'm confessing that I've googled my own blog.

Of course, it's my own fault for choosing a title like Because or Why Not. I still really like the new title, I just am realizing no one will ever find it through googling "Because or Why Not." Although, what kind of an idiot would google that combination of words anyway? It's an ego thing. There's cheaters out there like Stir-fried Dinosaur or Your Ill-Fitting Overcoat who get, like, the first suggestion. Of course, they're also very interesting bloggers who have more to say then I do. But other then that...

Because or Why Not spent years as Barefoot in Summer. It was (another confession) The Cherry Life of a Tomboy for it's first two weeks. Forgive me, I was sixteen. Also had a brief stint as Cayenne or Vanilla. Apparently at three AM I couldn't make the foodie connection. It's used to be a clique blog complete with endless haloscan comments.

Late 2009 I came back to blogging. Late March 2010 I discovered community blogging, and haven't looked back, yet. I'm glad to have you! Oh yeah, here at Because or Why Not.

Because or Why Not. Because or why Not. Because or Why Not. Get it, Google?

So, I was gonna be all manly and post the first image that came up with a Google image search for Because or Why Not. But then it ended up being this, and I realized there were much better looking ones available a few pages down.

Boredom

2010-08-02T16:14:00.000-07:00

I'm bored.

Bored of this town, bored of this internet, bored at my job, bored in this moment.

I know it's my fault. I really believe that boredom is a choice. So even though I want to make a million excuses about why I'm stuck this way I'll avoid it. I don't like excuses.

So what's wrong? What about everything I used to wish for time to do? What about all the things I've achieved?

I always go through post-summer letdown. It's just not supposed to happen 'till August is over. Maybe it's these freak storms making me trade my tank-tops for sweaters.

I Wish Before

2010-07-31T21:02:00.000-07:00

I wish a million things,

and none of them forever.

I wish a hundred pieces

(Baronialbees)

all of them brought together

I need this like tomorrow

so nothing is for sure

I'll beg it from the past
It all remains impure

Don't listen as I say this

I've told you all this finally

Perhaps we will reach silence

Release this now entirely

I wish a million distances.

I'll try to hold them close like this

I'll tell you what I want from you

You'll tell me it's all true

And then you'll let me go

July

2010-07-30T19:06:00.000-07:00

(SynSlaughter)

I'm in love with summer thunderstorms. They fill me with energy, and I'll shout out loud. I love standing on the deck in the rain. I love the powerful roll of thunder, or the dance of lightening. I've been guilty of lying on my tin roof and watching the sky light up around me.

I've realized I don't very often write about what's actually happening in my life. At least not often and not directly. July has been brilliant to me. I've camped like a gypsy in a field of wildflowers with people I love. I've managed to get in every trip despite having a real job.

I spent a week at a music festival. I saw bands I've listened to for well over a decade. I acted a little bit fifteen. I turned twenty-four. Oh, did I forget to mention that? This age jump seems more significant the the ones surrounding it. I've dealt by ignoring it. But I think I'm actually pretty at peace with it. Other then the fact that I'm no closer to being set in life then I was five years ago.

July is never long enough. I haven't hung out at the river, and I haven't dived into the lake nearly enough. I haven't harvested a single cherry.

And now I sit and type towards the end of a summer storm. The sun is coming out again. It's the end of the July where I turned 24. It means more to me then New Years. More reflection, more need for direction.

The Notebook Chronicles

2010-07-27T01:03:00.000-07:00

(Today's Beautiful Source: Tracelegacy)

This place, it almost seemed familiar. When I closed my eyes that all-to-familiar feeling would come rushing back. For lack of better options I have come to think of it as the fresh-start feeling. Feeling, emotion, opportunity. Whatever you choose to call it. I suppose that's what it was.

See, I'm an addict. Most of us are. Alcohol, novels, food, sex, adrenaline. We have something we turn to again and again. For me it was the "new life." The places I have gone looking for it... The forms it has taken. I have been saved by too many religions, entered too many love affairs, started too many diets. Each time re-convincing myself that this time I had found the one that would make all the difference. Time and again I have ripped myself to pieces for the thrill of embraced opportunity. Opportunity I forced to be there.

Why would this time be any different. Did I think because I was aware more then ever that I could break out? Addictions don't work that way, Sweetheart. I'm indulging in my favourite form of the hit, and I know it.

Changing locations. Replanting. The rest of you know it as moving. I have done it a few to many times. I have been welcomed by the good neighbor committee many times. Assured them as many that I was hoping to settle. And I was. Oh, was I. But before to long things weren't new any more. Not exciting. The streets had been explored, the company met. Things would start to feel stale. Often it was an apartment of my own. Occasionally a quaint small town. Maybe it's that I want chances on the horizon. Or maybe I feel a need to flee from every little mistake.

Today the street is empty. Dead leaves rustle on this sidewalk. I hate the onset of winter. Everything seems so dead, so comfortable. Not in the least vibrant. Hibernation. That's the word. I hate it.

This new street in this new place. With all this newness even the dismal sky can't completely suffocate the thrill. I should be inside unpacking. I've found the cutest bungalow just outside town. I think I'll have time to explore what I always believe I want to. Painting, running, a little gardening.

"If you're still around," my new found pessimist murmurs skeptically in my ear. I ignore it. No need to further suffocate this chance of a high.

These are the posts where I let you glimpse random pages from my scribbles of the past. Raw, young and often unfinished. Remember, with this piece, fiction is often prevalent...

She Holds an AK47

2010-07-25T23:37:00.000-07:00

I've been at a music festive here in the NW, and it was five days of amazing. I have something to say. But, here. First of all have some music.

Now. I'm wearing dog tags. They say simply

Name: Yex Seung
Gender: Female
Age: 8 Years
Status: Active
*Burma*

It's a representation of an active soldier in the country with a larger concentration of child soldiers then any other country in the world (over 75,000). I'm sorry to admit I wasn't aware to the extent of the tragedy. I'm wearing her tags. She is raped, fired at, and taught to hold an AK47. At eight years old.

I don't want to scare you away and I don't want to freak you out. I know there's a tendency to avoid anything depressing, sad or hard. I don't want that, but I believe in awareness and honesty. Truth is, this is a pretty broken world sometimes. We do have reasons to celebrate, but a responsibility to bear. I'm a part of the human race, and I need to ask myself what that means.

I'm not trying to guilt you, either. What I do want is for you to visit projectak47.com. Or I want you to search a change you believe in. Maybe you'll reach into your heritage, or your past. Maybe you have to deal with yourself first. Just don't hide. I've researched this one enough to believe in it.

You can get dog tags of your own. But I don't want you to start there. Read about a project. Get Involved any way you can. Learn.

Yes, I believe this is a positive cause. However, what I'm also asking for is that you find a way to support somebody somewhere somehow. Find something you believe in. You're creative, smart and hopefully caring. Believe it. And tell me what you find. I want to learn about that too.

Link Overload (In a Good Way)

2010-07-18T23:42:00.000-07:00

So some pretty sweet bloggers have been linking me on their blogs. Over, like, the last two months. Yeah, that's how marvelous I am at passing on awards.

But well I'm here I may as well say a few things. Shout-out to #69. Follower, people. She's redheaded riter. Which is pretty awesome 'cause now I am too. Well, you know, like heavily auburn. It's the closest I could go well still looking halfway natural. Check another one off.

Also, pretty sure my redhead friend got the awkwardness over and paved the way for #70. She's also pretty impressive 'cause she found me on Twitter. Anyway, see, followers seriously make my day. I'm still excited every time I open my blog. It's like blogger after-glow. Thanks to you all. Yes, I really wish I could link everyone.

So... I suck at passing these things on. I just like to tell you my favourite blogs. And they'll probably never know. Anarchist Project is posting this week. I quite literally mean this week. But he's so good! And I also just discovered this new little blog Beat Up Boots. She has fifteen followers, which means you can be part of the discovery with me. I'm still a little confused, but apparently 92% of what she posts is true. Oh, and I totally am biased to Canadian bloggers. Not sure why really... Peter DeWolf writes poetry that even I think is hot. I'm not a poem girl, so that's saying a lot. And his really steamy stuff is even password protected. At least, I assume that's why. Between those three and my dear friends that awarded me (remember to click above) you've got your reading cut out for you.

And... oh yeah, and! Remember The Big Give? Of course you do. It's underway with some classy competitors. However, Mel has the Youtube channel underway. Ok, so one movie is up. But it's so cute! And I'm sure there'll be more to come.

I hope I haven't link fatigued you. It's way too easy to go overboard. I'm going away soon. But only for a week. So we need something to keep you going... Cheers and all that good stuff!

Fragments of Friendships

2010-07-11T23:34:00.000-07:00

They're memories of you. All of you. Sometimes I don't open the drawer for months. Other times I take them out five times in a single day. Pulling these close to my heart, brushing them with my lips. Clenching them in my fists or throwing them back and slamming the drawer.

Random pieces. I like life a little better when I forget they exist.

A homemade necklace. A charm that says “friends.” Yours said “forever,” of course. We were twelve and we knew it. This one is a broken heart. That's not what it meant at the time.

I hold it now and it remember the confusion of torn families I only observed. Whispers over the phone. And you disappearing one week without a goodbye. The strong decision your Mom needed to make. I still see your Dad sometimes. I'm glad you're free, and I trust you grew into a woman that would make your Mom proud. Confirm she made the right decision. I know more, now. Things I wasn't ready to understand when I was twelve. Things you probably weren't either, but had to. I'm sorry. I wish my two letters could've said more then that I missed you.

Where are you now? I don't know. I guess I never will. I searched your name on Facebook, but it's probably not what it was. I still have that piece of pressed metal that says “friends.” That's what I'll remember you as.

A sand dollar. I was sixteen now, walking with you down an abandoned Mexican beach. I was so proud to call you my best friend. So sure you were cool, you convinced me that athletic teenage girls like us looked good in over sized t-shirts. We would wrestle, and I would win. I believe that you thought it would last forever. I trusted you.

At nineteen we lost touch, but I still have that sand dollar. I wrote letters, e-mails. I poured my heart out and scribbled in my notebook. Life did get in the way. Such different paths, you and I. We share the most important now, but it's not enough.

I'm sorry. I try to hard.

A pair of drumsticks. They say you'll love me forever. I almost believed that, too. Luckily I was jaded enough to question it all.

I know I held you at arms length for longer then you thought possible. But you were my best friend. A misjudgment, but I wish that part could have been true. I cried with you well you held me. I cried when I left. I stuck by you until I couldn't any more. It was too long, yet far too short. How you could blindly cut me like that, I'll never know.

These drumsticks will never tell.

And you. You haunt my life more then any other with these reminders. We shared our childhood, our struggles and, finally, my home. Others came and went, but you were like my sister. My sister with communication skills that would never match mine. Is that where we went wrong? This crumpled stack of notes, letters, ramblings? This giant paper clip, teddy bear and a heart. How unlike us, then. You and I with our hitch hiking, our first time swearing, our baggy jeans. The times we shunned each other and our mutual respect.

And this last letter. The one where you asked me not to reply. The one I'll never understand.

I'm closing the drawer for now. I've learned that others will be added, despite my greatest efforts and my learned reservations. I regret that it's still so damn worth it.

(photo source: Barcarola)

Redneck Style: A Guide

2010-07-10T10:35:00.000-07:00

There are a few things to bear in mind when dressing like a redneck. First of all, the stereotypes are true. If you think stretched confederate flags and ball caps are a myth, you're wrong. We believe in sexy, but not so much in subtle. I believe the correct word for this is "trashy." Bear in mind that we're not feminists. However, we can play with the boys, and that's partly why the teenage pregnancy rate is so outrageously high. It's not all bad, though.

The secret is to stick to key pieces. The essential will always be the ribbed tank top. The effect is most effective when it's too tight. They can be stocked up at Wal-Mart for three bucks a piece. Logos and racer-backs are encouraged. For full effect please be sure that lacy bra straps are visible at all times.

Pair this with a denim mini. Durable and multi-functional this is an important part of every redneck girl's closet. We especially like that they can be worn for any function from meeting the parents to weddings. As an alternative daisy dukes make a good replacement. These are so simple. All you need is a pair of tight jeans and scissors! They also work a bit better after you've passed out on the lawn of some house party.

If the brush is too thick, or the weather too chilly for this option ripped jeans are fine. Also, we really do wear plaid shirts. We like that the top four buttons can be left undone. Print hoodies are a good functional option as well. Don't forget that these can be tied, or slung. Sweats or pj pants can be worn out shopping, or for 7/11 runs. These, however, should be paired with low-cut tops and preferable should state "cutie," or similar sentiment across the butt.

Don't forget to accessorize! Let's start with shoes. Yes, we believe in heels! These should mostly be worn during the day. Say, when on a trip to the hardware store. For bush parties, brand runners are much more practical. Uggs are also good in winter. You'll look pretty lame when, well trying to climb into the back of a lifted pickup to make-out, you slip on a patch of ice with your stilettos.

Jewelery is over rated. Except piercings. Belly button studs are hot, and you should have at least three or four piercings in each ear. The best way to go, however, is tattoos. There's not really such a thing is too many. Favourite spots should include ankles, upper breasts, and the ever popular tramp stamp.

Then, the crowning glory. Long is the norm. Hair should also be at least streaked blond. A full on bleach out is more typical. Straw cowboy hats or trucker caps are also a good option. Always keep a stock of simple bandannas. There are several ways to wear them, and they'll always signal that you're up for a little mud bogging. Also, make-up isn't really necessary except that heavy mascara should be worn at all times, such as when nursing your youngest well waiting for the bus. It's so easy! Take care of yourself first.

As you can see, dressing like a redneck has more to do with mindset then anything else. With a little practice you'll be ready to take on the next bush party or mountain camping trip. Don't worry about being over the top. Just follow the simple tips above and you'll be ready to go.

Disclaimer: Even though I used we and us throughout this post I can say, err, most of it doesn't apply to me.
Also, what I learned from this post... I can't spell accessorize, jewelery or stiletto...
Photo sources: Teethlikeswords, xxtwilightbellaxx, and chell-o on Deviant Art

When Skater Boys Strip

2010-07-08T22:47:00.000-07:00

(Source: Afireoutsideme on Deviant Art)

Pretend it's June in North Ontario. The sun is weak, the town is tiny and the area is stunningly beautiful. It's also St. Jean Baptiste which means the Quebecers in my little group want to get wasted* and declare their sovereignty.

Now, I'm not all Vivre Quebec, but I enjoyed hanging out with the biggest Libre believer of them all. Thom was a guitarist of the tenth degree. A ponderer with a French-guy afro. Funny, deep, and a little bit lost. Being as it was Quebec's national holiday he got all introspective and wanted to wander off to the beach with his guitar. I was bored on our free block and decided to go along. Mostly, I confess, I wanted to sit looking over Lake Superior and listening to Thom's acoustic guitar.

As we got closer to the beach a cop car pulled up and informed us that a bear had just been reported on the beach. There's another thing about this town. It wasn't unusual to see black bears crossing the street in the middle of town. With a dejected Thom I turned and meandered down towards main, stopping at their little skate park.

Laying on the curved concrete Thom played and I listened.

Groups of fourteen year-old boys can be a little obnoxious. Especially when it's a birthday party and they're on the way to the corner store to try scam cigarettes. They spotted us like prey on a field mouse.

"Dude, you're amazing. Man, play us something."
"What do you want?"
"Play us some Slipknot! Know any Metallica? Dude, Slash! Who's she?"
"Kris. She sings." I shot Thom my "way to try switch the heat" look.
"Dude! Play us something and she can sing."

Kids don't shut-up easily. Thom cued the opening bars of Hotel California, about the only song that we both knew he could play and I could sing through. Amid just-breaking voices and experimental swearing he glanced at me. Kind of a "just do it, I dare you."

As I started on dark desert highways and cool wind in my hair the miraculous happened. The group shut-up. They stood against the graffiti and stared. When the guitar died they were all, "Man, that was amazing. Amazing! Beautiful! Really." That's right. We got a fourteen year old male to use "beautiful" as description.

Then the birthday kid dropped twenty bucks in Thom's case. Twenty-bucks! We were on a youth volunteer program, so that was a night out at the Legion (yes, the Legion was the happening night life). It was his birthday money, but he wouldn't take it back.

They headed off to the convenience store. We returned to our non-heavy metal under the night sky, but it wasn't too long before they were back.

"Dude! You were amazing! But we're out of money, Man. Here. Have a rock."
"No way, Man. They're too good for a rock! Here, have my shirt. No, seriously, take it!"
I was laughing. Thom was like, "C'mon guys! You can't go home without a shirt. No, it's cool."
"No really. Take my shirt. Take my shoes."

"Here! I'll give you my pants!"

To our chagrin a barely teen dropped his pants. Right there on the skate park of a little northern town.

"Want my boxers, too? I'll give 'em to you!"

Thom was freaking out a little. I couldn't stop laughing. We managed to get the kids to (mostly) keep their boxers on. Eventually it was us who had to leave them running around the ramps partially dressed.

"I was scared," Thom confessed. "Man, like, maybe we get in trouble for little kids strip in front of us!"

It was perfect. My first and only St. Jean Baptist. But regardless it'd probably be my favourite.

*Yes, I see the irony as the holiday is (apparently) named after a saint.

"But I Don't Like it"

2010-07-04T20:42:00.000-07:00

"I do like flavour," she said, "Just not in excess. Not spicy and stuff, you know. Just subtle. I should know what I like if I'm going to bother eating it, right? I mean, think about it."

She smiled at them, spreading margarine on her bread. They smiled back.

"Like, I try stuff. Sometimes I buy different jam, or maybe mixed lettuce. Or, you know, Asian salad dressing or something. Once I tried shrimp. But I didn't like it. So, like, if I don't like seafood it'd be stupid to eat it, right?

"I mean, I may as well be happy. And I'm just happy with chicken or whatever. So, I don't know. You can run around trying everything but end the end mine will have been more quality, you know? I mean, if you think about it, I appreciate flavour at least as much as you."

They continued to smile, to mingle, to live. She smirked and ate her bread and margarine.

So, This Probably Only Interests You if You're Canadian

2010-07-01T19:28:00.000-07:00

So, I don't care for Molson. But... but this ad is one of my dramatic favourites out of their brilliant campaign.

Ignore the last ten seconds. Just seems relevant for July 1st.

Happy Canada Day, Everyone!

Bloggerstock: The Story of What's on Your Desk

2010-06-30T14:26:00.000-07:00

It's Bloggerstock time again! Sorry, I just love saying that. If you don't know what it is yet there are places you should go. I am absolutely thrilled to be hosting the lovely Amber of Fugitive Firefly (see bio below). I, in turn, am making an appearance over at Ms. Harmony. Who is, btw, responsible for the insanely cool new badges you'll see kicking around the blogosphere today. Visit these links, you won't regret it. And now I bring you the point of today, the guest post.

The story of what's on my desk? Well we'll just ignore the pile on the right. There's no story there, just pure laziness preventing me from sorting through the stuff and filing it away. There are, however, a couple items on my desk that are itching to tell you a tale.

"Did you know that she didn't even want me? Yeah, it's true. She wanted that spiffy green Dell, not me, a bland HP. That must be why she treats me the way she does. She force quits various programs, grumbles at my slowness, all the while placing a water bottle dangerously close to me. I've tried to tell her it's Vista, not me, but she doesn't care. I got her through three years of college so far, but my time may be up when she gets her degree. Nothing like spending your life unappreciated."

"I sit on the shelf just above the weeping HP and I used to make her cry. Amber, that is, not the HP. For a long while she saw me as something that had been lost, that couldn't be revived. She used to wonder why she kept me around, why she hadn't swapped me out for some other photo. Honestly, it's quite simple. I'm a fond memory and she's realized that the present shouldn't sour the past. After three years, I still smile at her... and now she smiles back."

Wow, the HP and photo made me sound like a horrid, emotional person. I swear I'm not really like that. Ok, maybe a bit emotional once a month, but not I'm not that mean to my computer. Most of the time.

She's an athlete, a book worm, a math and science fanatic, a part time rennie, and a college student who, for reasons unknown, doesn't like writing in first person.

Visit her truly genuine blog Fugitive Firefly

It Tastes Like You

2010-06-26T12:24:00.000-07:00

It tastes like you. The rush, the thrill, the novelty. Pressing it to my lips. The driftwood behind my back. That endless lake, the setting sun, our handprints in the sand.

Salt tears and blood. The tensity and an allergy. The cold that I'll inhale. Bruises and your hand at my waist.

Bandanas, denim and soft plaid shirts. Mine and yours and maybe a mix. Sweat beading at my neck before I lift my hair. Leather cuffs and the tang of their metal buckles.

Daisies and a hard dirt trail. Labatt beer, wild strawberries, foam and that photograph. Dust.

It tastes like you. I'll hold my breath and wait for the bitter aftertaste.

The One Where I Apologize

2010-06-24T23:19:00.000-07:00

So, I try to avoid the whoe "I've been so busy I can't post." But I feel kinda like I should explain. My computer finally broke and I am far to busy on top of it. So, no internet+ no time = pretty much no blogging. I will fix that as soon as I can. And yes, I'm doing this... thing. It's not a meme! Do you see any questions? Let me know if you do it too! I snagged it from Christy and her 25 Before 25.

1. started your own blog

2. slept under the stars

3. played in a band

4. visited Hawaii

5. watched a meteor shower

6. given more to charity than you could afford to

7. been to Disney

8. climbed a mountain

9. held a praying mantis

10. sung a solo

11. bungee jumped

12. visited Paris

13. watched a thunder and lightning storm

14. taught yourself an art from scratch

15. adopted a child

16. had food poisoning

17. walked to the top of the statue of liberty

18. grown your own vegetables

19. seen the Mona Lisa in France

20. slept on an overnight train

21. had a pillow fight

22. hitch hiked

23. taken a sick day when you’re not ill

24. built a snow fort

25. held a lamb

26. gone skinny dipping

27. run a marathon

28. ridden in a gondola in Venice

29. seen a total eclipse

30. watched a sunrise or sunset

31. hit a home run

32. been on a cruise

33. seen Niagara falls in person

34. visited the birthplace of your ancestors

35. seen an Amish community

36. taught yourself a new language

37. had enough money to be truly satisfied

38. seen the leaning tower of Pisa in person

39. gone rock climbing

40. seen Michelangelo’s David in person

41. sung karaoke

42. seen old faithful erupt

43. bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant

44. visited Africa

45. walked on a beach by moonlight

46. been transported in an ambulance

47. Had your portrait painted

48. gone deep sea fishing

49. seen the Sistine chapel in person

50. been to the top of the Eiffel tower in Paris

51. gone scuba diving or snorkelling

52. kissed in the rain

53. played in the mud

54. gone to a drive-in theatre

55. been in a movie

56. visited the great wall of china

57. started a business

58. taken a martial arts class

59. visited Russia

60. served at a soup kitchen

61. sold girl scout cookies

62. gone whale watching

63. gotten flowers for no reason

64. donated blood, platelets or plasma

65. been sky diving

66. visited a concentration camp

67. bounced a check

68. flown in a helicopter

69. saved a favorite childhood toy

70. visited the Lincoln memorial

71. eaten caviar

72. pieced a quilt

73. stood in times square

74. toured the everglades

75. been fired from a job

76. seen the changing of the guard in London

77. broken a bone

78. been a passenger on a motorcycle

79. seen the grand canyon in person

80. published a book

81. visited the Vatican

82. bought a brand new car

83. walked in Jerusalem

84. had your picture in the newspaper

85. kissed a stranger at midnight on new year’s eve

86. visited the white house

87. killed and prepared an animal for eating

88. had chickenpox

89. saved someone’s life

90. sat on a jury

91. met someone famous

92. joined a book club

93. gotten a tattoo

94. had a baby

95. seen the Alamo in person

96. swam in the great salt lake

97. been involved in a law suit

98. owned a cell phone

99. been stung by a bee

100. Ridden an elephant

Fifty! Ok, I exaggerated one or two. A band, only sort of. Africa is the eqivilent of Morocco and Egypt, and I never actually entered the sistine chapel (ps, have been IN Venice, though, ect). But that was still fun. Sorry. I will try get my computer back next time.

What's Your Happy Song?

2010-06-21T12:44:00.000-07:00

So in Mexico, as in any third world country, you can buy bootlegs off any street corner. They'll have crackly speakers set up blaring Ranchero, cheap American hits and general noise surrounded by displays of dollar c.d.s in plastic sheaths. The difference between Mexico and most other countries where I've indulged my criminal side is that the Mexican vendors have a fondness for creating their own mix c.d.s. You can buy albums called "Coca Cola Cowboy Americano." The cover art will be a milk cow and Laura Croft Tomb Raider on a psychedelic purple background. Got the picture?

My sister brought one of these mixes home for me once. This one is "Exitos TAZAMANICOS 2007" and has a very mild cover with Taz ripping something to shreds. The play list is, as always, very hit and miss. However, there was one song that promptly jumped out at me as my happy song.

How, exactly, is a happy song defined? Basically if it is impossible to be crabby well the song is on, it's a win. It won't be it the same for everyone. The first friend I knew with a happy song would proudly blast Celine Dion and declare how it made her cheerful. I didn't find it had the same effect for me, but to each their own.

Now, this one is awesome, though. Listen to it! I'm sorry, but how can that not pick up your day? It's Yofo by Molotov. Honestly, I have no idea what sort of nonsense they're on about. I've also never listened to anything else by them. But I love whistling along with this one.

Tell me your personal happy song. I will do my best to look it up.

Not an Award Post

2010-06-17T23:35:00.000-07:00

Don't run away. This is not an award post, and it's not a meme. It's some sadist wondering where I think I'll be in ten years.

So, I like Alex. Really, I do. He's smart, artist, and really good at computers without being all geek about it. He's also got his life together (as a theatre professional, photographer, and long-term relationship guy).

So, I read his post with a sort of fear and dread. Yes, all justified. Apparently Alex wants to know where I think I'll be in ten years. Thanks, man. Here we go.

I don't have a clue. See, in ten years I'll be 33. Thirty-three! I have a hard time thinking past the summer. Unlike many intelligent blogger friends I don't have a career. I don't have an education, a kid or even a relationship (serious or otherwise).

All I do have is a vast array of experiences, a love of written words, a passion for challenges and a wanderlust.

I also have ~~a bit of~~ a fear of commitment. Probably based on a strong sense of follow-through. But that follow through is best served in, oh, eight month doses, for a stretch.

Last year I returned home from traveling around the world, failing to bond with my sister, and finally managing to heal from one heck of a boyfriend. What I didn't realize was that this definite conquering of a life-time goal would leave me in such a predicament. Do I want to settle down, farm, travel more, go to school? I couldn't and can't decide. I'm in the same place now, a few experiences richer and a year older. The only thing I know is that sitting stagnant is hard on me. Change is a necessity. So, where ten years will take me I really can't say.

I could be married to a farm boy with a baby on my hip. I could be living in an seventh story apartment rambling through assignments that are making me hate a topic I love. Or I could be waitressing with a drive to see a new place and meet new people.

Know what? I like it that way. Maybe it'll hurt me in the end, but that thought of having a pretty good idea of ten years down the road kinda stresses me out.

Facebook Feed: Today's Highlights.

2010-06-15T10:52:00.000-07:00

I simply can't get over how amusing people can be. Here's what's coming up on today's feed. Couldn't help but share. Please remember, the grammar is not mine.

"NEW RECIPE!!! try this and let me know what you think. Get a banana or two and mash it good, then mix in a handfull of raisins, then rap it in large sliced dill pickels, then garnish with mushroom. SOOOOO amazing."

"the Scrabble gods are trying to screw me over: 'AAAAIII'. What are the odds...."

"Justin Bieber: You may think he is manly but then you compare him to.... Bruce Lee, Sylvester Stalone, Jackie Chan, Arnold Swarzenblabla, My aunt, Antonio Bandaras, Nicholas Cage, Tom Cruise, Vin Diesel, Michelle Rodriguez, Mila Jovich, and Roberto Luongo. DOESNT SEEM SO MANLY ANYMORE DOES HE."

"We made it to new mexico! And no we did NOT arrive in a yellow submarine. Now to find this horse and haul buns back home!"

"all good is hard. dying, loseing, cheating, and mediocrity is easy. stay away from easy."
Ok. That one isn't particularly funny. It just stood out.

"Welcome, everyone, to TBG! We're very excited for kick-off, and are happy to have you on board! We hope you choose to participate in the internet's first ever random acts of kindness contest.
Remember to visit our website! www.goaheadmaketheirday.com"
-You mean to tell me you haven't visited our Facebook Page yet? That's even as bad as the fact that you haven't visited the homepage. Click the link. Click it now! No, wait. Finish the post and then visit.

"...Likes old trucks now. Time to trade in the Dodge."
-This one is compliments of an Alberta Boy. I believe we've discussed them before.

"a que TROP hâte à demain soir...pour être avec lui TOUT le Week-End !!! :D"

-For my Francophone friends, little taste of the Quebecois Frenglish that constantly show's up in my feed.

I actually drafted these out last week, which is why the timing may seem a little off.

The Notebook Chronicles

2010-06-12T11:26:00.000-07:00

I once knew this girl

Now she wanders the world,

Against her I know my frustration is hurled.

Her bag is nigh empty

Her cares are nigh none,

She'll throw caution to the wind then take off at a run.

I think of her sometimes

When all else is slow,

The trigger is locked, set to signify, "go."

I remember her passion,

Her daring,

Her love.

She thought she'd win out when push came to shove.

I know that she's somewhere, somewhere out there.

At first I forget, then it's too much to bare.

And yet, she is still there

Deep in my mind.

We once were so close,

Like two of a kind.

I think she is gone now, our paths will not cross.

Unless I go out. Get throughly lost.

I'll grab hold of life,

Let my soul from inside.

I'll push this one down,

So it won't run and hide.

I know she is out there,

I'll find her one day.

I'll catch her,

And free her,

And then come what may!

Photo Source: In-dark on Deviant Art

Skewed Hope

2010-06-09T15:32:00.000-07:00

Well, you've been dead a year now. Is it everything you imagined?

Was it worth it?

I hope you watched your funeral. I hope you heard the birds singing and saw the eagle soaring above us. It was nice, you liked the outdoors. I hope you saw your little sister crying so hard she couldn't read your eulogy. Did you see your son? I hope you heard how he broke in pieces when they stopped at your old place and he found your fishing gear. He was a man about it, though, sitting in the only row. You better find a way to tell him you love him. He'll never believe it was enough.

I hope you heard me sing The Climb to my Dad's acoustic guitar. I personally think it's hilarious that we sang Miley Cyrus in memory of your life.

And afterwards, when people were leaving, we played the song you chose. Out of a pick-up in the parking lot with the doors open. Life is beautiful. I hope you saw the people who cried at your funeral.

And those letters you left. Rambling on making clear, through the scrawl, the mess you'd made.

Good job. Way to insult the one person who loved you enough to always welcome you regardless. Way to maim her because she gave a damn. Really, Jamie?

I know you came into life poorly, but I know you were lucky with the chances you were given. And I know you were deeply injured, I'm sorry that you never overcame it.

I cried. I cried for the waste of life, and the pain you caused everyone else. I cried because it was sad.

Your death became a monument to your mistakes in life. Just tell me this. How could you be so damn selfish?

Give Like You Mean It

2010-06-07T19:39:00.000-07:00

Well, it's almost here. We've been plotting, planning, conniving. And now we're going to shot-gun it all by scooping you!

We launch everything in a few days, and that's when you'll really see this hit the internet. However, for now I just want to invite you, my favourite followers in the world, to check it out.

What you're about to see is the internet's first ever random acts of kindness contest. But, that's not all. The prize pack is intense. Go look at it. It's still not all up! So, plan your give now. You can sign up on the tenth. I know, that seems a long ways away... But it will be here before you know it!

So, what exactly does the contest entail? We are asking you to give like you mean it! Within a budget limit of twenty dollars US the challenge is go find the biggest way possible give to whomever inspires you. Use your time, talent, creativity, imagination... Find a way to stretch that twenty dollars to make the biggest impact you possibly can. Then find a way to present it all to our judging panel.

Why am I giving you this little insider? Honestly, I like you. You can also join our Facebook page, and scoop your friends. If you want to blog this, or anything, I can send you pictures! We all like pictures...

But, seriously. Think about entering! I would love if one of my readers won any of those prizes that I so desperately want to try win for myself! All you need is twenty bucks, a creative medium (you do blog, right?), and talent! I know you've got that last one. And you've got good taste, too. I'd say, let's take this contest together! Or, you know, you could just enter for yourself, and thank me for how kind I am...

Rachelle

2010-06-04T10:32:00.000-07:00

We have a history. I think that's worth something.

I know you never liked me that first summer. I was fifteen and obnoxious. You were sixteen and insecure. A good mix, I know. We slept in that tent, rode in the back of pick-ups, napped in the afternoon sun. We listened to a lot of Rebecca St. James. I was on the right, you were in the middle, the glue was over there on the left. We were a trio, so obviously meant to be thrown together. Funny how we were opposites despite the circumstances

I never understood. I was young. Of course I knew everything. I want you to know I still cared.

You've gone a little skate punk and stayed a little preppy. I've gone a little hippi and stayed a little tomboy. Are we a study in contrasts? Still each on those opposing and identical journeys to figure out where we fit.

I remember working it out. What we couldn't do face to face we said over e-mail. Yeah, you were in Virginia and love, with so much discovery left. I remember crying to you on my couch as I told you part of my past. I never knew why I showed you that hidden vulnerable side of myself.

Boys, travel, school. We've both grown through a lot. You've become a beautiful woman. Much different then anyone thought. An artist, athlete, thinker and adventuress.

We've never been best friends. I know we never will be. I just want to thank-you for the effort. The fact that, after it all, we can still sleep in a tent. Maybe I'll be on the right and you'll be in the middle. We can talk about how it doesn't make sense. We listen to that mix c.d. and drive with the windows down. You've taught me a lot with your searing honesty and occasional disdain. Things your patience and frustration needed me to know. I hope I've been a little bit worth it.

Photo source: Janne-landet on Deviant Art

Carnival

2010-06-02T14:10:00.000-07:00

It's great when the carnival comes to town.

I love the lights

The Friends

The music

And the late nights feeling like something's happening
Traveling carnivals just have a feeling about them...