I Hate the Fact

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

"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

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

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?

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

(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

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

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

(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

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.