Trip day the 14th, in which religion happens, and Trip day the 15, in which little happens.

I've bundled them because, to be perfectly frank, the 15th was boring. I phoned people, and lazed around, and desperately tried to calm my mind enough to tan. It didn't work; I was so antsy! There was no shuttle into town, so I thought, "this is a good excuse to stay home."

The fourteenth was spent at San Pietro (St. Peter's Basilica to the 'un-italian parloing') It is really spectacular. The pizza is huge, and the line to get in wraps around the piazza, and disappears in minutes. It took me approximately 20 minutes to get from one end, to inside. (security takes a while) I'd gone with some Romanians from the Villa, but as soon as we were inside, I bolted. They were nice, but well, I didn't really want to play tour guide. Michelangelo's La Pieta took my breath away, despite being behind Plexiglass (a hammer wielding maniac damaged it a few years back; they take precautions now)and the statues were magnificent. The first area I really saw however, was the tomb of the popes, including our beloved John Paul II. Even with the reverent quiet, people praying, asking guards in hushed tones if they would touch treasured objects to his grave, which they would, people were still somewhat disrespectful. I saw multiple pictures being taken. But, to me, the most poignant moment came when I found the sanctum of St. Peter himself, where a man was praying with such fervor that I felt I had stepped into another world, invading his planet. The area is perfectly preserved, and commands respect in every foot. (Re-checking my handy book, it seems that some bones were found, confirmed to be St. Peter's and interred in this space) This is holy ground, I can feel it.
However, this holiness doesn't stop me from being a moron. Upon seeing some people exit a stairway, I ask "Questo Via San Pietro?" (Is this the way to St. Peter's?) They offered it was, and I excitedly made my way up the steps, expecting to see the great hall itself (which I had yet to). I found myself behind an alter. Oh crud. Which was all fenced off. Oh crud. Opting not to sully myself and the space by hopping the fence, I hurriedly made my way back down the stairs, and tried to look innocent. Good grief, my luck.

Once I find the hall, it is incredibly breathtaking: The statues, the sarcophagi, the alters, masses being held everywhere, confessionals in every language under the sun. I say a quick prayer in the chapel off to the side, and, after taking some discreet photos in the main hall (which were allowed, I just felt invasive) I returned outside to the beauty of the piazza. Apparently, the cross on the top of the tower in the middle contains a piece of the holy cross which Christ was crucified on. I feel really blessed to be here, and alive, today. I hope you guys feel it too, reading this.

I felt less blessed when I realized I had no Euros on me, and I required 2 to get home. Even less so when the only place in the city that I knew took my Visa, wasn't working because their system was down. Really REALLY less blessed when no shop anywhere would give me even one Euro back off my Visa. I tried for 6 hours.
Worried?
So was I.

Then a teen came up to me and said, "Are you alright?"

After I stopped bawling I explained that I couldn't get home cause I couldn't buy a bus ticket. He asked how much and I replied, "One Euro and twenty". He said, "A hundred and twenty Euros?" (I could see he was a little nervous because he wanted to help, but good grief, a hundred and twenty Euros!) I replied, "No; One Euro and twenty centissimi." He laughed, and bought me a ticket. We bussed home together (his stop was later then mine) and I gave thanks again for the hand of God in my life.

I also told him that I'd learned my lesson,and would start planning further ahead in the future...

Anyway, I was hoping to get 'day the 16th' up because it has been really exciting, but it looks like it will have to wait. If you would like a sample though, three scenes ought to do it: I'm standing in the Sistine Chapel, I'm eating some strange sort of fish on a pizza (not anchovies...more eel-ish...) and I'm in some random town that isn't Rome, where no-one speaks English.
Not to worry, I am safe at the Villa once more,awaiting my flight tomorrow evening, but it was interesting!
Love everybody!

Trip day the 13th, I'm which I assault women's cleavages.

Well,ditched the tour in favour of wandering around with some really cute Swedish guys. They speak English perfectly, but tend to lapse into Swedish when talking to each other; sometimes I don't notice, so they'll be talking, and then I have no idea what's going on. Or better, they'll be speaking Swedish, then change into English to talk to me, and I'll completely ignore them. Ah, sigh, the fun with languages. We bought tickets for a tour of the Coliseum (thus skipping the huge line!) however, it seems surprisingly small, especially from the inside. It is also far more damaged then I had thought. I mean, yes it's very old, but well, so is my great grandma. We toddled over to the arch of Constantine, which was nearly perfectly preserved, despite being around the same age (well, 200-300 years difference, who's counting?) Compared to the Coliseum, though, it was HUGE! For a big carved block of rock, it's pretty damn big!
Wandered up many side roads, getting multiple directions, to see the Trevi fountain, the Spanish steps, and the Piazza de Medinine. One of the neatest sights on the way, however, was a radio next to some paper cut outs of Mickey and Minnie, which were dancing to the music! I was astounded, formulating some theory about magnets and radio waves. They were dirt cheap, but I decided not to buy one. One of the Swedish men did, and I vowed to ask him later how they worked. At the fountain, we all threw in coins (myth says if you throw one in, you'll return to Rome, if you throw two in, you'll meet your Italian true love, and if you throw three in, you'll marry them. needless to say, I threw one in. However, this did not save me from fate attempting to spark my lesbian love career. I threw it into a woman's cleavage. Thank goodness, "Mi Scuzzi!" is my best phrase, and my sneakers were laced up tight.) We had some really great supper after that, (Penne Pasta for myself) and taxied home (which was really cheap, despite being from the center, and even divided four ways, which makes me wonder if I got fleeced on my cab ride to the hotel from the airport. Lost, huh? Yah, right.)

I'm hoping to see Vatican City tomorrow, but I may have twisted my ankle. Crap. Poot. Damn.

I also have some breath-taking photos! Which I hope to be posting on Facebook asap.
For the interested, I will be returning on the Friday of this week, at 11:15pm.

Oh boy,Oh boy!

Trip day the 12th; In which I tan, and run into more Candians.

Wake late, eat breakfast, tan, try the pool.
Oh Yah, coolest umbrellas ever.
They hang, but also fold closed. There's no pole, you crank them up by a rope!

Figured I'd spoil myself today so I tried the sauna (holy crap! 60°!), the Turkish bath (smelled like wet cement) and got a massage (fell asleep in the middle).
Afterwards mostly just wandered around the area poking things. No-one wanted to listen to my Chirgulchin tho, I may have to wait until I get back to bathe in their dulcet tones again.

Also figured out that honking is a way of saying, "hey there!" and they'll do it. Even if it visibly scares the pants off you.

We have two restaurants in walking distance, but one wasn't open (no hours displayed either) the other didn't open till 7:45...pm! Weird hours these people keep!

I've got a tour booked for tomorrow, covering all the main spots of Rome. Very exciting! Although they are very confusing as well, half of them are "San such and such" the other half are "Piazza what-have-you".

I spend the evening lounging in my bed watching Ranma 1/2 in Italian. (Ranma is a Japanese Anime populated by gender/species-changing individuals that are all in confusing love triangles) Strangely, it is just as understandable in Italian as it is in English. I think "body" should become an official language.

Well, ciao bella! (the second Italian phrase I have learned)

Trip day the 11th, In which I leave for Rome

oh shit.
Oh no.
No no no no no. No!
I've woken up at 7:30.
My flight left at 6:10.

What the hell do I do?

All my luggage is packed.
I am sitting on the bed, stuck. Completely.
I don't wanna stay here anymore.
Please send me to Rome.

The guy at the desk says it's possible to buy a one way ticket quite cheaply, so I'm going back to try and get some more sleep.
****
I don't think it's working.
****
Alright. I've got a ticket. It's kinda expensive but you know what?

The sun is shining, I feel pretty, God is good.
I think it's gonna be a wonderful day.

Wandered to Crystal Palace, after saying good-bye and thank you at the hotel, bused to East Croyden, then promptly got onto the wrong train. A non-stop to Brighton.
This isn't a problem, since I allowed several hours to travel to the airport, my ticket covers all available trips, and I get to talk to a fascinating man on my bas named Paul Hewlett, an Irish former boxer who now roofs and raises stallions. We laughed about London, he told me about his kids and Ireland (lives in Cork), I told him about my Dad who used to box, and we worried we would be thrown out of first class together.
If anything, this whole pile of poo has made me more excited to see Rome, and gave me a lasting good memory of London.

Plus, it was kinda funny, when I think about it. I ran out to the front desk to see what time it was (in case my clock was wrong) in my backwards jammies (thrown on too fast) with my hair all messed up, in my bare feet, but despite my panic, I still remembered to put in my contacts and grab my room card. Sometimes, I really astound myself.

I saw London,
Flew over France;
I'm in Rome, now,
watch me dance!

Shuttle wasn't at the airport.
ah, screw it.
Rented a cab.
We got lost.
We left Rome.
We entered Rome.
We toured Rome.

Finally, when I was about ready to pack it in and go to another hotel (I didn't have that much money on me, and was having horrific visions of myself sleeping on the roadside of Country Rome) we found it.

It. Is. Incredible.
No, wait, that doesn't do it justice; C'est Incroyable!
I'll describe it tomorrow; I'm so tired my eyes may fall out, and I haven't eaten at all today.
But I have to say this; I have a Bidet.
My toilet is a Bidet and my AC has a remote.
HA-HA World!

Just when life couldn't get any worse, now it couldn't get any better!

Okay I'm way too excited to sleep! I'll tell you about it now! My own TV, bathroom, all wood furniture, ceramic floor, patio door to the pool area, huge striped curtains covering a whole wall, huge lockable wardrobe (doesn't lead to Narnia), my own writing desk with lock, mini fridge, AC! AHH!

The comforter is nearly as thick as it is wide (no seriously. Someone needs to let the Italian's in on the secret of duvets because this thing is 7ft long, about 6 inches thick (all over!) and about a foot and half wide. It's awesome, don't get me wrong, just weird.) I'm so enchanted! I wish I was staying longer then 6 days. We should bring the family here! For how nice it is, it's so damn cheap!
OK going to bed.
Oop, one more thing: My clock is 24 hour.
So cool.

Now that I am updating today, I'd like to add that the keyboard is rearranged, so any spelling errors are likely due to the new configuration, and the fact that blogger is all in Italian. Seriously cool. Wanna see the new characters? ç ò à ù § £ ì è é €. Awesome, huh?

Trip day the 10th; in which I "potter" around

I've been worried about going to Rome, until I saw a show about a lady that likes to travel to Afghanistan and Iraq on vacation. Her main point is, "If people live there, why can't I go on vacation there?"
I think this may be the best advice to give or hear.
So I arm myself with my "amazon-in-training" button, and head off under grey skies (perfect for the tower of London).

I keep forgetting my Italian book, so I brush up on mandarin instead. Why not? A nod's as good as a wink, eh?
I don't have a cockney accent yet, but I think this is due to conscious effort on my part. Surrounded by the soft rolling tones, I can feel them line up on my tongue, but when I open my mouth, I still sound like that lady off "This hour has 22 minutes". Speaking of which, I almost forgot; Rick Mercer is GAY! Jas was in a gay bar in London with a friend of hers when he walked in. He was trying to be discrete (apparently he's really short, but always wears a suit.) but they danced around him singing, "Rick Mercer! Rick Mercer!". Poor guy.

The tower of London is great, with a Yeoman Warder tour included. He was extremly funny, cracking jokes about how no lady's engagement ring could compare to the crown jewels, but the men can get back at the ladies by showing them the galley where King Henry hanged his wives, and speculating on King Henry's codpiece (the first incident of psychological warfare).He also, when we cheered to hear more stories of torture, called us "Weirdos" but was "bloody glad there's no Frenchies here".

Harry Potter was so much better then the last two, neither of which included much in the way of plot points, and felt too rushed.

I'm in a pub, watching an Indian rap video about pregnant women. Seriously, this singer is surrounded by dozens of pregnant women. I have no idea what it's supposed to be about, but they all seem really happy.

I head home, book a wake-up call for 4, and desperately try to get a few hours sleep.

Trip day the 9th; In which little happens

Alright, if you eat only sandwiches, it's possible to eat quite cheaply in London.

I slept in until 2 today. My body seems to be pinwheeling between no sleep and all sleep. Silly thing. (yes, this is all my body's fault. Not because I woke at 7 o'clock and said, "Bugger this"...)

I also really like the feel of the £. It's got some serious weight to it, and it feels pretty damn good to slap that down on a cafe table after consuming a coffee and croissant, and then be able to leave. If I had to, I would say that this is what maturity feels like.

It saddens me that the more I see of the world, the less of it I like. In fact, I think the only bits of it I really like anymore are beneath the feet of people I know. I mean, I whine about London, how expensive it is, blah blah blah, but I think if I moved here, and started earning British pounds, I'd love it. There's a lot more culture, style, taste, love put into this place. I feel like a young girl who started seeing a 30 year old. So much more mature, established, delightful, but I've no idea how to talk to people and my meager savings look really paltry. How can I go back to dating sweaty teenagers (Edmonton)? But all my friends are there! Maybe I will look into the British army. I hear they're way more hardcore then Canada.

Over a red Cabernet Sauvignon that hints of chocolate, and a pumpkin ravioli to die for, I wonder why this country is not permanently soused, given how easy it is to find really good booze here. It seems to be on every street corner. It's certainly in every grocery store.

I feel kind of silly, because I bussed all the way to Cromwell to see Harry Potter, which opens tomorrow. Damnit.
I buy a ticket for the 5:00 show, anyway, delighted to find you pick your seats in advance. I've got a pretty groovy one near the front. Sorry if you wanted me to wait family, but well, drat-it-all, I have to see it in Britain! And then spend the remaining night looking for number 4 privet drive! It's here somewhere!

I've come all this way, though, too far to leave without something, so I buy a ticket to "La vie en rose" the story of Edith Piaf (No-one tell Mike; he'd be so grumpy!).

So I'm bawling my eyes out in the middle of the theater, then humming the tunes all the way home. Really great stuff. Life just poos on this poor woman, to a beat you can dance to.
Afterwards, I finally satisfy my 3 month long craving for Creme Brulee. It was apple and rhubarb flavored, and I have yet to find proof that the joy didn't kill me. (Neither the ride home nor the programming were convincing that I am not in purgatory)

Anyway, I hope for the tower of London before I leave, the day after tomorrow! I'll be able to breakfast in London, then Lunch in Rome! w00t!

Trip day the 8th, my first full day in London

I can't sleep. Finally, I stop trying around 7 and just get up. I hope this doesn't become a habit.

The promised "traditional English breakfast" apparently doesn't involve any kind of fruit, but it doesn't really matter since my cereal appears to be "ludicrously tasty". I think they might be exaggerating though...

Well, hurray! My first big trip in London and it's on the top of a double decker bus! Ha!

Little kids playing cricket, well, holding cricket bats, anyway...

Big Ben is really huge. I mean, awe inspiring! And guarded by so many men in uniform with big, rapid fire auto weaponry! ...is someone trying to steal big Ben?

The National gallery is really fabulous, but there is no photography allowed. Damnit.
The 1st paintings to really strike me are a quartet, "The allegory of Love". Scorn, unfaithfulness, respect, and happy union. It's the same couple pictured in all of them, but the guy just gets dumped on! Beaten, cheated on, thoroughly teased, then finally, he gets her in the last one, but I can't fathom why he wants her!?
The paintings of St. Jerome all become easily distinguishable, he always has a rock somewhere close by...
There is a painting (I couldn't make this up) called "A grotesque old woman" that seriously looks like an orangutan in a dress. My heart goes out to this lady, who is flawlessly painted in all her ugliness, with a brilliant smile. Painters are so strange.

The painting "the execution of Lady Jane Grey" is really spectacular, a must see in person. You can see the executioner's tights bunch around his knees, and the way the Lady gropes for the executing block just squeezes your heart.

The picture by Reuben, "the massacre of the innocents" almost reduces me to tears. It depicts the soldiers executing Hebrew babies on the order of King Herod (I think?), and this painting pulls no punches in it's quest to show the true horror of it's subject. Brutalized infants, women desperately trying to save their children. An old women bites a solider to protect her grandson. Really terrible, but really moving.

I even manage to work in Piccadilly circus and Buckingham Palace today; too late for the changing of the guard though, maybe another day.

I do get a picture of a bobby standing at the gate, though, who informs me he carries a glock? I think? This man is defending Buckingham palace from what-ever-have-you, carrying a heavy sidearm, wearing a flack vest, aware that he may be called to lay down his life for the queen, and he thinks I'm brave for traveling alone.

Good heavens.
The exchange rate is really putting a damper on my fun though. The prices, number wise, are exactly the same as they would be in Canada, but with the pound symbol instead. I've also discovered what a "quid" is; a pound, in cockney.
I know it's silly, but I didn't know that.

Trip day the seventh, In which I travel to London, U.K.

Gate 33 seat 33A. This is a really good sign, I think. Plus, I'm over the wing.

The flight is uneventful, though I only sleep one hour, except for the shining triumph of obtaining TWO meals. Ha ha!

London smells incredible, and I'm so excited I may hurl. My train to Croyden leaves off platform 4, and let me tell you, it feels really awesome to say that. Luckily, it leaves in a few minutes, so I don't have time to take a run at the brick wall between platforms 9 and 10. The trains are so steady it's creepy, but every time they pass each other, there's a terrific "WHOOSH THUD" noise that scares the beejesus out of me.

The walk to my hotel is arduous, even more so due to my sleepy non-thinking state. I train to East Croyden, bus to West Croyden, bus back past East Croyden to (almost) crystal palace, walk an outrageously long time up a stupid steep hill, taking only a few wrong turns, toting my damn heavy bag (which I vow to strip of all useless items upon my imminent arrival), finally finding the hotel.
Marvel at the hotel.
It's fabulous!
It's brilliant!
It's all MINE!
It's got a bed!
I'm so tired!
****
I wake late in the afternoon to have a light lunch, and then proceed to subjugate Croyden. All of it. My knees ache from the walk, later, but I uncover a world of delights. The original site of the Crystal Palace, an actual hedge maze (forded in about 5 minutes, thank you) countless little pubs with more character then a Chapter in Tom Jones; London is so compact, so tight, the streets generously claim to be be 2 lane, with parking on the sides, but the cars whiz up and down these streets with not enough room for an anorexic locust in between them. If a new car paint shop opens in London, the accidents will be crippling. I wander the path called "Capital ring" for hours before getting supper (mac 'n' cheese). Returning to the hotel, I uncover a singular triumph, the crowning peak on the day; the room comes with a plug adapter (which I had foolishly neglected to acquire, and was a tad worried about). I crow about this while plugging in my much abused camera.
I am also somewhat embarrassed to admit that I spent the evening watching cheesy British shows. But well, they're kind of addictive.
I wonder if I can join the British army...?

Trip day the fifth; in which I discover Mongolia

I wake to find Mike ripping up the carpet in the hallway; it's noisy, arduous, and necessary, so I guess I'll give him a hand.

I hope they can repair that banister.

We walk, later, to Sunripe, a garden market nearby filled with perfect produce, meat, incredible cheeses, nuts, seafood. I wish we could pick up more but we have to carry back whatever we buy, and it's sweltering already. I restrict myself to a bunch of raspberries, and the ingredients we'll need for a couple of breakfasts. We plan to head to London's Sunfest once we've eaten.

I have another headache. Maybe it's the loss of my usual morning coffee...

Sunfest is a vast sea of booths, filled with jingling shawls, shirts, swords, food, pictures, buttons, and anything that will stay still long enough to be bought. Despite how entranced I am by the sights, I only buy a wrap dress that doubles as a skirt, and a few postcards and buttons that highlight political issues close to my heart, ("no cars", "Don't try to legislate morality" "Amazon-in-training" you know, the essentials.)
The shops, however, are not what we've come for. (although the Vietnamese salad rolls are so good, I eat 4. Ohh my organs!)
The first show tonight is a group of Truvan throat singers, their voices rising eerily, creating a melody that catapults me back to an older time, riding skittish heavy Mongolian horses past acres of vast plains. Although the deep male voices sound like cartoon Dwarves with gout, when they "throat sing" they produce three notes each. One deep, a base line, one middle, the melody, and a high piping flute, an eerie winding harmony. They play the accordion with a few songs, the Erhu (a type of Chinese violin; sounds incredible, if you have a chance to hear it, I highly recommend it) with most, wood blocks with a couple, and many with my favorite instrument; tiny cymbals that sound like spurs. I'm so enchanted with their music, I buy their CD, the first I have purchased in a LONG time.
The only other act we have time for, unfortunately, was a Taiko drumming band. Although they are not as moving as Chirgulchin (the throat singers), the powerful mix of grace and speed, technique and passion makes me vow to start training in martial arts again.
I wake from my revelry, so deeply hypnotized by the performance I didn't see or hear Donna approaching, to hear Donna's friend, Charmane, wonder why they are so subdued. Although the four performers are working incredibly hard, sweat pouring off the main drummer, she says when they really get going, "It's like fire pouring off the stage". She tells me of a famous 15 person, all female, Taiko drumming group. I watch the group play, and wonder if I could learn this somewhere in Edmonton.

I plan to skip writing Day the sixth, since the day I should post it, I will be traveling to London, England, and I would rather not worry about posting. Besides, pretty much nothing happened. I got up re-packed, had ice-cream, looked at cars (Jasmine's buying one) and danced my feet off to a Celtic/Italian fusion band at Sunfest. It was awesome going through, but not very fascinating to read about. When next I post, I ought to be in England! My flight leaves at 5:00 today from Toronto, all, wish me luck!

Trip Day the fourth: in which weather changes faster then my mind.

The mourning dove is following me.
All around my jog.
Outside my window.
Wretched thing...

"I'm sorry, we don't accept Interac."
"What? But, you're a Tim Horten's!"
"Sorry."
"But...GIMME MY COFFEE WOMAN!"
"Ahhh!"
After obtaining breakfast elsewhere, we depart for Niagara Falls.

It's a long trip there, but full of fabulous scenery; an "inconvenience store", old barns, animals, forest. Our first stop, Lake Colbourne, is so rainy the windshield wipers can't even keep up. I wonder, vaguely, if we'll be flooded. Then, in the blink of an eye, it stops. Halfway up a hill, we break into clear skies, with only the soaked car to remind us of the deluge. The water and sandy beach are soothing and there's even a honest-to-goodness lighthouse, with a sign showing "No diving, no swimming," and a blank "No" circle which I assume means, "No nothing". Never the less, we terrorize some seagulls, glad to be out and running. After trying, warily, some "Perch burgers" we drive along the Niagara river to the falls. The buildings along the trail are huge, some so old they still have places for carriages to park. Donna drops us at a point near the falls, and leaves to find parking, so Mike and I get to wander up to the falls, really appreciating the way it abruptly turns nasty, and stops. I take so many photos, I wonder how much room I'll have left for England and Rome. Apparently, as well, the roar of the falls is only a few notes higher then the lowest audible note for humans. There's rainbows everywhere, the mist cool and relaxing. I'm half marveling at the incredible height, the power of mother nature, and half marveling at all the foreign people! It seems people from every corner of the globe are here, dressing in authentic costumes, speaking new languages! I consciously close my mouth, and try to remember not to stare. Surely half the show is the earth, half the show is who's here!
The city nearby, itself, is just as fascinating. Neons, lights, signs, restaurants, extravagant colors, everything crowding for your attention all at once! A huge ferris wheel over looking the falls, a giant "hulk" figure staring you down menacingly! This must be what a true market is like! I wonder if I've fallen into a cheesy comic book; Dick Tracy designed by M.C. Escher, with Tim Burton leaning over his shoulder. The sidewalk is such a crazy angle, sometimes I feel like I'm spinning out of the book!
I drag Mike into the Ripley's believe it or not museum, a fascination of mine since I started reading the comics. For 13 bucks each, it was totally worth it, a singular treasure! Dozens of my photos will likely only be lit by it's neons.
After a point, the commercialism disturbs us, and we leave for more historical fare. We fit in Fort George (the site of the Canadian's bunker in the war of 1812. Donna tells us the Canadians and Americans would just trade pot-shots across the river), the statue of General Brock (shame we didn't have time to climb the massive staircase, or time to push down a slinky!), lake Ontario (3 of the 5 great lakes seen now!) as well as the Laura Secord homestead (what an incredible woman!) and the town of Niagara-on-the-lake (I want to retire here; so opulent!) before night fell and darkness rendered sightseeing difficult.
Donna tells us how she biked this trail with a friend, camping on the woods surrounding the road. She points out the "Prince of Wales hotel", where the Queen stays when she's in Niagara, and a gazebo where a famous horror movie was shot (couldn't remember which one, tho).
Even the trip home is eventful, seeing the lights of Hamilton and Toronto before finally making it home at 1:30.
I'm starting to become acutely aware of my impending England and Rome trip.
I'm still not convinced it was a good idea.
But every thing's booked, so, Carpe Diem, I suppose!

Trip Day the third: In which I lose my book, and fall behind a day in updates

A plinking Jack Johnson song wakes me, and I'm so glad it's raining. My body's so stiff and sore from yesterday's workout, jogging would be half-hearted if it didn't kill me.
In the front room it seems Donna has purchased three plush rugs from the auction; they match the house really well. She's painting the hall when I get up, and I feel really lazy but, meh, It's vacation, right?
We're headed to Donna's for breakfast with Mike's grandparents, but I wouldn't hold my breath till we leave...
I'm surprised to find that I'm homesick, already tired of sharing space with people who have different habits.
We arrive at Mike's grandparents. Really great people, lots of old stories, His uncle just had an aneurysm, they say, but I cannot tell, he seems tougher then most people I know. His Grandpa dropped us off at the base, Mike needs a computer with access to DND files, but we discover it is closed down. Walking to the central base (we were at a satellite compound) we pass a mental hospital with bits of plastic bag littering the lawn. I am disgusted until closer inspection reveals them to be tiny white morning glory. Charming.
On the base I peruse the RCR museum, entranced by old rifles, maps, and uniforms. It saddens me to know I will never be part of this world, but it's an incredible look at the past. Anyone interested in photos will be satiated upon my return.
The afternoon holds a childish delight; Novack's. A building full of traveling and camping supplies, from top to bottom. I pick up hand sanitizer, a money belt and some Unhol(e)y socks. I vow my next camping trip will be a backpacking one. Their displays desperately make me want to go camping in the woods. I would spend all day here, and all my savings too, but we tear ourselves away, wrapping the evening up with Ratatouille and Die hard.
I already knew Die hard was good, had seen it before, wasn't worth seeing twice, though, but Ratatouille was fabulous! Very cute, made me really want to eat something well prepared, or cook, but few deep laughs. Mostly tread lightly on my brain with little tiny rat feet.

Trip day the second - In which I am useful and confused.

I wake in the morning to discover Jasmine has returned from Montreal, her blue rental car in the driveway and her door shut. After a jog around the neighborhood, discovering more fabulous scenery, a workout and a shower in which I need to balance on one foot in order to drain the tub with my other, I'm content to wait for Donna to come over so we can indoctrinate her into the fold of Dim Sum.
"You went to China, but never tried Dim Sum?"
"Nooo?"
"Ah, good. It's better in large groups, you'll love it."

There's Mourning Doves outside my window. God, they sound pathetic.

Since Jasmine wasn't really in the mood for Chinese food (damnit), we lunched at a fabulous place called "Cora's" That had a huge breakfast menu and the most phenomenal Omelette crepe. Really. An Omelette crepe, and good coffee.

After painting the halls, during which I gave thanks for my dad's tall gene, we walked to a live auction. I've never been before, and am a little worried about looking stupid. I'm number 162 with my eye on a lovely rotary phone, and a set of Matruchka dolls painted like soviet presidents (Stalin, Yeltsin, Putin, and Gorbachev). I wonder if I've inherited my Dad's impulsiveness at auctions.

I am the bemused owner of a brass moose.
No, It doesn't do anything. It just is.

Once I sufficiently recovered my senses, I bid on a fabulous box of costume jewelery. Bidding is easier then I thought, but I am still very conscious of my movements. I don't want to scratch and wind up buying a 300 dollar painting. Afterwards, I do pick up my moose, another object, which will be a surprise for someone, and my treasure chest. This is poured over like an archaeological dig, with about the same success. Lots of fun old stuff.
The evening is spent watching "Arrested development" and eating enough cherries to make myself a little ill.
I figure if I'm going to be sick anyway...

Trip-Day the First, In which I arrive, make camp, and fall in love with architecture.

Stepping off the plane, the sun was rising over a tidy line of green bushes, it even smells differently. Mike says Alberta is the Texas of Canada, but I like how they both smell. Waiting for my embarrassingly over packed luggage, I think of my carry-on, with a ziploc container of cheesecake. I wonder if I'll eat it. I know it's good, but it's awful fun to watch it squish.

Donna takes us to Jasmine's new house, and I'm astounded by it. Stained glass over the living room window, tiny wood carvings across the peaked roof. The living room, front room; bright colors, red and orange, green circular plush chair at my knees, a chandelier that, even dusty, makes me stare. The kitchen looks like a colonial transplanted back to America's 50's scene. Donna shows us the hard wood floor, tragically covered in carpet. Ugly carpet. Tells us how she's going to rip it up, sand off the glue, varnish the wood, build a staircase to the dust filled attic that takes my breath away, light filtering in. I wonder, idly, if she means she'll hire someone to come in. I stop wondering when she shows us the immaculate wall she made to replace a shoddy one.

We pile back into the white Toyota, driving home past the Kellogg factory, smelling of baking corn flakes. Arriving home, we disperse to sleep, my bed sounding like a herd of a angry badgers farting. I text some key loved ones to announce my safety, then liberally sprinkle my pillow with drool.
****
"What?"
"Come fix the deck with me!"
Off Jas's room is a balcony shading the porch. The wood is all rotted and it takes us less then half an hour to pull it all up, garnering 6 cents and a rusty bottle cap. We'll burn the wood later in the fireplace, and set down new planks on the deck.
After gleefully discovering the old record player also accommodates CDs and tapes, I dance on the black and white tiled floor, imagining ice cream later.

Even the street lights here have more character; fat little hanging fruits, ripe on metal poles.

The Ice cream list at a place called "Merla Mae's" floors me. A staggering array of fabulous sundae (yes, sundae) options, as if they'd robbed a bakery, fruit stand, and candy store, depositing the swag on vanilla soft serve. I sacrifice one with roasted macadamias and hot fudge for a "beam me up, Scotty": Irish cream, coffee, and bananas.
It is really fabulous and I even try a bit of Mike's apple crumble, despite the hated caramel.
We drive with a French exchange student named Guillaume, who is staying at Donna's, finishing his master's, to Stratford on Avon, where we marvel at the old buildings,see the theater where "Pirates of Penzance" was filmed, and discover I am terrified of hissing ducks, swans, and brake pedals. Wandering along the river, I'm surprised that the swans and ducks don't move, no matter how close you get. They stare at you, arrogant and superior like High Level's Ravens. I test their nerves and mine by edging closer and closer until one rears up and honks, sending me scurrying. I hide behind Mike to snap some photos, then mock them from the safety of the car.
The beach at Lake Huron underwhelms me. Fairly cold and windy, full of loud people and garbage, it's the first thing I've seen that doesn't knock me on my ass. We take a walk, decide there are too many clouds to watch a pretty sunset, dare each other to admonish the couple we're pretty sure is having sex under the blanket undulating on the beach, then depart.
On the way home Donna points out the Roman Line, (where the black Donnelly's were killed, a fascination of mine for many years) and an old house she grew up in, that she and her family had built, with a pool in the back.
I face-plant into bed, this one mercifully silent of animals' digestion tracts.

Holy European, Batman!

I will be using this blog as my main spot for highlights of my Europe trip.
The itinerary?
July 1st, leave for London, Ontario
July 8th, Leave for London, England
July 13th, Leave for Rome, Italy,
July 20th, Leave for Toronto
July 21st, Leave for Edmonton.

these are the timings.
Hope things go well!
Meh, I've got travel insurance.

At this moment.

I don't think I have ever felt so beautiful, nor so put together as I do at this moment. Today started terribly, but with one gesture, my day has been immeasurably redeemed.
A good way to post my 100th post, no?
Overall, It's been a life of joy, of joy unending.

I have come to a conclusion

I will never have children. Ever. Unless I can completely bypass the years that they can't speak in. I'll be like the Maori people of New Guinea; "If you can't talk, you aren't really human!"

I thought for many years, "Of Course I'll want kids eventually!"
But after tonight, babysitting my nephew. I've changed my mind.
My programming is undone.
No babies.
Period.
Yuk.

Whoops.

Well, I went into a panic, thinking I had lost my damn blog, couldn't log on, was wondering how I'd transfer it to my new Gmail and all, when I found it again by logging in properly.
Ahh, Panic. My old friend.

Oh man. Things are going good. Like, really good. Classes are going well, I've applied to graduate, My relationship is going really (really!) well, and summer is coming soon. All I need to confirm is whether or not I will have a job come July; and decide whether to keep my half of the condo or not. It would be nice to have essentially free property. I keep it at the risk of it lowering in value, tho, but with the LRT coming down my way, I think the price is fairly reasonable. It would also be nice to have a place to keep, and know that I can crash at anytime, but do I want the hassle of being a landlord? What happens if the housing bubble cracks, and it effectively halves in value? Plus, If I do get a job in the military, I wouldn't want to stay here anyway. especially since I have no vehicle?

Hmm. More things to ponder.
Ah well.



Did I mention how well things are going relationship-wise? Dude.

Wo de mama

I've been thinking for while about family. Mostly about my mother, to be precise. Lately I've also been wondering where my life is going, what I want to do with it. To be honest, I have no idea what I would consider a full complete life to be like. What it would accomplish.
But when I think of my mom, and all the time she devoted to raising us, and everything. It makes me realize I'd like to be someone like her. Maybe not raising kids (who knows) but able to live with the grace, dignity, and wisdom she does.
I've realized how beautiful my mom is.
And that I would like to have the strength she has.
It may not be a life flow-chart, but it's a start.

Last stupid blog post

You Are An ENFJ

The Giver You strive to maintain harmony in relationships, and usually succeed. Articulate and enthusiastic, you are good at making personal connections. Sometimes you idealize relationships too much - and end up being let down. You find the most energy and comfort in social situations ... where you shine. You would make a good writer, human resources director, or psychologist.

What's Your Personality Type?

This sure as hell isn't the twist at the end.

The Movie Of Your Life Is Film Noir

So what if you're a little nihilistic at times? Life with meaning is highly over-rated. Your best movie matches: Sin City, L. A. Confidential, Blade Runner

If Your Life Was a Movie, What Genre Would It Be?

I guess I'm mature now.

Because I've run out of thyme.



That's funny because I mean time as in, I'm old now, and thyme as in I realized I have ceased to have my most favorite spice in the world, and it blows my mind that I could have a preference for something long enough to use it all up.

This will tottally help you get to know me

High School: School of hard knocks

Junior High: Kindergarten of getting the shit kicked out of me
Favorite Soda: I'll have none of your damned carbonate crap!! only heathful shit for me! or booze...
Favorite fruit: anything really crunchy. Like a lightbulb. Are lightbulbs fruit?
Favorite weather: Rain on a day I have tiny easy errands to finish. Like graves to dig.
Like someone: broiled.

Want more piercings: I cried like a little bitch when I got my ears pierced. so, yah.

Want a tattoo: A full body, Life-size tattoo of me, only taller.

Last person talked to/texted on the phone? I don't really text people when I'm talking to them.
Blue or red?: My steaks red, my smurfs blue, and my questions less ambiguous

Do you speak a different language?:I speak acceptable french, Sign quite effectivly, and speak enough Chinese to order food.
How old do you act?: Like a 3 legged race between an 70 year old women and a 9 year old boy
Do you have any pets? A few friends, wait... do you mean housetrained? No, then.

The 4 W's Questions:
Whos in the room with you? Depends on what religon you subscribe to...
What was the last thing you ate?: Deep-fried mars bar
What was the last thing you drank?: Badly deep-fried mars bar

What color pants are you wearing?: Who needs pants when you've got rogaine?
What is the closest item near you that is blue: My 10 year old honduran boy, but he'll give up soon.
What instant messaging service do you use?: Smoke signals
Where do you sleep?: K. Getting creeped out again. wid da fishes!
Where did you get the shirt you are wearing?: Your binocs can't see the tag? shame sha

__Which is Better With The Opposite Sex __

Cute or pretty: Male.
Lips or Eyes: Eyes properly cooked, Lips in a salad tho.

Hugs or Kisses: Having my hair petted on a bus.
Short or Tall:Tall enough to change the lightbulbs.
Easygoing or serious: Easy enough to sleep with, serious enough to do it well.
Romantic or Spontaneous: like spontaneous combustion?

Muscular or Skinny: Skinny enough for me to fold into my luggage.

Hook-up or Relationship: Depends on how much GHB I have...

Sweet or Caring: Are these opposites?

___Have You Ever___

Drank Bubbles?: Does tossing someone's salad count? How about if it was frothy? (sorry, that was bad)

Lost glasses/contacts: Nope. But I've found a couple. You just pop those suckers in your mouth for a sec or two, and then they're fine!
Broken Someones Heart?:Physically or metaphorically?
Had your heart broken?: Do heart murmurs count?
Cried When Someone Died: FUCK YOU! OLD YELLER WAS SPECIAL!

___Do You Believe In___

God: If he's listening, yes, yes I do.

Miracles: I've been proposed to twice. what do you think?
Love At First Sight: First sight is the only place unfettered love CAN exist. once you get to know someone... crap shoot.
Aliens: Alien what? plantlife? certainly. Bacteria? without a doubt. Sentience? Dunno.

Magic: Just cuz you know how it's done doesn't make it not magic.

Heaven: what else could you call Saturdays?

Hell: What else could you call a wasted Saturday?

Horoscopes: They work. Is that real then? People believe them. They are cultivated to be true no matter what.
Boogers: As a metaphor for existential philosophy, yes. As a food group, no.

Akroma's Boyfriend creation table

There's been a girlfriend creation table floating around, so I figured this one should respond.
(This'll probably crack me up to about 12 crazy, but it's worth it...)
Ugly: At 10, you're not sure what age he is, 12, what gender, 14 what species, 16, what state
Immature: at 10, he'll call you "mommy", 12 in bed, 14 wants you to change his diapers, 16 breastfeeding.
Obsessive: at 10, he'll try to recruit you into his obsession, 12 asks you to drink the punch, 14, doesn't ASK you to drink the punch, 16 he's not even your boyfriend
Cheap: 10, you go dutch, 12, he'll save receipts "to be fair", 14, calculates how much gas you use in his car, 16, how much oxygen you use.
Rude:8, offends your family, 10 at first meeting, 12 and your ancestors, 14 without opening his mouth, 16 or being in the same room.
Stupid: 5, he'll ask for homework help, 8 with high school homework, 12, with a speak 'n' say, 14, with a book, 16 with a pamphlet
Macho: 10, he'll sleep with your friend, 12 your sister, 14 your mother, 16 all of them,18 at once.
Inattentive: 8 if you leave him, he won't know why, 10 or if you cry, 12 or get mad, 14 or die, 16 or live

Perks for flaws:
0 flaws- he's gay.
5 remembers important dates
7 does something for important dates
9 gives a crap in bed

All your exams are belong to me!

Is it sad that I am so jubiliant because I garned a 60% on my psych midterm?
Probably not...
Aw man! It was so good! I got over 100% on one section!
PLUS I pwnd my comp 101 midterm this morning. As a gleeful celebration my weekend has started already, despite it being Thursdy. (while, since I don't technically have any classes, it's kind of a moot point) I'm gonna go choke myself with ice cream and BOOZE.

Now with more sodium!

God, I feel like if I turn my head too rapidly, psychology will splash all over my monitor.
After all the damn reading I've done over the past week (I'll be a big girl and refrain from making a joke about how I'm reading over reading week, hurr hurr) I should be prepared for this midterm. But now my cortex feels like a burning hatred behind my eyes. I think perhaps my temporal lobe has simply become electrified.
On a happier note, I'm starting to feel quite confident that my application to the military will be approved. For heaven's sake I have a dratted clean bill of health, a desire to run around the mud filled fields, and a large bladder capacity. What more could they want?
Oh right, that whole "reassurance that I will not shoot their people in the back of the head while they are unawares."
huh...

When I just close my eyes...

When I was short and waif-like, and happy in my shortness, and my ignorance, and youth, I would curl into a little ball and hide myself in my ceder-lined hope chest. and just breathe in the wonderful smell and daydream.
Now I have a mortgage and credit cards, and a thrice-broken little heart, and a career path, and guilt, and sadness, and age, and grey hairs. And a little teapot in a ceder box. and I pour myself green tea, and breathe.
And somehow, I'm happier now.

SCROTUM!

Fuck you world! scrotum!!!
It's a golramm body part!!!
FARK!

In other news;
Baptism went well. Yah! so no more baby being sent to limbo! I was also surprised because I expected baby to freak ("wtf? water, OMG!?") but he was fabulous! quiet, well-mannered, not squirmy. but then again, he has my genes, hehe.

On another note:
Things are going well between the ex and I. I think this friendship may actually work! holy-shit!
So there all you Nay-sayers who believe you can't be friends with an ex!! I'm onna fuckin do it twice!!! HA! ...I hope....

On a final note:
holycrapmeetingpeoplescaryi'mgonnadosomethingstupidorsomethingawcrudi'msonervousholyjeesus.
*hyperventilates*

Anna Nicole Smith

I've gotta admit, I feel kinda lost in a world without her.
She seemed kinda trashy, but I never saw a picture of her without her smiling in it. I kinda like that. I feel like people must have when they found out Marilyn Monroe died. Weird. Could also be because I've never been close to anyone who has died, but celebrities feel strangely close, since we follow their lives in tabloids so avidly.
Well, that's pretty much it for today. Pretty mindless, but I'm trying to distract myself. If I don't succeed I'm going to have to sit down and read the 5 articles I just downloaded on neural plasticity and perception. I should because I need them for Thursday, but...well...I just don't CARE right now.
Things are going better tho.
I knew I just needed a night of Karaoke and Sake. : P

Mark Rothko Song

Words and music by dar williams The blue it speaks so full It’s like the beauty one can barely stand Or too much things dropped in your hand And there’s a green like the peace In your heart sometimes Printed underneath the sheets of ashy snow And there’s a blue like where the urban angels go, very bright Now the calder mobile tips a biomorphic sphere Then it swings it’s dangling pieces Round to other paintings here Your behavior is so male It’s like you can’t explain yourself to me I think I’ll ask renoir to tea For his flowers are as real as they are all the time And the sunlight sets the furniture aglow It’s a pleasant time as far as people go, how far do they go? Well his roses are perfect and his words have no wings I know what he can give me and I like to know these things I met her at the funeral She said I don’t know what he meant to me I just know he affected me An effect not unlike his art, I believe The service starts and we are in the know He had so much to say but more to show, and ain’t that true of life? So we weep for a person who lived at great cost Yet we barely knew his powers till we sensed that we had lost A friend and I in a museum room She says, look at mark rothko’s side Did you know about his suicide? Some folks were born with a foot in the grave, but not me, of course And she smiles as if to say we’re in the know Then she names a coffee place where we can go, uptown Now the painting is desperate, but the crowds wash away In a crowd of kind pedestrians who’ve seen enough today

Livejournal

Alright you seething, slobbering internet masses. I'm on Livejournal now. Not because I wanna be, but because I feel i have to. (to the person who's forced me to this level, I'm gonna get you...)
My username is jhagerkin.
Yes. Jhagerkin. DEAL WITH IT.
Pretty much everything else I liked was taken.
Chelle, miChelle, Lhuci, LhuChelle.
fricken internets.

this is it

Okay, If I can just stop being stupid , and wholeheartedly botching my life up, 2007 is gonna be the best year ever. I can tell. It's glistening with shiny, oily, awesome.
It'd just be nice if the shiny, glistening awesomeness didn't cause me to fall on my face so Golramm much.
What I need is some crotchety old Codger, full of wisdom and vinegar, to tell me what to do. Yah, fricken Clint Eastwood to come along and set me right.
Anyway, what I got is my poor little, overused brain desperately trying to avoid fucking up.
I can sense the inevitable fuck-up looming. It's terrible and all-consuming.
It's gonna kill me, and you know what?
I totally deserve it.
I'm a bad person.

WOOO!

WOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO !*gasp gasp * WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

New Year

I am euphoric on a floating sea of bliss.
The New Year, hotly awaited by yours truly, has proved to be a blessing, indeed.
I received the exciting news that I do have collision, which means I will be receiving money for the heap of rubble that is my old car (yippee) my family appears to like my boyfriend, things are going better between me and him, I have no bills to be paid, no pressing meetings, and am awaiting paperwork for the military. Again.
The only slight raincloud dampening my sights is the fact that I appear to be two courses short of graduation specifics. but I only have one space for a course, and cannot take any junior level courses. Ah sigh.
But I have to look forward to a delicious one month backpacking trip through Europe as a "yah me, I survived and moderately flourished, I am a big tough woman, Fremo, I can handle life" celebration.
Well, less nauseating posts and more brain-food later.

I received the following as an email

>Subject: Fw: : Written by a Canadian Mom
>
>
>One of my sons serves in the army. He is still here in
>Canada.
>He called  me yesterday to let me know how warm and welcoming people were
>to him, and his fellow soldiers, everywhere he goes, telling me how people
>shake their
>hands, and thank them for being willing to serve, and fight, for not only
>our own freedoms but so that others may have them also.
>
>But he also told me about an incident in the grocers' shop
>he stopped at yesterday, on his way home from the quarters. He said that
>ahead of several people in front of him stood a woman dressed in a burkha.
>He said when
>she got to the checkout she loudly remarked about  the Canadian Flag
>lapel badge the cashier wore on her blouse. The cashier reached up and
>touched the
>badge, and said proudly," Yes, I always wear it and probably always
>will."
>The woman in the burkha then asked the cashier when she was going to
>stop bombing her countrymen, explaining that she was an Afghani.
>A gentleman standing behind my son stepped forward, putting his arm
>around my son's shoulders, and nodding towards my son, said in a calm and
>gentle  voice to the Afghani woman. "Lady, hundreds of thousands of
>men and women like this young man have fought and died so that YOU could
>stand here, in MY country and accuse a check-out cashier of bombing  YOUR
>countrymen. It
>is  my belief that had you been this outspoken in YOUR own country, we
>wouldn't  need to be there today. But, hey, if you have now learned how to
>speak out so loudly and clearly, I'll gladly buy you a ticket and pay
>your way back to Afghanistan so you can straighten out the mess in YOUR
>country that you are obviously here, in MY, country to avoid."
>
>Everyone within hearing distance cheered!IF YOU
>AGREE -------
>Pass this on to all your proud friends----- I most certainly did!



Perhaps is WE thought less in terms of Them vs. Us, we would be
able to focus on better solutions than blowing each other up.
But then we wouldn't get that great smugness that comes from knowing you
live a better life than those backward heathens.

Iraq and Afghanistan

I try to avoid talking on this over-done subject as much as possible, but I had a conversation a little while ago I thought was pertinent to relate.
It was mentioned that George W. Bush has gone into Iraq without a valid exit strategy. He cannot pull out now, for risk of looking uncommitted, but staying is costing soldier's lives and money.
What can he do?
Well, although this may seem reminiscent of England invasion of Scotland so many centuries ago, why not simply ask for soldiers who would be interested in permanent duty over there? We wouldn't be abandoning the country, but it would ensure that the people that are there, are there with the intent to build a good, strong, country. Which is our goal, right? There are undoubtedly people out there that are in love with the culture and nation, so let them stay there, give them land, make sure they keep their jobs as American Soldiers, to maintain a visual deterrence, and thus decrease the amount of active forces over there.

Doom.

My whole fricken computor. Wiped.
I'm so lost.
All my golramm music. About 7,000 songs. Gone.
All my golramm pictures. Including ones from Mexico. Gone.
All my golramm homework. Including one still yet to be handed in. Gone.

I'm so lost. It's like I loved someone, and now they have amnesia, and all our memories, all our time together is lost. They don't even know who I am. I can go through the other pictures, try to make them remember, but it's not the same. I feel so adrift.
I'm such a loser.

Fuzzy Logic

I've decided that I dislike vague things.
Of all things I abhor most, "possible" is the highest.
I dislike "alternate endings" in movies, books, comics, and especially my own life. I don't EVER want to know what "might have been" or "could have if I had X, Y, or Z'd".
I think most of this is due to my incredible guilt factor, and the obscenly high regret ability I posses.
I dislike things that are not clearly defined, or do not fit into a category. I like things that fit into more than one category, as long as fitting in one does not lower their ability to fit in another.
I wonder if this is something I should change?

Nothing much

This blog post is best read to "Fill me in" by Craig Daivd
I've been in a strange mood lately. Like sex and warm candy, with cold stars in it.
I feel like violence, and hurting people, but also like being very nice, and sweet.

This is probably all due to the "week" I'm currently in, but I'm also trying desperatly to find who I really am, and what I really want to do with the rest of my life. I'd like to be in the military, but as what, I'm not sure. I would like to have some effect on the world, in a larger intellectual capacity, but how? I don't think Graduate school would be a sensible idea at this point, since I find it difficult to take university seriously, and Grad school is fairly intensive. Also, if I discover I don't want to do anything with Psychology, it will be a fabulous waste of money.

So far, with my current mood, it appears I am best suited for a career as a serial rapist...
Perhaps something in a more artistic capacity? I must confess, the only reason I didn't go to Fine Arts at Grant MacEwan is because my sister had done it previously, but somehow, the thought of learning to make art makes me weep. But I have a few ideas for paintings, I would love to teach dance, Few things make me as happy as writing, and I have thoughts on a couple sculptures. Perhaps a joint career in the military with Artistry as a hobby?
It's a thought.

After spending all Saturday with my sister and her rapidly-getting-bigger son, my nephew, I'm starting to become more and more sure I should never have children. Ever. I'm largly incompetant with them, and I think that I would not be able to devote the time to them that they require. but many of my friends believe that I would be a fabulous mother.

I just would like time to stop so I can take a serious look around, and decide a few things.

There's also a frustrating situation developing with my emotions and a person. I won't detail it, since no-one really cares. (Well, that's untrue, but the people who do care are already briefed.) But, suffice to say, it's causing a few sleepless nights, and more than a few daydreams, and even more serious self-evaluations. Why must people be so confusing? Worse, why must my expectations, and thoughts about people be so confusing? There should be a place, like Babelfish, where you can insert conversations and it would spit out what everyone is really saying, and how everyone really feels. None of this guessing crap. Just straight out; A, B, C.

Anyway, that's that, this is this, and everything will develop.
I don't want this to be construed as whining, because I am fascinated with this whole life I have, but it does bear thought, and require some attention.

Whimsy

I wish everything could stay exactly like it is now. I'm almost graduated, in a good house that I own, Surrounded by good, close friends, waiting for a job review, learning, and generally just enjoying myself.
I don't know what is going to happen by this time next year. I'm worried. It's likely I won't even have contact with most of the people I see on a regular basis now; Which is good in some cases (sweet closure) but not good in most.

What if I do the wrong thing? Back in high school very little changed for me. My town stayed the same. I moved only once to the other side of town. My school never changed. My classmates never changed. I never really thought that life would ever be different. Now, Nothing will be the same this time next year.

Wallowing

If you ever feel the need to just break down and mop, really feel sorry for yourself, get into all the misery corners, just ache for your poor lost self, languish in melancholia, rip off all your scabs, poke all your wounds, bleed from your soul, and really melodrama it up, you almost certainly must put on Roxanne, the remix by Tom Waits. On the Moulin Rouge album. It is practically indispensible. Nothing says torment like that rough voice screaming, "you don't have to put on that red light, Roxanne"

Oh I'm wallowing at a champion level now...

I will happily ever your after.

After watching the movie 'Shrek' for almost the millionth time, I have come to two conclusions;
1.Dragon is really weird
2. It's indicative of our current trend in love-thought.
Love today is centered around finding the right person. Confusing in it's own right, this leads to other problems. When labels like "Mr. Right" and "soulmate" are bandied around, it is no surprise the divorce rate is what it is.
We have, in our ferver, lost two essential elements. One I have previously fondled, the other is a newer concept.
1. Putting something outside yourself.
2. Being the right person.

1. The point of this, and the reason why marriages were so successful is they had an alterior purpose; Finances, lack-of-war, blackmail, carrying on family name, or even just warmth. The point is that if the marriage stopped, this benefit stopped, and usually if you married, It was for something bigger. (your Ace in the hole, as it were) Now, we just marry for love. A barely tangible, inexpressible, requirement. No wonder so many fail. When the swirly gut feeling of infatuation fades, we are left with only higher bills, and an annoying person who won't go away.

2. What if Love succeeding, and conversly marriage, was based on simply having the intestinal fortitude to stick with it? Some traits pass over all perosnality types, correct? So there should not be anyone who is incapable of making a marriage work just by not giving up. this is somewhat shown by the fact that if a person has a 2nd divorce, they are way more likely to have a 3rd, 4th or 5th, than a person who has only been married once is to have a 2nd divorce. The problem is the type of thinking you get trapped in. "OH, they weren't right." In our day and age of customization, and options, we've decided that we never need to settle; but people are not like cars or computors, we are constantly changing, the only thing that will stay constant is your determination to stay together.

But then again, what do I know?

Sadness

Sometimes I feel so broken inside my head.
With no way to express it.
Well, no healthy, acceptable way to express it.
Why must I be so fricken...weird?

New Music

Anyone bored and need some new types of tunes to listen to?
In ascending order of harshness (1 being mellow sleepy music, 10 being ear-raping with a gravel covered dildo, not even kidding, but it's soooo goood)

1. Bruce Cockburn- My lady and my lord from "Sunwheel Dance"
1. Moby- The Sky is Broken from "Play"
2. Maria Dunn- Take it Easy on Me from "For a Song"
3. Sarah Harmer- Lodestar or Open Window from "You were here"
4.. Emm Gryner- Siamese Star from "Asianblue"
5. Emm Gryner- Stereochrome from "Science Fair"
5. Dar Williams- The Ocean from "Mortal City"
6. Sarah Slean- California, Vertigo, or Day One from "Day One"
8. Dresdon Dolls- I am a Girl Anachronism from "The Dresdon Dolls"
9. Dresdon Dolls- Half-Jack from "The Dresdon Dolls"
10. Tom Waits- Hoist that rag or Don't go into that barn from "Real Gone"
10. Tom Waits- Singapore or Big Black Mariah from "Rain Dogs"

Stereotypes

Well, this post has been in the making for a while now, so I am hoping to provide a higher level of quality than my usual frothy-mouthed drooling rant sprees.

Stereotypes. They get up people's noses. Why?
What I have noticed about stereotypes is that they typically are born out of a fact, they are of an objective nature. It may later turn out that the fact is false, but it is a fact that spurs the creation of one. Object based stereotypes are never worth anything, so I will focus my discussion on stereotypes that assign a particular attribute to a group of people. Why are people insulted by them? Whether they are correct or incorrect, people typically take offense because the stereotype points out a type of scale, a continuum that people judge themselves on. If they fall into the stereotype, people feel offended because it seems like the stereotyper has control over them (to control you first must understand) or in some cases does have control over, in the case of institutionalized discrimination, which I cannot condone. If they are on the negative side, they have pushed themselves so far to the opposite that it is insulting to be mistaken for a positive. Either way, it forces the person to evaluate themselves by the terms set out by the stereotyper, even though that may not be an aspect the person cares about in themselves. The important thing to remember about stereotypes is that two types of knowledge are imparted
1. Knowledge about the stereotyped.
2. Knowledge about the stereotyper.
Within the genre of stereotypes a person indulges in, we may uncover a truth about them, whether is it true of the stereotyped or not. If a person decides that another race is "less smart" it is obviously the case that they consider themselves to be "more smart". This may not mean much, but can become more revealing with more telling stereotypes. For the purposes of refuting a stereotype, this is the more effective method, as the original 'fact' that the stereotype was based on may be lost to antiquity. It is in this way that we discover the nature of stereotypes. they are put forth as objective analysis, but they can only be known as a subjective assement. Thus, one may not attack the stereotype itself, but must attack the stereotyper to be properly effective.
However, this being said, I wonder why stereotypes have the negative stigma they do? As a female, I encounter few stereotypes, thank you Suffragettes!, but I have found that when they do, one of two things will occur:
1. I will correct the stereotyper, and continue on my merry way.
2. I will appreciate the stereotype.
What? Appreciate? Yes, I know, bizzare, but bear with me. A popular stereotype is that women are more fragile than men because we cannot build muscle mass. If it is a smaller task, I will ignore the stereotyper and do it myself. However, if it something I cannot do, I appreciate the help from the person who is aware such a condition may exist in realtion to me. It is just like knowing a person's personality. We know the 'personality' of a culture, race, ethnicity, etc. From knowing this, it is easier to cater to the groups needs, wants, likes, or dislikes. It is only in the expecting, and the refusal to change my belief about a group, that stereotypes becomes a problem. In essence, it is when people forget the subjective nature of a stereotype, and attempt to treat it as an objective truth.
There you have it.
I'm tired now and going to bed. Hopeful, the next post will be on modern day love, both the finding and the nature thereof.

Whatever the Weather

I thought I'd make post 60 a peaceful one.
Snow. What a great idea. An essential commodity floating to the ground in a pleasing, silent array. There's something about it's soothing nature, gentle white color, and completely lack of discrimination that has always made me happy. In a little giddy child fashion. It makes me think of Christmas with my family, and late night light-watching car trips. I pulled my bed out to the living room, which is pretty devoid of anything, and just fell asleep watching the snow. It seems like such a miracle, every time I see it. That nature still runs; in it's timeless efficancy.I think, if I could choose, I would like to freeze to death while watching the snow fall. As morbid as that is, it would be wonderful. Just falling asleep with the snow gently laying witness, covering you, bringing you back to God.
On a completly unrelated note, I saw the preview for a movie called "300" and it looks completly fantastic. Elephants and men kicking the shit out of each other. If there is Geisha, I may go into happy seizures.

Yes God!

I'm a veritable dynamo of linguistic cunning! A force of nature mother has yet to divulge from her earthy womb! I'm alite, afire, and crackling with the wordy energy of the truly possesed! I'm a mad women reborn with a pen and a penis! The sweet heady tang of justice and Karma was something I had not supped for too long. But now, oh sublime zest! Oh beatific angel of "I told you so". I spill my cathartic sanguinity, such close divinity, onto whitish screen.Oh, I'm feign with nervous energy! I may soon perish, but know this; The height, the zenith of my rapture, is now.

This just in: Mother nature takes a backseat to science

On another note, the Gov't has approved a pill that would push your period back to once every three years. I have two problems with this;
1. Your period may not solve any reproductive articles, as the page points out, but I 'm pretty sure having the same nasty blood sitting in your womb for 3 years is not a good thing. There is a reason your body flushes that blood out. You don't stop trying to shit, do you? Hell no. I've heard, from my doctor, though I cannot confirm or deny, that your body flushes it out to prevent uterine cancer (i.e. you don't bleed on the pill to "psychologically adjust" that's a crock of shit if nothing else). In the words of my old Biology professer, Don't Fuck with Mother Nature!

2. Why does everybody hate PMS? Ladies, is it really that bad? I rather enjoy mine. It's a chance to kick my feet up, relax, get out all the crying I've been penning up. It connects me to the female race, You know? Reminds me of my mortality. Lets me know I'm not pregnant. I'm on pills, but I don't think I could ever get rid of it entirely. Every month I'm reminded of women's incredible ability to make a tiny human inside our bodies. Isn't that a miracle? Is one week of discomfort not worth that wonder and awe? I don't want to say that this is because we no longer hold motherhood sacred, but I do feel we handle the extrodinary with less reverence.
I don't know why this is.

Vegemite

Thank heavens I don't live in the United States.

Vegemite is banned there.
Vegemite. For the unlearned masses Vegemite is a peanut butter kinda substance, quite salty, that Australians traditionally have on bread. It seems to be a kinda of cultural point, because I don't think I could choke it down, but they love it. Anyway, The U.S. has banned it because it contains Folate, something they only want to see added to bread or cereal.
Dude, Vegemite could practically be bread. I wonder if they could sell it under the label "bread".

when I think about possible reasons for this, the only one I can conjure is that this is another instance of hand-holding. Trying to ensure Americans don't have to read what they eat, or try to eat healthy. Which doesn't really explain why McDonalds doesn't have to post warnings on their burgers "Should not be eaten more than once a week".

I think we should all ask why the U.S. is trying to cheese off Australians so much...
they don't have weapons of mass destruction do they?
Australia is a strategically located land mass...If you're trying to take over China...

Death.

I've often heard in arguments, and now feel the need to wax poetic upon the theory that being insensitive about death somehow demeans human life.
I'm not going to talk too long, save to say this; Without death, life would have NO meaning. It is in the fact that life ends that it has value. How could our reactions to death cause that worth to be taken away? It can't, really. Simply because one person sniffles a little, and another starts a webring shrine to a lost loved one doesn't mean either value life more or less. Our value on life is not shown through our reaction to it's end (although it is a typically good indicator that someone who does not care that life ends is probably less "maximizing the greater good in a life" driven) our value on life is demonstrated by how we live our own. We can have influence, but not control over how another's life is led. (even in those scenarios where kidnapping and such occurs. Attitude is such a large part of our view of life that even conplete control over a person's body does not ensure ocntrol over mind, or soul) Therefore, in your view of your life through your goals, or lack thereof, and impression on the fullness of your own life is the true indicator of how you value all life.

From this then, it is logical that people who weep more would be more inclined to notice the lack in their own life from the loss of a loved one, and thus, are weeping for the value lost in their own life. (let's be fair, you cannot grieve FOR someone else, only ABOUT...) and ones who are less inclined to weep would be less sensitive to the loss of life value. But we cannot make such judgements about every person. (this will tie nicely into my stereotype rant...coming soon!)
Everyone grieves in their own way, but lets abandon this shoddy argument tactic.
Thank you.

This just in: AA supports LSD

Let me summarize this for you, early in the morning; LSD makes you have hallucinations that cause you to believe in God. Therefore it is easier to quit drinking because Alcoholics Anonymous place step 2 of a 12 step program is "Believe there is a high power at work".
... And LSD is good for this?
Put something outside your body, people. That's what you need. If it's other people who care about you (you also need to acknowledge this care) or a God that does, or hell, if you firmly believe that your b aseball team will lose if you aren't healthy. Who gives a crap what. If you live for something other than yourself, you'll put more value on your life.
Not that tough.
But, um...Can I try some LSD anyway? :)

Guns

In light of the recent tragedies of Pennsylvania, Colorado, and Montreal, I feel the need to speculate on what we as a people can do to curb these disgusting attacks.
Many cry for gun control. The problem is that is isn't. Control, I mean. In Montreal, at least, the guns were all legal, and registered. It didn't save anyone, did it. Although I believe gun registration will help police solve previously un-solved crimes, in being able to compare bullets to guns to owners, however, this should be a back-up plan; not the entirity of our massacre prevention methods. Even if we take away everyone's guns, people will find other way to do this. Explosives, knives, heavy blunt objects. It's just conveniant to do it with a gun.
The problem that we are ignoring when we cry for gun control is the desire. We need to examine why people decide to do this in the first place. What is it that causes a married father of three to line up and systematically shoot innocent young girls? Pennsylvania is a perfect example of why "who" is being shot does not matter. The killer didn't care who he shot, just so long as he shot some young girls.
Personally, I would like to run to the idea that it must be a mental unbalance, a chemical disorder. I find it hard to believe that everyday life could conpell someone to these extremes. Not when the aggression is so varied, and so un-specific. These people, these maniacs, are just angry. Does anger really come from fear, as Yoda suggests? Fear of what? Although young girls can be somewhat tormenting at times, I doubt they would provoke the kind of fear required for this. Is it possible that there is a tumor in the amygdala of every one of these killers? Unlikely, but not impossible.
What are we turning into?

Happy Boys and Happy Girls

With the most sly-ly driven nail finally pounded into the coffin of feminism, we have no other choice but to begin driving the big obvious "right-the-fuck-here" nails.
In a recent ruling , women have been accepted into the men's hockey league. Go us, right? However, in a backstabbing of macabre proportions, Men are not allowed into the women's league. What the hell?
The "Boy" was apparantly dropped from "boy scouts", and girls were allowed in. However, boys are not allowed in girl guides.
Women-Why are we tolerating this? A noted female politician stated that "Girls groups need to be protected." Screw you! I'm not accepting this molly-coddling bullshit unless the men gotta eat it too! Why is feminism gleefully driving down the wrong side of the road? Either it's a one-way street or it ain't! I had heard people say that feminism was more concerned with being better than men, and I defended it. "No it isn't!" I would say, "No-one would be that ridiculous!" Well, damnit. Thank's for getting my back, girls! This is a giant leap back, under the guise of being a step forward. It used to be we were fighting the institutional sexism. The diagnoses of "hysteria" or "frigidity"; fighting the belief that women were too weak-willed to vote, or own a house, or work. Women fought that. Suffragettes rallied, and protested, and some even died. And for what? So we could muck up their golden dream.
Damnit. You know what? If more of this shit goes on, maybe we should lose the vote...

51

Oh boy I've gota big rage-fuelled hard-on of a rant that's been itchin to see the light of day for a while now. It's a brand-new baby peeve! Break out the cigars!

Married Men.
Good grief! I have earlier rants about them, in the form of, "Good grief stop hitting on me you horrible little woman-appendage!"
I now have one which perfectly mirrors and opposes this former rant.
When every time you say something a little racy (I'm pretty casual about sex) they bring up the holy ring, and hide behind their sacred monogamy. I think it's pretty arrogant of these married men to assume that since I've made a joke, I desperatly want into their pants. Guys, unless a woman has whipped out the line, "so, is your wife away on buisness, or should we go to my place?" they are just being friendly!! Chillax! Most women do not cat around, just waiting for a faithful, honorable man to miss screaming "Married! Love my wife! Lots of sex with her!" once, so she can pounce. Hell, even I of the lower-morals-than-a-psychopath breed, have never even kissed a man who was attached to someone else. I hate being in a great conversation with someone, and have them drop the W-bomb. It kills all interaction because I have yet to meet a man who can do it with dignity. Me: "Yah, My courses are riveting! That experiment in 237 was amazing!" Him: "Yah, my wife...pause...is in Vancouver." *Awkward moment as I realize he thought I was coming on to him* Maybe I exaggerate a touch, but it's almost that bad sometimes. The contortionist lengths some men will go to to bring up their wives.
So guys, ease up. Learn to laugh at jokes. You can't accidentaly cheat on your wife. The only people who cheat are those who want to.

That's useful information for women too. If he cheats, it's because he wanted to.

Wen the Eternaly Surprised

In the space of a fraction of a second, the world is changing. While I type these letters someone dies, is born, changes jobs, loves, minds, choices. In this chaotic whirlpool of random chance and order, lies a million little stories, all that have untold effect on one single moment, upon which your world may turn. or it may not.
The world is constantly being re-created. Constantly new.
The only proper approach to this world is by being eternally surprised. Constantly astounded by the very fact that your heart remembered to beat yet again.
In this tiny moment, you must find bliss, and joy, trusting that in the next second the world will be new and fresh again, and you can find bliss in that too.
Tiny bumper particles that change the world.
Seconds.
The world is built on seconds.

Family Update

My sister, on Aug 10th, produced a baby. His name is Stephen D'mitri, and he's so cute.

Ma-wage

Mawage is what bwings uff togefa, today.
Thinking on it, I'm not really sure why we still have it. A radio contest in my city has challenged men to marry another man for three weeks to win a chance to win $30,000. No typo there. Win a CHANCE to win $30,000. With this mockery of a marriage floating around, what could marriage ever really mean again? It started as a form of currency, a baby breeding tactic, turned into a way to make people respectable while still having sex, become an expression of true love, then an expression of one's mental stability, and now really means nothing. People marry for all kinds of stupid reasons now. I'm starting to wonder if perhaps love might not be better served by simply staying together. Choosing to love each other, and come home to each other, every day. Repeating your vows day after day. Because, why would anyone's love matter to anyone other than who is in love? With swingers, and cheaters, and divorces, marriage doesn't mean anything. But, why should it? It did start as a form of currency. It had it's moment in the sun as an expression of true love, but now is the time to put such childish notions away.

Life

While I still have yet to uncover the meaning of life (so close, tho I' sure) I have discovered that the best way to live it is to make yourself happy at the moment. There is never going to be a point in your life where you fulfill what you want, and suddenly you're happy for the rest of your life. You have to simply decide that everything is okay. This doesn't mean stop furthering yourself, but love what you have now.
In the wake of the Montreal shooting tragedy, I think it is really important to be happy with ourselves in all things, and to learn that attitude really does decide everything. Studies have found (oh I hate that vauge expression, but i'll find my sources I hope) that Millionaires rated their happiness at the same level that Mongolian (I think Mongolian) sheepherders did. This means it doesn't matter what you have, where you are, or what. If nothing is activly making you unhappy, you should be able to make yourself content. I think we also really need to teach our kids that mental disorders are not necessarily a problem, but simply a fact of one's personality. If you are determined, you and your brain will work to cope with the problem. I am really fascinated with the ability of the human body to adapt and overcome.
Have faith.

Update

Despite the previous car accident, I remained undaunted, and set about the world to obtain another car. It was beautiful. A red Dodge Neon, standard. Oh the thrill of shifting gears while listening to my CD player (!), was an ambrosia I had not yet supped. We, my boyfriend, a mutual friend of ours and myself, took it to London Ontario to visit their family.
We rolled it.
Halfway between some town called Ignace, and some town called Dryden. We were shufted to the hospital in Dryden, while the car was towed to Ignace. We had only minor injuries, but the car is totalled. As we speak, it is stuffed in some parking lot in Ignace, awaiting the information as to whether it will rise again or not.
I feel guilty about abandoning it.
It was a good car.
I now bike everywhere I go.
I can't trust drivers anymore.

I think it is beneficial for people to give up their cars, for the environment and such, but I still whine when I think about the loss of luxury.

Questions

Where are we going?
what are we headed for?
There is a truly staggering number of people on this planet, but can o ur resources handle us?
Like Ralph Klein, will we suddenly discover that we have no plan for such growth?
Where is our accountability?
Who can we trust?
Which companies factor in environmental cost?
Why do I have only questions?
What is right? or true?
Are people really being slaughtered in other countries?
Is there really starvation and diseases in other countries?
Is there any media we can trust?
Why are people so casual about trash, litter, and plastic?
Will I see a different, a better world in my lifetime?
How can I make a better world?
How can I spur a revolution?

Reserves

I hate my job so desperate, however I have my papers in, finally, And I realize it is incredible what I will stand if I don't think I have to stand it for long.

Cars

Well, last few days ago I was driving with my bf when we rear-ended another vehicle. Very little, in the grand scheme of things happened. The van drove away with nary a few scratches. My car, however, displaying a few thousands worth of cosmetic damage; the headlights missing. I was planning on getting another car anyway, so no problem there. My neck was a little sore the next day, and I've two bruises on my knees from the dash, but really, very little effect.
But it has presented me with an opportunity.
I got up early today.
I didn't work, or have to be anywhere.
But I got up at 9 o'clock.
Why didn't someone tell me at an earlier age what a heady experience this would be!? I sheer power of getting up before I needed to nearly knocked my socks off!
I made myself proper breakfast, something I haven't experienced since early January. (In retrospect, I did get up earlier than I needed to in Mexico, but I must have mistaken the power flow for excitement over getting litterally, anything I wanted to eat for free. Ah Mexico.)
I wished I had a paper delivered, I had the radio on, hot coffee.
This must be what heaven is like. Knowing that you are master of your tiny destiny. Well, barring unforeseen problems. I think, perhaps, that after something like a car accident occurs, it is essential to take back control of your life. To remind yourself, "I am an effectation being."
Well, that said, I think I'm done on this topic, so I'm going to stop writing.

Tragedy in three parts

So here I sit. Gussied, if you will pardon the expression, to the nines. And unable to get up the urge to go to a club. Perhaps I shall just Get all pretty periodically, just to be sure I can still do it. It's really sad tho. I put on my face, covered myself in sparkles, threw on some sprayed on jeans, and a tank. and now I'm going to create a new character in D2.
Well, It is the expansion, so I guess that deserves some pretty...

Post 40

Well, it's finally happneed. I've become so liberal, I'm conservative. I've gone through the Looking Glass.
I've been musing on abortion lately, because it is an issue which concerns me as a female. I mean it's not a pressing issue, but one I ought to have an opinion on.
I don't like it.
But, I would like to point out, I'm not particularily pro-life. I still identify as Pro-choice. However, the difference lies in that I don't think most women really think there is a choice. They think, "Oh my Goodness! A baby! My life is ruined!" Either they don't have the time, money, or guts to admit to their family that they are knocked up. But the thing is; our society is so messed up we have progressed to the point where motherhood, giving life, is now a thing to be ashamed of! They see a young teen with a baby and think "She didn't plan! What a slut! Now she'll live off welfare and never fulfill her true purpose in life!" But really. Why is every life so sacred now that if a person doesn't go to postsecondary or learn a trade, or better the world, their life has been wasted? Is it ever really a waste if they experience one happy moment? If you think about it; Have you ever been happy? Really, truely, deep down, never-make-this-moment-end euphoric? I have. I strive for once a month. I find it keeps you in perspective. You need to step back from this world of societal chaos, of buying and working so hard, to discover that really it doesn't matter. How you feel matters. Just make yourself happy. I'm not saying blow your savings and screw the future. Just do whatever will maximize satisfaction and happiness. If you're 14 and you're pregnant. Breathe. Really think what will make you happy.
I firmly believe that no woman would choose to simply end her child if she honestly had a choice. I think it's the external world which chooses for her. (BTW female sociopaths, I really have no answer for. but I wonder if perhaps that isn't a biological messing...not a problem per se but not natural)
I wish the world could be simple for everyone. I wish every woman who was afraid because she was pregnant, could find the courage, have her baby, and be lauded by the world for being a mother.
Maybe this is all because my biological clock has exploded and I really want a baby.
Siigh...only 7 more years. Hah.

Contentment

So my theory for life thus far has been accumulated to the point where it consists of this:
To maximize a "good" life, two requirements must be met
1. An increasing level of satisfaction. This is fulfilled by rational, reasoning goals being achieved, feeling effective, and useful. The slower the build, the longer the last, typically.
2. A high level of happiness on top of satisfaction. This is fulfilled by pure visceral sensibility. It tends to fluctuate rapidly however.

So tonight was a night that I realized just how damn happy I was. I'd succeded in planning and executing a proper meal (that didn't involve ANY kraft dinner or instant soup!) Had a wonderful actual date night, and felt generally competant.
But the true frosting came when I sat down to check my comics, and noticed my bed. I have a single day bed, but when my bf sleeps over, we put pillows side by side and make it into a little double bed, sort of. the sight of my clean hardwood floor, and the little bed just waiting for us made me feel really happy. And I realize I'm totally content now. And then I thought; Is this it? Is this all life has to offer? These moments of happiness. There must be something deeper. Something longer lasting that visceral happiness, or even deep satisfaction. Perhaps that's why I'm in philosophy. To find a wisdom that will last longer. Or produce something. Other than happiness, it must be because even happiness does not really... I don't know.
There must be more to life than happiness. Or even Satisfaction.
Ow. Brain hurts.

Pysch-Social Heuristics

I've said it, for years, and damnit. Two pieces of wisdom that will always hold true about pople:
1. People Will always act to the percieved most positive consequence.
2. If someone wants something badly enough, they will work to get it.
3. If someone wants something to be true for them, it will be. (such as fortune telling, etc.)

The tricky thing with these rules is they seem moronicly simple, but they need to stew. Seriously. Think them over on the can; which is, as far as I know, the best place EVER to think. Apply them to your life. Things become simpler after using these rules, it seems. At least bipedal dealings do.

As for Day3, it was largely unmarkable, except for being called a man. A good man, but a man nonetheless. But I didn't really examine the ice cream aisle, sooo...

As for life on the personal front, I'm having episodes with marriage. (episodes are expressions of issues) I really would like to marry my boyfriend, but he would like to wait a year, and I'm not sure why.He would like to buy a house, but damnit I don't want to live in a house I haven't helped buy. It makes me feel worthless and useless. He says also he wants to wait until I'm out of school. Why? Because homework and a married life don't mix? Sigh. I was psyched about travelling to Ontario to meet his family, but now, I'm not sure.
It seems so lame to travel across the country, and spend a vacation together, just to meet his family and be like, "This is my Girlfriend." How 12 years old can you get?
Maybe I just really want some bling...
I sometimes hate being female.
But I bought a crapload of nice lush stuff, so it's okay. I'm trying henna on my usually blackish hair, so wish me luck!
Guess I'll let it all stew. Usually works for problems, and solutions, and damnit, everything. Everything gets better with time. Or at least, more extreme.

The Epic Chronicles of Chelle the Supermarket Security Chick!

As it is written down; and shall be passed from generation to generation; My meteoric Rise In the Supermarket!
Day1: Valiently ejected drunk bum from the bathroom; The people rejoice!
Day2: Heroically saved $300 of merchandise from evil clutches; A cult following develops!
Day3: Dismantles ice cream bomb, saving hundreds; A national holiday is declared!
Day4: Mistakenly tackles undercover guard; Barred from ever entering supermarket again.
Day5: Eats Spaghetti off stomache in leiu of plate; Life returns to normal.

Seriously tho, that undercover guy looked completely suspicious. Days 1 and 2 are my 1 and 2 (cept for the cult following), but I hope Day 3 will not be that way.
On a happier note, My brother has come in top 6 in Alberta for his Parachute course, and is taking his science fair exhibit to Nationals! His topic was whether or not homosexuality was genetic or a choice. There was some controversy over whether he could bring it or not, but in the end science and curiosity won! Yah!
another fabulous Day ends.

Capoeira

sorry about the long delay in posts, I've been out.
My friend J is having a tumultuous time, and his upheaval is my upheaval.
However, I'm trying out the new dance/martial art form "capoeira" so that should make for some interesting new posts. First up the Ginga (jinga)!

Back

Here I am world!
Back from the frozen wasteland that is my hometown, and from the hot heatedness that is Mexico to curl up in my happiness that is home. Family Reunion in mexico was pretty awesome and I learned 1. Don't fuck with Tequila 2. Don't fuck with the sun 3. Pufferfish are really pathetic
Whew! Oh, yes, and a Caiparania (rum, sugar, and lime) is very good. but not when you have fishing with warm gooey fish in the next morning. That's not good for hangoverness.
Oh yes, and it's practically impossible to get a bottle of corona home without it smashing. Damnit.
Further posts as the new school year progresses!
Burgundy Away!

One of the best feelings in the world

I just received a phone call from an old friend of mine who says not only is he working three jobs, and received an award for rescuing a man, he's also looking to marry his girlfriend, and starting a family. Back when I knew him he slept in a van and couldn't hold down a solid job for more than a month. I'm so proud of him.

Uproot

Well, these past two days have been particularily tumultuous. My s.o. has left for Brazil (with me oodles more excited about it than him) I discovered some strange things about my family, and discovered that my sister is pregnant!
I'm gonna be an auntie!
I've been so excited I've been pestering everyone I know, and practically screaming at them. I guess this means that it really has to sink in that, yes, my sister is actually, really, married.
I attended the wedding as her maid of honor, but it's still so strange to think that the blonde sprite I grew up with is married, and starting a family! Her hubby, a close friend of mine, is thrilled. I think he almost exploded trying to save the surprise for when my sis was set to tell us.
I wonder if this is how every generation feels. I mean, I think about my mom and dad, and all my aunts and uncles, and wonder. Is this how a kid is going to see me in a few years? and, It will only be a few years I guess. Time seems so short all of a sudden.
I feel, also, like I'm floundering, personally. Is it possible just because the old view that women are baby/home-making machines is still floating around, hidden and bleeding, but still there? I'm neither looking to get married nor make a family any time soon, so perhaps that is why I feel so uptight about the state of my apartment? (the floor is sticky and there are so many damn dishes, and the rug needs vacuming) It stresses me severly, but I have exams, and I'm leaving for a few weeks (during which Jared will probably soil the house. I love him, but damn hon, clean up a little, will you?) so there's no point nor time in cleaning. But I feel rather like I'm failing. Bizzare. But, I guess, I'm still young, soooo...
I'm sure there's still time. But I wonder, time to do what, and why?
arg.

Longevity

This ties into what will be my next post, or previous, whatever. The one title "Fate". Why are we, as humans, so aware of ourselves, so wrapped up in our lives, in every detail, when life is created in an instant, and destroyed so fast? I've long considered the idea of a "safety gate" in mankind's individual brains, a way to prevent us from realizing that, other than our next meal, it doesn't matter. Really. At all. It's all so impermanent.
Geez I'm tired. Why am I still awake?
More on luxury next post.

Fate

God, my head just never stops. Damnit.
I've been thinking about Fate, and Destiny. I've never really believed in it, or else it will really drive me mad, but here goes:
On a chance, I switched classes from Anthro to Phil 120, this class became the breakthrough in my career (at the time), and I met Jared, who convinced me to break up with my current boyfriend (thank God, and not a moment too soon), introduced me to The St. Albert Guys whom shall remain nameless, and helped me aquire a job at his mother's cafe. This summer, when I was fired, was also sort of because of Jared, and one of the St. Albert guys let me know about a job at a military depot. On a spur of the moment, I applied, and was accepted! Working there introduced me to my current boyfriend, and convinced me that I need the military. How can this be a coincedence? Is this sculpted? In space of a half-hour, because of a few minutes lapse of thinking, I lost my cell phone, which helped me realize just how steeped in luxury my life really is. In a five minute mistake in my car a few months ago, I lost $300 for a red light ticket. Had I paused a few seconds upon crossing the street yesterday, I'dve been run over ( probably not fatally) This is all just a huge cosmic dance, and eveyone whirls so close, and so far. It is aimless to ask, "Is this directed?" Any more than you can ask, "Is a dance directed?" Sometimes, yes, sometimes, no. Impulse, planning. Eveything is connected. It helps if you see the world in terms of all people. Yes, I lost my cell phone, but perhaps pawning it helped a starving student buy supper for one more week. But not even just positive, even misery is an intericate dance move, which must be respected and praised just as much. We're all stuck on this little orb, hurtling through space. The rock I throw today may kill one man, whose insurance will save his dying child. There is so much and so little meaning in every second in life.
Chance, fate, luck, destiny. Aren't they all a part of life, in some way?
Consider the far reaching aspects of your life.
Do they mean anything?