Diary of a Tour Widow

Yet Another Update

2008-04-06T00:44:00.000-05:00

Hey hey hey...it’s been a while.

I thought it would be a good time to write a quick update of some sort. I had very good intentions on catching up with y’all last weekend but it simply did not happen. And for good reasons at that.

It looks like the bitter end of winter is finally here. The days seem sunnier and warmer. I would like to believe we are out of the blue where snow and cold is concerned. I’m keeping my fingers crossed because this winter seemed to drag on and on. The brightness and that certain smell of spring in the air is definitely improving my mood and those around me.

I’ll be honest. Winter was rough, especially from mid-February and on. I don’t care for airing too much dirty laundry via my blogs so I’ll keep it short and sweet - my anxiety was sky high. Sure, I was stressed in several areas of my life - work, health of myself and of others, and so on. I’ve always been the nervous kind but this bout of anxiety was far from fun. I don’t think it was ever this bad - it came to the point of affecting me physically. However, this time taught me something - it showed me that I do have the strength to get help. And I’m not saying that I’m weak and frail either. Bottom line is - I have anxiety and I want to learn how to control it so every day events shouldn’t be stressed over. I don’t ever want it to get to the point where it was at the end of February and early March. I don’t want to be shaky at the thought of leaving the house. I’m much more conscious of it though and I have talked it through with friends and professionals. I’m trying to get out and get a little more active (I tried Pilates tonight!). I’m trying to find the things that make me happy and challenge me. I’m trying to feel less isolated (which I’m beginning to think is part of the problem since moving to Quebec).

So, do you want the good recent news or the bad recent news? Let’s get the bad out of the way first.

Just when I thought my anxiety was on the mend and I was going back to work (I took a bit of a stress leave, if you will), my dog ended up getting in a really nasty fight with another dog last weekend (though the more I think of it, the more I think he was attacked first). Hence no blog update - I was busy mopping up eight bleeding wounds and trying to not cry my head off. Of course, last weekend was the weekend the boyfriend went out of town. Of course! That’s always when shit happens. Anyway, I don’t want to go into details.

My dog got bit about 8 times, very badly. I felt like it was my fault. I didn’t know what to do because I panicked but I tried my best. I couldn’t get him to see a vet immediately because he couldn’t walk that well and we leave on a second floor (refused to walk down the stairs). We couldn’t carry him. He didn’t want to eat or drink. We managed to get him antibiotics the day after, by the persistance of my friend’s mother. When the boyfriend finally got home, we got him (the dog, haha) to a vet. He had a fever, poor thing. They cleaned, drained, and flushed his wounds. We are continuing to clean/flush the wounds at home and give him peanut butter coated pills. After a day or so, there was such an improvement. The swelling is down and he is affectionate again, he has his appetite and he’s smiling at everything. He’s my silly, goofy dog again - back to his ol’ ways. I’m so grateful, so incredibly grateful. I thank my friends that kept me company on Saturday, my friend’s mom who bent over backwards to find help and talk me through my anxiety, and those who called to check in on me and to give me pep talks. We truly appreciate it. :) Toshio is happy and on the mend! Yippee!

And onto the good news....

I’m learning my first instrument. No, it’s not a piano. Le sigh. It’s still cool and awfully quirky! It’s a ukulele, which is a lot more affordable and easy to store than a piano. It’s a cool little instrument too - it’s a metal-bodied resonator ukulele. It has a very bright tone and it’s loud. I got it last night so I’ve been fooling around on it ever since. The boyfriend has been showing me a few things he knows, general music "stuff", and little lessons I can do. I strummed along with him (badly) to a simple song he was playing on the guitar. With the limited chords I am comfortable with right now, I can play the chorus to Aha’s Take on Me (which is not cool, but whatever) and I can also play along with Johnny Thunders’ Sad Vacation. As well, doing some fingerpicking exercises to that riff in Wipeout. Before you know it, I will be tip-toeing through the tulips. But seriously, I’ve discovered that it is a really underrated instrument. It’s actually really cool to play even though you have to hold it high up and the boobs get in the way.

Other than that, things are good. I’m feeling happier. My dog is happier and healthier. Spring is here and it’s causing me to have weird dreams that guest stars ex-boyfriends and Big Brother contestants. I have a brand new shiny ukulele and another week off work between projects. It hurts the bank account but I’m looking forward to warm days and good books and ukulele lessons and home-cooked meals. And maybe, just maybe, another go at Pilates.

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2008-04-05T23:25:00.001-05:00

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Last Night

2007-11-17T19:22:00.001-05:00

All this work has really caught up to me. It's my first day off of my weekend and I feel like a monster of a cold is coming on. I'm heavy-headed, I'm slightly feverish, and all I want to do is curl up on the couch with a blanket. I'm emotional. I need sleep and soup and kisses on my forehead. Sigh.

The man is out of town, playing in Quebec City tonight. He'll be back very early in the morning as they are driving back after the show. I was left in charge of the dog today. I discovered what fun it is to walk a dog when it's cold and you are feeling like pure crap. At least, seeing the dog act silly and run around makes me smile. Yet, I have to say, I'm not looking forward to going out to walk him tomorrow morning and I doubt my partner wants to take him out if he only sleeps for three or four hours.

It's been a weird couple of days. Not weird, amazingly weird. Just weird; emotionally, regarding people, etc. On Thursday, on my way to work, I was laughed at by some teenagers in the metro station. This was not the first time. For some reason, teenagers laugh at me in this city. And no, I'm not being paranoid either. It was almost something out a movie. This chick pointed at me and laughed a big belly laugh, "HA HA HA, LOOK AT HER!". I didn't say anything, as usual. However, I walked away thinking that this really doesn't bother me. And I was grateful that I didn't let such a comment bug the hell out of me like it did in the past. Moments later, I was standing on the escalator. The man beside me, who sounded a bit drunk, turned to me and said, "I just want you to know that you are very beautiful and I hope you have a wonderful day." That was sweet.

An acquaintance from back home passed away today. It's made me a little sad, even though we weren't close. I will always admire her strength and positivity regarding life and her illness.

I'm done like dinner. Must curl up in bed or drink hot tea....

Boring

2007-11-11T16:29:00.000-05:00

I do apologize for doing some website promotion in my blog but I need all the extra cash I can get! I cannot reveal my sponsors - ooh, how mysterious am I? Anyway, I thought I would write a real blog even though it seems as though commentary from friends are limited nowadays. I have to wonder if others are as sick of being online as I am or has everyone moved to Facebook?

I hope you are all well. Happy autumn!

There is not much new at my end of the world. After a long stint of not working, I am back at my job. My work is funny that way. Not "ha-ha" funny either. When there is no work, it's scary. The time off is intense and all my bills stresses me out. I slack off on my sad attempt at budgeting. However, when work starts up again...I transform into a machine. When it rains, it pours - as they say. It seems as though I have been working like a madwoman. I have some regular eight hour days and then I have a monster of a day - nine, ten, eleven hours plus. I can't complain - I do need the money, especially at this time of year. By the end of the week, I am toast. Done like dinner. All I want to do is go to sleep for a good two days. Therefore, my social life is non-existant. I don't have one.

And I can't really say that I mind. Of course, it would be nice to go out on the town and paint it red or get dolled up for an adventurous night. Yet, at the end of the week, all I can think about is being home and comfortable - spending a night curled up on the couch with my partner, the dog at our feets napping away, having a nice homemade meal that I am not in a rush to make. Oh, how domestic I have become!

I can't believe it is November now. Christmas is almost a month away. It is also a month away before I go home again. I have yet to book my flight because I do everything last minute. I feel bad about going, abandoning my dog and my partner. When I went home in the summer, I cried when I left Toshio...knowing that he's sitting there all bummed out and knowing that mommy's leaving. Ugh, it's heartbreaking to leave him when he is giving me that face that says, please don't go.

Anyway, what else can I tell you....

I'm reading here and there, watching some good and bad movies lately, making some wicked autumn meals (like veggie chili and homemade bread and cake), brainstorming for unique and inexpensive Christmas gifts, listening to a lot of Japanese instrumental music from the 60s, still plugging away at my gratitude photoblog, and playing one too many games of online Scrabble on Facebook.

Yep, I'm going through a boring phase.

Weird Dream

2007-09-29T17:07:00.001-05:00

It's been awhile since I have shared my dreams here. I don't know who is amused by my silly night-time dreams other than Dawneth. Anyway, I told my partner that I had a dream about someone and he stopped me - he did not want to know any more. So, I share with you, my lovely blog readers...

I'm in Kildonan Mall, back home in Winnipeg. I'm with a friend. I cannot remember who, but I'm certain it was a male friend. We're walking through the center court area. As with many generic shopping centers, there is this center area with a sitting area (for the old folks and tuckered out parents of teenagers) with a skylight above. So, I'm walking with my man friend...we're chatting...laughing it up. I took a look at all of those sitting in the center court. It's full of goths. Goths, everywhere! And the goths...they had a ringleader in a trenchcoat. I didn't take much notice of who the ringleader was.

As we were walking away from the circle of goths, I heard a heckle.

"What is that? A man!? Look at her hands! She's got man hands! She's got man hands!"

In "real" life, I have had jocko types who have bluntly asked at the bar if I was a man or a drag queen or a lesbian just because I am tall and wear makeup. I never told them "what" I was other than give them a good bark and maybe once I shoved one of the jockos. Anyway, so there I am in the dream getting heckled. I turn around, mad as hell to see who said that. It was their ringleader in the art of darkness. And it was none other than Scott Baio.

I scream. I scream like I never have before. I scream to him that I am not a man. I scream that my hands are not man hands. And I left the best for last for my final scream:

"AT LEAST I'M NOT SCOTT BAIO, CHARLES in CHARGE!"

I walked away and felt incredibly satisfied that I left Scott Baio speechless. And then I felt a tinge of regret when I finally admitted it to myself, "I kinda liked Charles in Charge".

And then I woke up...

Late Summer Update

2007-09-10T21:47:00.000-05:00

It's about time that I let you know the skinny on what's been happening in the lovely life of Linda. I haven't been blogging and writing as much as I would like to and I hope to get back into the swing of things, especially with summer sadly winding down.

I have to say, I had a truly fun summer. If I were to make a list of things that happened, it probably wouldn't amount to much as far as number of things go. I had a lot of great little things happen to me and, for that, I am grateful.

Firstly, we got Toshio the Happy Good Luck Dog. I remember the night I met Toshio. Zak dropped him off at our place as he was dogsitting at another friend's house. I was so scared! I never had a dog before, only cats. I was scared he would turn on me in the middle of the night and attack me when I was peacefully sleeping in bed. Those thoughts left me very quickly after that first night. It didn't take long to fall in love with Toshio. Somedays, I just look at him and I am amazed at what a wonderful creature he is. I am so very glad he is in my life, it's not even funny. I used to hate dog kisses and dog slobber and dog smell, but now...oh, how I love Toshio's kisses and I don't mind his slobber even when it's all over my nice skirts and I could honestly care less that he smells "like a dog". He's my dog and that's all that matters. He is well, thanks for asking! He is getting better around strangers and is behaving rather well. He is still pulling on his leash everyday. He has had many encounters with skunks recently and, knock on wood, he's been one lucky dog.

I'm sure all of you will remember photographs in my previous entries of the distinguished Chester the Cat that lives on my balcony. Just recently, we found out the history of Chester. His owner finally took the time to find her cat, after months of him living in a Rubbermaid container on our balcony. She told me that his name is Vendredi, which means Friday in French. He was born on Good Friday and he is seventeen years of age. He's an old man cat who does not want to go home, she said as she manhandled Chester. Last Wednesday, Chester started to look ill and I started to worry. I know he is not my cat nor is he my neighbor's cat. He is simply a cat that chose to live on our balcony in a blue Rubbermaid container for a house. He looked frail. He could not close his mouth, tongue hanging out. He had a glob of yellow-ish drool on his chin. He looked skinnier and he smelled rather funky. We were all worried, the neighbors and myself included. He disappeared this last Friday and I thought he went away forever. My neighbor ended up talking to the owner. Chester is back at his first home and the owner is not letting him out anymore. I hope she takes good care of him but I sadly doubt it. I wonder if I will ever see his handsome face ever again?

As far as my health goes, my thyroid has once again turned inactive on me. I had another series of doctors appointments and blood tests which determined this. Overall, I haven't been feeling that bad - just a little dizzy here and there, which I naively thought was the result of the heatwave we were having in Montreal. My doctor upped my medication and I am waiting for it to kick in. I have another blood test at the end of the month. As well, I have started a new skincare regime as per my lacklustre dermatologist. My skin currently hates me for using this particular gel that I am using. I have winter skin; dry and itchy. I have discovered that everything I use on my face contains alcohol which causes my face to feel like it is on fire and my eyelids to become extremely dry. I won't give up hope yet so see if there are any positive results.

I'm still laid off from work and I'm okay with that. Work should be starting up soon, so they say. They have recently handed off some paperwork to do at home and that made me happy. I like working from home. It means that I can work while listening to Guns N' Roses in my pajamas. I'm looking forward to starting work again - it gets me out of the house and it's always nice to have a regular paycheque. I'm not looking forward to dealing with people again and being away from my dog however.

I haven't been writing or being as creative as I wanted to be this summer. I have been taking lots of photographs with my digital camera so I guess that counts as something.

I have, however, been regularly watching that reality show called Big Brother. It's something that I am not proud of and I hate to admit how much I enjoy the show. I rarily watch television so you'd think that I would stick with something "smart". Heh, nope. It's trash television. Is it wrong of me to admit that, for once, I adore how the game is turning out? Is it wrong to be excited to see the person I want to win up there in the final three?! Err, admitting this makes me feel ashamed! One last thing - I love Dick!

I had the pleasure, this summer, of entertaining two out of town friends as well. Nicole came out for a few weeks in August and Ren came out this past weekend. Both visits were full of fun and exploration! I had a blast with them. You know, I don't have a lot of friends here so it was nice to get out and see all these little things I normally don't get out to see. It kept me busy, that's for certain! I went many places during this time too, many places I never knew existed! As well, I blew off some steam via the power of shopping. It's about time that I spent some of my hard earned money on ME. We went for lunch, we saw some pretty cool museum exhibits, we went to many different shops, and we did a lot of walking about. I can't wait until my sister comes out or even some other friends back home. Now I know where to take them even though I might still get a little lost along the way!

Speaking of shopping, I started to pick up a few gifts for Christmas already. I always despised those who shop early for Christmas. Perhaps, it is bitterness for being among the masses that shops last minute. I figure that in the long run, I will save more money by shopping earlier and bit by bit versus all in one shopping trip. I will also save some sanity, which is always a good thing. I picked up something cool for my brother-in-law and something really unique for my sister that I just know she will adore! Maybe this will give me more time to make individual cross-stitched goodies for people this holiday season!

Wow, what else can I tell you?!

What does the autumn hold for me? Hmmm...
Continue taking photos and loving my boo-boo dog. I would love to quit smoking for my health and to save money. I look forward to coming home for Christmas but I don't look forward to being apart from Zak and Toshio. I hope to get my ass into gear and start writing something more than a few blogs here and there. I hope more friends come out to conquer Montreal for a day or longer! I hope to have more drinks and more company over and invite more folks for dinner. I hope to work until late spring but we'll see what happens with my frequently unreliable job. I'll probably spend a little more time exploring Montreal on my own.

All in all, I just look forward to being happy and healthy and getting wintery dog kisses.

I'm back

2007-08-02T19:33:00.000-05:00

So!

I should be writing this fabulous blog. You know, one that catches us up on everything that has happened in the last fews weeks. One that rants and raves about what a fantastic trip, without sparing you the sordid details. Believe me when I say that I want to.

However, I'm sitting before the computer and sweating. Sweating for all the wrong reasons. My twelve days in Manitoba was spent in sweltering hot temperatures. I return to Montreal for much of the same. I swear, this delicate flower is wilting.

I'll say this much - I had a blast. My last two trips back home were write-offs, being sick and all. This time rocked. I wasn't sick once! I saw friends, I spent tons of time with family, I kicked ass at American Idol on the Playstation, I took tons of photos (a lot, I'm afraid, weren't as artistic as I liked them to be), I got new glasses, I got a haircut, I spent waaay too much money on cheap shopping (A sweater for $6.99! Capri pants for $9.99!), and so on and so forth.

The downsides, other than the heat, were the terrible mosquitoes and the water. I don't know what it is but Winnipeg water tastes like dirt, even with a water filtering system. Selkirk water is incredibly bad. Not to mention, Manitoba water makes my hair and skin look like crap. Oh, and it always sucks to say bye and feeling like old friends have drifted away because of distance.

I will write in depth of my trip. Perhaps, I will do a photo-blog about it. Looks like I exceeded the amount of photos for my Flickr, so I'll either upgrade or find somewhere else to post them. Until then, hang on tight for a real update!

Hiatus

2007-07-16T18:04:00.001-05:00

If you don't hear from me for a while, I'm on hiatus!

I'm going home for 12 days, starting tomorrow! I will be sure to update y'all when I get back!

See you after the 29th of July!

Dermatologist

2007-06-27T11:37:00.000-05:00

I waited three months to see a dermatologist.

I have complained and talked about my skin before in this blog. For those of you who do not know, I don't have the greatest skin. It is not as bad as before (it was terrible when I was 14 and around 21 years of age) but I still have slight scarring from hormonal cystic acne break-outs. Around PMS, I will have the occasional cystic acne...but as I mentioned, it is not as bad as before. In fact, my skin doesn't look that bad compared to years ago. With age, it is beginning to look pretty good. However, I'm 30 years old and it feels like my face is still 15 - haha. I'm sick of breaking out and I'm sick of the slight scarring. All I want is nice skin for once.

I waited three months for this appointment with the dermatologist.

I pretty much figured that my options were slim as I don't want to go on birth control pills, Accutane, or anti-biotics as suggested when I was 14 and going to the dermatologist. I thought, however, that there might be some other options to explore as it's been over ten years since I saw a dermatologist.

I waited three months to see this dermatologist and I felt like such a number. I was in and out of his room in a matter of minutes. He never asked me about my skin or what medications I have tried in the past, he did not tell me anything about my skin, or even ask "how are you today?". He asked me what I wanted, he took a look at my skin, and wrote a prescription. I seriously waited longer to get fast food compared to the time I spent in the doctor's room. I felt so rushed that I did not get the chance to ask him about another skin concern or a general question about heat rash (my partner is suffering from this at the moment). And I understand that I do live in Quebec but the guy could barely speak English.

Why is that I have to wait three months to see a specialist when he only gives me three minutes of his time? It doesn't seem fair especially when you think of how much money he makes out of my three minute visit!

He gave me a presciption for tetracycline and two different topical gels. Chances are, I won't use this prescription. He never told me what the side effects of these medications are, he never told me if they can be used with the thyroid medication that I am on, and he seemed defensive when I told him that I was on anti-biotics when I was a teen and it didn't work.

I can say this - when I was a teen, I saw a really wonderful dermatologist. He took the time to talk to you, he cared, and he thoroughly explained medications and skincare to you. You could tell he had children of his own. He was warm and gentle and professional. He did not rush you out in a matter of three minutes after a three month long wait to see him.

Anyway, my friend manages a health store. She suggested a number of things that I will look over when I go back home for a little holiday. Maybe I'll ask my family doctor for another referral to a different dermatologist too.

Or maybe I'll just have to live with less than perfect skin as I have been doing since I was 14 years old. Sigh!

Tags: Acne, Cystic Acne, Dermatologist, Skin, Skincare

Frustration Sets In

2007-06-08T00:01:00.000-05:00

So, it's official. Being a tour widow is kind of dragging me down. It's been close to three weeks and I've kept myself occupied. I've kept myself busy. I've even had my hands full, for all the wrong reasons. There has been only one creepy insect sighting and nothing has dramatically broken down or gone wrong (the only close call being the skunk that nearly sprayed Toshio). This kind of luck is rare for me, it seems.

I can say this - I'm lonely. And that is what is getting me down. Sure, I have a four-legged companion now and I am grateful for that. I miss having a body around. I miss laughing with someone. I miss sleeping in and I miss not walking the dog in the morning. I miss being touched. I miss shared smiles.

It was much the same last time around. In the middle of being a tour widow, I turn to porn. Ah, porn! What a faithful companion! I turn it on expecting to be turned on and then the phone rings. I'm alone for weeks and the telephone barely rings. Finally, it does...I race to the phone and it is always the most unsexy people calling at clearly the wrong time. I won't name names. At least it wasn't my ex - he always had this uncanny habit of calling out of the blue when I just so happened to be watching porn. I swear he had some sort of "porn radar" or something when it came to me. Frustrated, I return to my porn only to discover that I overanalyze it to the point of not enjoying it. I shouldn't have to think when I am watching porn, isn't that the rule? So to put it bluntly, I am a bit frustrated at the moment. And that kind of frustration usually leads to pure anger and hatred towards most people. Haha...

I feel like my life has been revolving around the dog and admitting that makes me feel like one big asshole. I can't help it though, it kind of gets me down. At times, people ask me about the dog before asking how I am doing. I go to the park and I am forced to talk...about our dogs. I get advice, whether I like it or not (which I am grateful for, don't get me wrong). Everything is dog dog dog. And though I love my dog, I swear to God...he is aging me which each and every passing day. I'm surprised I don't have any grey hair - thank God for hair dye and good genes!

And for all those smart asses who will leave a comment asking me how my dog is, he is fine. He is getting better day by day, I think (I hope!). Our midnight walks are rather successful, I'm pleased about that. Our morning and afternoon walks - that is when I am subjected to learning the art of patience. There have been mornings where I came home and had dramatic meltdowns while dishing out dog food, actually pulled at my hair while letting out some sort of ungodly moan, and chainsmoked after the walk. I know it's not his fault though - he's only scared. His pulling is insane. Yesterday, he yanked me in such a way that I pulled something in my arm. Ouch.

The worst thing is how people look at me on the street with Toshio. They look at me like some sort of freakshow animal abuser. Some are amused. Some are appalled. Children stop and stare, riding up to me on their bikes without realizing that bicycles tremendously scare the dog. And I hate them all. See, if I truly got off on porn the other night...I wouldn't viciously loathe them as much.

I do what the advice-givers tell me - stop and turn, stand still like a tree. Reward him for good walking with a treat and verbal encouragement. And I do...and it does work. However, when he is scared - there is no stopping him. Saying NO! is apparently a bad thing and it really doesn't work anyhow. Once we hit the end of my street, it is not even a minute's walk. It takes us close to fifteen minutes. And in those fifteen minutes, all I can think about is going on a holiday - anywhere. This afternoon's walk was something else. On one side of the street, two boys were playing street hockey. One the other side, a bunch of five year old armed with heavy metal shovels and planks of wood, hitting the sidewalk. And then a car with a terrible muffler drove by. And then there was an abandoned shopping cart. And then people doing renovations. And then some jackass who playfully commented, "Your dog doesn't listen to you, huh huh huh" (that's French laughter, in case you didn't know). And then, I wanted to breathe fire on everyone.

With all that said, I sincerely love Toshio. He makes me laugh and we have a great time together. We run through the lawn sprinklers at midnight. I sing him songs that make him give me high fives (my biggest fan, by far, of my singing voice). He kisses me in the morning and he guards my side of the bed at night (he got stuck under the bed the other morning though). He runs through the white fluffy dandelions in the morning and has white fluff all over his tongue (and then he yaks, so that part isn't so cute). Other than his fearful walks and nervous barks, he's been a really amazing companion.

My life revolves around the dog. See!

On a good note, Toly took me out for a milkshake yesterday. It made my week. I haven't had a milkshake in many, many years. Sure, they are easy to come by...but I like to abstain from certain delights because when you finally taste or experience whatever it is you are abstaining from - it is explosive with flavor and texture and pleasure.

Heh, way to turn that dirty!

Dealing with Dog

2007-05-27T11:50:00.000-05:00

I think Toshio is officially draining the life out of me! In my head, I am screaming - "Calgon, take me away!" and "Good God, I need a vacation! Please, grant me a vacation! Vegas...Winnipeg...I don't care!".

Okay, so he's not that bad. I have to admit, he's a little neurotic since my boyfriend left for his tour. He is now barking at anything in the house. He has been reasonably good on his leash but this morning he pulled something fierce. He pulled to the point where his collar almost came off. He is really scared of people - people coming out of their cars, people on bicycles who choose to ride on the sideWALK, people who are making lots of noise. I keep getting handfuls of advice for his leash pulling and his barking. I even read online that I am supposed to look out the window to reassure him that there is no threat outside and then say he is a good boy. My hands are sore from the leash already. My body is tired. My voice is tired from saying no. I love the dog, don't get me wrong. I just want him to calm down a bit. God, imagine me with a child - yikes.

One trick I read online actually worked. Have the dog sit. You calmly say his name and "good dog" while softly petting his body, from his head to his legs. It apparently helps you bond with your dog. I noticed that when I do that, he calms right down. His body becomes less tense. He ends up on his back, allowing me to pet his chest and belly. He looks like he is in heaven. It's actually rather adorable. As well, I noticed that since doing that - he is spending more time with me rather than waiting at the door for my boyfriend to return home. I'm feeling lonely...I need some petting and encouraging words whispered in my ear, haha.

I ran into a man and his dog in the park, if you will, this morning. Of course, I didn't even have any coffee in my system so I was pretty out of it. We talked about skunks while Toshio played with his Scottie-dog named Miles. His dog got sprayed three times, once at ten in the morning. He told me that peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap is better than tomato juice to remove the stink of skunk spray. I should get some of that...just in case. According to this man, there are a lot of skunks in this area. Great!

Anyway, I had an exciting Saturday night last night. I cleaned the bathroom. How sexy is that? Of course, the bathroom really did need a good cleaning. I've been putting it off for far too long. Everything is shiny and dust-free. I get a bizarre sense of satisfaction out of that part. However, I could think of more interesting ways to spend my Saturday night than cleaning my bathroom. My entire Saturday was cleaning and saying no to the dog's barking.

Slowly but surely, all the sexy will be drained out of me by the time my boyfriend gets back from tour.

Tags: Cleaning, Dogs, Skunks

Day One

2007-05-26T11:12:00.000-05:00

Ah, so today is the first full day of being a tour widow. I'll begin to conquer the day once the coffee kicks in. My man left us yesterday afternoon.

Our new dog is a little bummed out and that makes me sad. My man told me that dogs can sense your moods so I've been trying to keep up a cheerful and playful attitude around the mutt. Still, our dog waits patiently by the door for his daddy to return despite my efforts. Our first walk together sans daddy went alright. Actually, it felt like tug o' war between us.

Our midnight walk went surprisingly well though. Needless to say, the dog got a little cookie when we reached home. We usually take him to this parking lot at night, which faces a grassy hill. We both run around and act silly. So I let him off his leash and we begin to act goofy together. From out of nowhere, a skunk bolted across the lot. And of course, the dog thinks it is another small dog that he can play with. He got this incredibly silly look on his face that screams playtime. They went face to face and I was yelling at him to get back to me. Thank God, he listened to me and came back with this look of "what's wrong?". The last thing I needed was a skunky dog at midnight with nothing to cure it. By the way, in case something like this actually happens - what do I do? I heard something about tomato juice or tomato sauce. The highlight of our midnight walk? Since it was so incredibly hot and humid out yesterday - we found a lawn sprinkler and ran through it together! That cooled us both off.

Our morning walk was quiet and he was reasonably well behaved. I am not as overwhelmed as I thought I would be with just the dog and me. Now if he can only shut his trap when the neighbors are out on the balcony and I'd be happy! I think he is just trying to protect me though even though the neighbors think he is adorable enough to bring him "cookies". On a side note, the neighbor also brought me a big bag of oranges. I won't be getting any scurvy while my man is on the road, that's for sure.

My man played in Ottawa last night and it looks like everything went surprisingly well. We found out this morning that his phone card has expired which kind of sucks. I don't recall the phone card having an expiration date on it and it was only recently that I put more money on the card. You would think that a card would not expire if the card is still active and being used. I hate wasting money.

In other news, I made an amazing pot of coffee this morning. I'm hoping it kicks in soon. I feel beat and, for some strange reason, my right eyelid is swollen. Just call me Popeye.

I had a dream last night that my friend was pretending to be a werewolf and was chasing me around. I was giggling like a schoolgirl, bouncy in a tight sweater and all.

You know what I'm sick of? Myspace"friend" requests from books. Heck, I love to read. I adore the written word. However, I'm sick of seeing these stupid requests for books. I have accepted a few of them. For example, I accepted a certain book/friend request - not only does his punk rock writings seem interesting, he's a former Winnipegger and he's a cool, funny guy. Books on Myspace are becoming like music. It seems like anyone can put a book out nowadays. I suppose I should not assume but I highly doubt that the majority of these books are any good. I can say for certain, the book covers are usually terrible. I wonder if there is an option on Myspace that allows you to not accept requests from books? I know there is one for bands.

Anyway, this blorg is all over the place.

I should be making good use of my time. Conquering the day or something grand. My place is a mess so I think I should take care of that first. My life should be a little sexier than dirty dishes and laundry, haha.

Tags: Bands, Dogs, Musicians, Myspace, Tour, Tour Widow

Sick

2007-05-19T12:52:00.001-05:00

I've been here in Montreal for almost three years and this is pretty much the first time I fell ill (not counting my wisdom tooth ordeal). My head feels heavy and feverish. My eyes are half-shut. I feel like staying in bed all day, for all the wrong reasons. It could be worse, of course. I can still breathe. My throat is not scratchy. My body and mind is simply feeling worn down and weak. I'm certain I will make pleasant company at the dinner party I am attending tonight. I'll be the one in the corner, grasping my forehead. Come say hi, I'll let out a pitiful moan in return!

Lately, my dreams are scattered and make no sense. I've come to realize the Gods of Sleep are working against me. Last night, I had a fantastic and potentially sexy dream of being in Las Vegas with a handful of former co-workers. I was in a skyscraper, looking at the city skyline with a smirk on my face and wondering what kind of mischief I will find in the middle of my night. Ah...and then the dog woke me up at four in the morning by getting sick.

Speaking of the dog, Toshio is getting along rather well. He is still quite afraid of people and strange objects (bicycles, pylons, plastic bags blowing in the wind, etc). He trusts us now, knowing that he does have a home to go back to and won't be abused. He behaves himself a little better on the leash, as well. He only starts to pull when he is scared or when he knows he is on our street. He still doesn't make much of a production when he has to go outside though so there have been a few messes here and there. I get tons of morning kisses from him, which is a bit strange, and he follows me around constantly, protecting me until a plastic bag crosses our path! And I'm getting used to taking care of the beast too. Of course, he thinks we're equals - I think - and doesn't listen to me as much as he should. I'm trying my best to be more dominent though I admit...sometimes I am so tired of saying no, heh. We'll see what happens when it's only me and Toshio for the next three weeks.

My stint as a tour widow starts next week. I hope some lovely gals will keep me company. Sweaty pillow fight, anyone?!

As some of you know, I get the summers (and Christmas) off at my work. It comes in handy. I get to go home when I can. Anyway, I managed to get a gig typing out my friend's film script...which was actually full of fun and surprises. As well, I took on some extra work from my job to complete at home. Without revealing too many details, I'm doing government agency evaluations via the telephone. It's easy, good money, and I could "go to work" while not wearing pants...if I want to. Pants-free Linda = Happiness.

One of the highlights of my week was finding a long-lost friend on Facebook. I found my old co-worker and good friend Liza. This makes me incredibly happy as she always crossed my mind since we lost touch. She's the kind of woman that brings a smile to your face and makes you feel incredibly glad that you have someone like her in your life as a friend. I've missed our talks and our laughs. She's in Tennessee now, happy and healthy and doing rather well for herself. That's exactly what I hoped to hear from her. I guess the internet is good for something other than porn, haha!

Lately, all I want to do is go home. I've been thinking about home a lot these days. I don't know when I can get home this summer. I have a dog to think about now and I'll be left alone for a good chunk of summer. I have to plan my trip around that and, call me selfish, it discourages me a little. I wish I could be there for when my father retires this month (just typing that brings tears to my eyes). I wish I could be goofy with my sister when she takes her holidays. I wish I could say happy birthday to my grandmother's face rather than over the telephone. I even wish I could be irked by my mom, haha. Sometimes, I feel like the worst daughter in the world for living so far from my family. I think I just need a good dose of endless, beautiful prairie skies and honest smiles from old friends to renew myself. I think I need an adventure.

But first, I have to get over this cold....haha.

Hair

2007-04-29T19:32:00.001-05:00

Freshly cut bangs = happiness.

I need a little happiness, I need a little bang trim. Badly. My bangs have gotten to the point of no return. I am forced to sculpt, if you will, my bangs in place with my bare hands. With this method, my bangs will stay in place for a good hour. A minute past that hour, it collapses like a house of cards. Tomorrow, hopefully, I will get my bangs trimmed and then I'll stop growling at the mirror. Speaking of my hair, I think I can honestly say that I am officially sick of it.

Back in the day, when I had money to toss around carelessly on whatever I pleased, I had some pretty cool hair. And when it wasn't "cool", I was trying fun things with it regardless of the outcome. I guess it comes in handy to work in a salon, like I did back then. As well, I knew some pretty amazing people in the hair business. I had so much fun with my stylist back then. Not only did she do a fantastic job, she had a heart of gold. She was one of those people that you just had to smile with. She saw the beauty in a lot of things, in a lot of people. She always made me feel beautiful and it wasn't because she was an awesome stylist. It was more than just that. She simply was a beautiful person herself, inside and out, who got herself into a bit of mess that I cannot elaborate on.

I haven't really let people mess with my hair since her, other than my mom and a few others. Needless to say, my hair has done nothing exciting for a long time. It's long. It gets caught in things. It strangles me in my sleep. My bangs look fine when they are cut but the rest of it is just there.

I don't like depending and becoming attached to hair. I just want to chop it off without having second thoughts (it's easier to do so when your hair isn't long). I don't like to be caught in that cycle where you wonder and obsess on what-if-it-doesn't-look-good.

Anyway, in the grand scheme of things - this means nothing. It's just hair and I'm just complaining. I've let only about three people in my life cut my hair - my mom, my wonderful stylist, and the stylist at the salon I worked at. Truth is, I just don't trust anyone when it comes to hair.

I'm thinking about finding my old stylist when I go back home this summer. I sincerely hope life is treating her well again. I sincerely hope she is brimming with wonder and beauty again.

Tags: Bangs, Hair, Hairstylists, Salons

RIP June Callwood

2007-04-14T13:04:00.000-05:00

Last weekend, I watched the last interview with June Callwood on CBC's The Hour. It was beautiful, touching - what a marvelous lady she was, full of grace and wit. If you want to watch the video of her, this is the LINK.

Last Updated: Saturday, April 14, 2007 | 10:28 AM ET
CBC Arts

June Callwood, the remarkable Canadian journalist, humanitarian and social activist, died early Saturday after a long fight with cancer. She was 82.

She was first diagnosed with inoperable cancer in 2004, but refused treatment and continued to be active, most recently on the campaign to end child poverty, until a few months ago.

Callwood blazed trails for women's rights, gay rights and the rights of the underprivileged in a history of activism dating back to the 1960s.

The author of 30 books, she was also the founder of a breast-cancer support centre, Nellie's hostel for abused women, Jessie's centre for teenage mothers and the AIDS hospice Casey House.

"The Casey House community is deeply appreciative to the Frayne family for sharing their precious mother and wife with us for so many years," said Jaime Watt, chair of the hospice's board of directors, in a statement. "We send them our love and deepest condolences."

Callwood was a founding member of the Writers' Union of Canada, the Writers' Development Trust, Canadian PEN, the Canadian Civil Liberties Association and the Canadian Association for the Repeal of Abortion Laws, the president of a prostitutes' community organization and a bencher of the Law Society of Upper Canada.

A tireless campaigner who harangued politicians, wrote letters and organized lobby groups, Callwood fought poverty and injustice wherever she saw it.

"She was gentle to a fault ... She wasn't called Saint June for nothing," said friend and writer Sally Armstrong.

Always dressed chicly and known for driving a sporty car, Callwood approached social justice with a smile and joyful, optimistic demeanour. Even living with cancer didn't seem to get her down.

"As a companion, June is self-aware, witty, non-judgmental, sophisticated, informed, passionate, available and loyal — all those special qualities, leavened with her own brand of quirkiness and self-deprecating irony," friend Sylvia Fraser wrote in Toronto Life in March 2005.

Takes on journalism challenge

Born June 2, 1924, in Belle River, Ont., a French-speaking community near Windsor, Callwood remembered the deprivation of the Depression years and a father who left the family when she was 13.

She found her way into newspaper writing during the Second World War, initially at the Brantford Expositor and later at the Globe and Mail.

At the Globe, she met and married sportswriter Trent Frayne, and quit her job at age 20 when she had her first child.

She and Frayne had four children — Jill, Brant, Jennifer and Casey — losing the youngest, Casey, in 1982 in a motorcycle accident when he was 20.

After a period spent raising her children, Callwood began freelance writing, starting with a magazine piece on her flying instructor, a woman named Violet Millsted. She wrote for Chatelaine and Maclean's, tackling such subjects as the sexual abuse of children, birth control, test-tube babies and the battle of the sexes.

It was later, when her children were adolescent hippies, that Callwood began her social activism.

"What brought me on to it was during the '60s in Yorkville — that was my watershed," she said in an interview with CBC Radio.

A hippie at heart

Callwood said she was "entranced by the hippie movement," but noticed that when hippie kids from the Toronto suburbs went home there was an underclass of homeless, poor youth remaining in Yorkville.

"Everyone thought it was a middle-class kids' revolt. What was going underneath [was] that despair of thousands of teenagers who've never had anything and thought for one brief crazy moment that there was a place for them," she said.

Already a founding member of the Canadian Civil Liberties Association, she tried to get help and health care for the poor homeless youth, and saw doors slammed in their faces.

"That politicized me — that did it," she said. She founded a house, Yorkville Digger House, for them to live in.

In the summer of 1968, Callwood was arrested for protesting against police conduct in Yorkville. "I thought I was ruined," she recalled in an article in Saturday Night magazine.

"In my generation, you didn't get arrested unless you were an awful person. One year later, I was B'nai Brith Woman of the Year!"

Founded shelter, hostel for teens

A prominent voice against sexual violence and domestic abuse, she was founder of Nellie's Hostel for Women, a shelter for abused women in Toronto, serving as its first director in 1974. She also founded Jessie's Centre for pregnant teenagers.

She continued to write prolifically on feminist topics — penning Love, Hate, Fear and Anger (1964), Canadian Women and the Law (1974) and The Law Is Not for Women (1976).

Other books from this period include Emma: The True Story of Canada's Unlikely Spy, the story of a young Doukhobor woman from Saskatchewan convicted of spying for the Soviet Union and imprisoned in the late 1940s, and Twelve Weeks in Spring, about the last months of a friend named Margaret Fraser, who died at home with the help of a group of friends and volunteers.

"Someone in that group said to me that being with Margaret was like studying — we were boning up for our own deaths," she said in a 2004 interview with the Globe and Mail.

"It was a huge gift to us, in fact, because there's a great pleasure in providing palliative care, in surrendering your own ego totally in order to stay in tune with the person you're trying to help. You're not calling the shots for once. You're not doing anything except getting the ice cream."

Callwood's next big project was Casey House Hospice, for people dying of AIDS, which opened in 1988 at a time when there was little effective treatment for the disease.

Faced accusations of racism

With her direct, shoot-from-the-hip style, Callwood was described as better at founding organizations than at running them.

She was disparaged by public accusations of racism in the late 1980s, a period of extreme political correctness.

A conference she organized for the Canadian branch of PEN International was picketed by local black writers for excluding writers of colour, despite PEN's plan to bring in writers dedicated to freedom of speech from Ghana, South America and India.

The bad vibrations around the dispute spilled over into her term as a director of Nellie's, where an employee accused her of racism and the board boycotted a fundraiser it had asked her to organize.

There followed months of accusations in the press, with Callwood portrayed as an insensitive WASP, despite her years of activism and Métis background.

"Except for my son's death, nothing in life had hurt so much," she said in a Toronto Life article.

Callwood had two TV programs, In Touch on CBC (1975-78) and Callwood's National Treasures (Vision TV 1991-96), and also a column in the Globe and Mail that highlighted social issues.

She continued writing about AIDS in Jim: A Life With AIDS (1988) and Trail Without End: A Shocking Story of Women and Aids in 1995, the story of 20 women infected with the AIDS virus by the same lover. She also wrote Callwood's National Treasures, a book of portraits of great Canadians.

She has been an awards judge for Governor General's Literary Awards, National Newspaper Awards, 1976-83, and National Magazine Awards.

Callwood was made member of the Order of Canada in 1978 and officer in 1986, and has won numerous humanitarian awards and honorary university doctorates.

She points out that her effectiveness in leading change evolved from her energy and work, instead of privilege.

"I don't have power — I have influence," she said. "Power and privilege? It's an ability to help to change. My prominence is a trust."

A park in Toronto's Fort York neighbourhood has been named after her.

Tags: Canada, June Callwood, Women

The Big White Cat with the Small White Head

2007-04-10T17:55:00.001-05:00

I don't need to tell anyone that I am secretly a crazy old cat lady in training.

This afternoon, I peeked out the front door window to see my neighbor feeding her tabby cat (the one I recently blogged about) and the squirrel. Yes, they were sitting side by side. I never met her before - only her husband, who is a bit standoff-ish but generally a nice man. I heard from Zak that she is a nice older lady so I thought I would say hello and introduce myself. Heck, we've been neighbors since November afterall.

I had other motives though. I wanted to find out the name of her old tabby cat and what happened to her other cat that hasn't been seen outdoors in many months. I've been waiting to photograph this cat that I affectionately call "the big white cat with the small white head". Everytime I saw this cat, I'd get a chuckle. He'd be sitting outside on the balcony tied to the railing with a small string, while sitting on a small piece of cardboard. The tabby was free to roam...but no, the big white cat with the small white head clearly had special needs. We'd imagine that white cat with a white ruffly satin clown collar, just sitting there tied to a string on his small piece of cardboard while saying a humiliating "meow".

Unfortunately, I did not like what I heard. She told me that the (big) white cat (with the small white head) died. He was poisoned. He was on his string (sitting on his piece of cardboard, I imagine). He ate something. He went inside the apartment and died a short time after. This made me rather sad, I have to admit. For months, I have been waiting to photograph this silly looking (but adorable) cat. And now he's gone, died without a name. At least, he had love and a warm home to sleep and a lovely piece of cardboard to sit on.

I asked her what her tabby's name was. He has no name, she said, she did not know. She takes in stray cats and feeds them and, clearly, the tabby decided to live with her and husband. It made me smile - I have a neighbor with a good heart, which is a big change from my last neighbors who piled dog shit in front of our living room window and waist-deep garbage in our fire escape. She seems to feed all the stray cats, as well as the squirrels and pigeons. She seems like a sweet lady, even though sometimes there are about 20 pigeons on the balcony.

I like to believe the big white cat with the small white head died of natural causes, in his sleep where he was dreaming of eating fancy cat food out of foil packets or chasing a delicious bird. May his kitty-cat heaven be lined with cardboard. Godspeed, big white cat with the small white head, godspeed!

Tags: Cat, Cats, Felines, Neighbors

Laugh

2007-03-30T18:24:00.001-05:00

So, I was at the grocery store the other day waiting in line. I was so tired that day. The kind of tired in which you can get into a giggle about absolutely anything. The girl at the counter asked me, in French, if I wanted to donate two dollars for a heart and stroke charity. I was surprised at myself! I actually understood what she said! I was rather proud of myself.

Of course, I didn't know exactly how to respond to her question. I think I know how to say I don't have any money but I don't think that would have been the proper way to express the fact that I didn't have any change on me since I was paying with my debit card. I told her that I did not have two dollars on me.

She was French and didn't know much English. She called the teenaged bag boy over to repeat what she asked me even though I totally understood what she said. The kid comes over and calls me Madam, which kind of makes me sound like a drag queen and/or old but whatever. In his translation, he said:

"She wants to know if you want to give two dollars for someone to have a heart attack."

Bahahahahaha!
I didn't laugh out loud, that would have been rude. I'm sure my attempts at French would sound just as strange. I couldn't help but laugh inside though.

And yes, I ended up donating with my debit card because that was the best laugh of the day.

Tags: French, Funny, Humor, Laugh, Lost in Translation

Angry Rant, directed at so-called groupies

2007-03-24T15:25:00.000-05:00

Ack, I finally have another regular weekend off and I have a headache. Stupid head, it's sucking the life out of me today.

Soon, another tour will begin and soon I will be titled The Tour Widow one more time. I'm trying my best to behave and not leave snide comments due to my petty jealousies about the attention my partner will get from women. Yarg, wish me luck.

I have a beef. I try so hard to be cool and accepting. I know I am. I trust my partner and I believe in what he is doing. But I have such a hard time with the whole getting attention from girls who just like him because he has a musical instrument in his hands. I know, deep down, he likes the attention. Everyone likes attention, everyone likes to feel sexy.

A while back, I caught naked boobies on our computer. It's a band thing - the girls write the name of the band member on their cleavage and send it to the band. It ends up on OUR computer because he is the one that checks the mail, right. It fucking drives me nuts. But I have to accept this because it's not day-to-day real life. It's a band thing, a band image to uphold. I just want a little honesty though. I want a warning. I want to hear that some random girl sent pics of her boobs with my partner's name written across them - rather than accidentally finding them on my computer when I am alone and feeling like shit.

He doesn't understand. I have no reason NOT to trust him. I do trust him, a lot. It is just a little taxing on your heart when you see shit like this all of a sudden. These girls know sweet fuck all about who he is. They don't know it is ME that built a life with him, it was ME who moved halfway across the country to be with him. It is ME that is pretty much financially supporting HIS dream. They just see him as another slutty musician, whatever. It's hard for me to not take it personally.

I work really hard to live. I live in a city where I don't speak the language. I have a very, very limited amount of friends. Everyone I honestly love is back home. I probably expect too much of my partner. Or maybe I miss the attention I once had. You know, back home...I had a line up of guys finding me attractive. Here, I get called "ugly" in the subway, I have girls calling me down there too. My head is all messed up.

Bottom line. I don't want to see your naked boobs on my computer. I'm sure you wouldn't want to see women sending your boyfriend naked photos - women they talk to in a "friends only" way online. Why is it different when the man in question is a musician? They are still people....they still have girlfriends and wives. Respect their homelife.

Of course, you'll all be turning the table on me - my insecurities, my paranoia. Go ahead. I trust my partner. I just don't trust that bitch who'll pay $5 to see a band and expect to "party" with the band afterwards...just because her tits are big and she is shitfaced. Fuck her.

And why is it different - why do I have to be okay with these stupid women sending their naked photos to my boyfriend? I don't see him as a musician. I see him as a person I am spending my life with.

But no, I have to fucking suck it up and accept it. Put on a smiling face and play the role of supportive girlfriend who pays the fucking internet bill, among other bills, and puts up with this shit.

Tags: Dating, Dating a Musician, Internet, Jealousy, Relationships, Tour Widow

Slow Times

2007-03-19T19:27:00.000-05:00

For the first time in a while, I've had an actual weekend off. I'm talking Saturday and Sunday off, plus Monday. I was looking forward to this. I wanted to go for a late morning breakfast. I wanted to do a little writing. Maybe even catch up on some email. Lord knows how lazy I am when it comes to emailing people back promptly. Err.

And of course, my entire body started to fall apart on Friday night. Great.

My teeth started to hurt. You see, I have this one vindictive tooth. Every now and then, it misbehaves. I wait for the pain to pass, as it eventually does. I know that there will come a day when the pain won't go away and I'll have to take care of it once and for all. And that day will probably be when not much money is coming in because life is a jerk that way. Nothing spells fun like getting a $1400 root canal when you are unemployed. *grits teefs*

Just to torture myself...I went browsing around online to see if my tooth pain is related to any other aspect of my health. For once, I actually found good news and not morbid information. Apparently, when your sinuses are messed up it can affect your teeth. I'd rather deal with a sinus issue than a really expensive dental procedure.

Anyway, I felt like my head was a brick this weekend. Tooth pain (it was more like the roof of my mouth was severely bruised, to be exact) truly drains the life out of you. Top it off with the beginnings of a head cold, and you just don't want to do a single thing but curl up on the bed and sleep with the aid of painkillers. And that is what I did. I feel like the weekend just zipped past me and I accomplished little. Curses!

I managed to drag my weary body to the optometrist this weekend though. In my attempt at getting to the bottom of my lack of balance, I discovered that my prescription has changed. Seems like I have astigmatism in my right eyeball which could actually be the reason why I feel like a bit of a lush when I am walking. I hope that's the answer because I'm sick of seeing doctors and having to be aware of how I am walking. Thankfully, it is not as bad as it was back in December. You never really think when you walk down the street, other than to pay attention to cars or a mound of dog shit or a patch of ice on the sidewalk. Since December, I've had to be aware and stay focused while walking. Believe me, it cuts the fun and relaxation out of going for a walk.

When you are under the weather, it is natural to think of all the things that you could be doing if you were well. I have to remind myself that this is my body telling me to slow down and take time for yourself. It's okay to stay in bed with a good book. It's okay to take a long, hot bath. It's okay that you did not go-go-go - even though you have been on the move all week. Basically, it's okay to be lazy. That's what I keep telling myself, since I really do waste time. Sigh.

I guess I did accomplish some. I did some baking, which caused the aroma of cinnamon to swirl around the apartment. I finished reading a pretty darn good novel. I took care of my health. I wandered into an old antique shop to look at this strange instrument and visit the black street cat that lives there. I did all the grown-up things that needed to be done - including my taxes! I made a nice dinner on Saturday night. I watched a silly movie. I wrote to Felica, in one of many journals I have filled for her. I took a nap or two. Oh, and most importantly - I did some sewing. No, nothing fancy and creative. My winter coat's buttons were dangling by a thread and three fell off. My cardigan had a small hole at the seam, which ended up becoming a very large hole. I've been putting it off for such a long time. I've probably looking like a bit of a hobo these last few weeks.

Speaking of hobo, here's a Canadian flashback.

Anyway, I'm off to work tomorrow. This potentially could be my last week of work, as we normally take a bit of a hiatus for the summer. I don't mind being off in the summer but I'd be happy to work well into spring. I need the money, just like everyone else. I'm trying my best to get ahead but it never seems to work that way, even with my brand new nifty budgeting skills. Looks like I'll save a whole $21 this pay period (thanks to our ridiculous hydro bill and getting new glasses so I can see/not fall on my ass). I have this odd feeling that I will sent home early this week. It's a mainly French project we are working on. In the evenings, I'll be waiting patiently by the telephone to purr questions into your strictly Anglo ears...

Tags: Astigmatism, Cold, Eyes, Life, Looking Like a Hobo, Sick, Weekend

Life, life, slow little life...

2007-03-13T19:52:00.001-05:00

I think it is about time for an update. I know y'all missed me. Now, do you want the glamorous version or the truth?!

In all honesty, not much is going on and I think I like it that way. I could, however, be making much better use of my time. I keep telling myself that but by the end of the day or the work week, all I want to do is mellow out and kick back. Thankfully, I don't have a television set that works and gets a variety of English programming otherwise I would probably waste a lot of time. Really, is it wasting time if you choose to curl up on the couch or soak in a bubble bath to read? No, I don't think so.

My health has been alright. The dizziness/lightheadedness is coming back every now and then. It perplexes me. It only seems to hit me when I am walking outside and usually when I am alone. I'm beginning to think it is either completely psychological or it's my ear. I had a nasty ear infection last summer and who knows what kind of damage could be throwing my balance off. I'm also getting my eyes checked this weekend. To clarify, it's not really a dizziness now. It's more of a lack of balance which is a little frightening as I am already clumsy.

Speaking of clumsy, I fell down some stairs the other day. Sadly, I wasn't carrying twelve cream pies. Actually, I was laughing at the neighbor across the street as he was wearing his neon green toque and a bright striped t-shirt. I couldn't help but laugh at his outfit, I wasn't laughing at him. Honest! He is a bit slow and always asks my partner specifically for old coins from other countries. I never saw him in such a bright outfit before and a laugh slipped past my painted red lips - and then I fell down about five stairs to the bottom. The neighbor looked thoroughly disturbed, like I ruined the routine of his entire day. He stood there, looking disturbed at the sight of me falling down the stairs and then laughing to myself at how clumsy I am. A few hours later and my body started to ache. It wasn't as funny as before.

Work has been fine. There's always something to complain about but I'll just keep a pleasant smile on this face of mine. Actually, I enjoy work these days even when it feels long and repetitive. We joke around a lot and we talk girl talk. I like it. And I miss that. There's a lack of girl talk and giggling over ridiculous things in my Montreal life. I have it with my fellow co-workers. I appreciate it. As far as the work itself goes, it's work. Sometimes I'm tired of repeating the same things over and over again. Sometimes I'm sick of smelling them all day long. Sometimes I'm amazed that people take work so lightly, and this is coming from someone who is pretty lazy. I never slept in for work, I'm always on time. Even when I hate the job I am doing, I'm always there and reasonably ready to work. As well, work makes me want to smack people with cell phones. One day I am going to flip out and I look forward to that day. Maybe I'll even stamp my foot as I bark, "we pay you to work, not to text message your - tabernac!"

What else, what else...

I haven't written in a while, or at least not this weekend. Sometimes my mind is distracted. I can't be creative because of this or because of that. I know they are just excuses. But one thing is for sure, I can't be creative if the entire house is a bloody mess. I cleaned this weekend. I started a little writing project a few weeks ago. I don't want to talk about because I'm secretive that way. It's something that takes a lot of thought and I find that I am mentally exhausted after a handful of pages. The way I see it, if I am not in a mental rush in regards to it - there's nothing wrong with taking my time. Who knows if it's any good. Right now, it's just something for me.

Which brings me back to the idea of making better use of my time. I know I should. I know I have to, if I want to continue to be happy after work ends. I find that when I am not working, I fall into some sort of tragic slump. I feel worthless when I am not working. Yet, I start working again and I feel like I am just another working dummy going over the same motions day after day. I have some friends that truly inspire me to create and hone my apparent talents. It's a matter of getting off my ass, quite honestly. It's a matter of believing what you are doing and can do. I lack this. I see myself as a number. Someone who is ordinary and plain, who will never lead a spectacular life and time is running out. I have to shake off that feeling. There is nothing wrong with leading a life that isn't seen as spectacular to others. As long as it's spectacular to you...that is what counts. The problem is, I don't think I am that satisfied and I am often disappointed in myself and what I do. I know there is talent and drive kicking around here somewhere. It's just a matter of doing it. Soon, I will have time. Work will end and my partner will go on the road. I will have time to be creative. I just have to promise myself that I WILL accomplish something that makes me happy whether it's a knitting project or that so-called book I playfully challenged myself to write last year when the band went on tour.

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could go back to certain places and just inhale all the old scents of my past. When I was housesitting years ago, there was the smell of lumber and spring-time that reminded me of going to the lumber store with my father (he used to go to a store called Beaver Lumber, heh) and yet reminded me of the pain of a broken heart. When I worked at the Bay, there was the stockroom full of pillows and comforters (trust me, a roomful of pillows will give off a distinct aroma). That room was my escape from my boss, who liked my Ukrainian cleavage a little too much. The smell of lemon peppered fried eggs and hashbrowns - I could never recreate that breakfast meal or the aroma. The smell of old pencil boxes full of crayons reminds me of being a kid - if I stick my nose close to one of my partner's old parlor guitars, it smells like that.

I'm babbling.

Thursday, I am grateful...

2007-02-15T12:12:00.000-05:00

...for days when I feel sexy. Meow!

Tags: Body Image, Boobs, Breasts, Cleavage, Feeling Sexy, Grateful, Gratitude, Photoblog, Photography, Sexy

My 30th Birthday

2007-02-14T14:53:00.000-05:00

My thirtieth birthday has come and gone. As the calendar page turned over, I was happy to discover that I did not feel instantly older. I still feel like myself, only with a badge that tells me I'm officially an adult now. And as a friend told me at the stroke of midnight, I can now act like a kid because I can get away with it without being labeled as someone in their annoying 20s. Thirty is the new twenty, I have heard as well. And I have heard from enough women in their thirties that reassure me that they are now having the time of their lives. Good to know, it's not like I can physically go back to my twenties anyhow! I'm thirty and there's no turning back - I feel like I should do some sort of celebratory high kick in the air while wearing scratchy polyester pantsuit like that skit on SNL. I'm fifty! *kicks high in the air, without tearing scratchy polyester pantsuit*

I had a lovely birthday, thanks for asking. My boyfriend woke up with me, even though he played a show the night before and got home quite late. He had morning coffee with me, which I found to be rather sweet, and gave me my birthday gift. Ah, my bathroom is now complete with the wonderful skull and crossbones shower curtain that I have pined for, for a long time now. It goes well with my Umbra black fishbone soap dish. *big goofy smile*

It was a quiet birthday, however. I had to work that day and, boy, was that a kick in the pants. It was not a stressful day, thankfully, but we were at the end of a project so we had to work our asses off. Luckily, I have a flexible voice that can reassure or excite or convince - whatever you want my voice to be, it can. Of course, someday people are jerks and my voice's capability will not prove successful. On my birthday, I was on fire. We had to get the project done so I played it up. I added concern, if the person was unhappy. I became uptight and professional, if the person was uptight and professional themselves. My voice was outgoing while talking to giggly college girls who just love, as I imagine them jumping up and down and having a sweaty dorm-room pillow fight, the quality of service provided to their student loans. Oh, and the best...my greatest ability, adding sexy to my voice to convince men to participate in telephone studies. Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do. It's bad enough that they honestly don't want to participate. You might as well make it a little entertaining for them. Anyway, I ended up working overtime on my birthday. I didn't get out of there 'til well past seven at night.

I came home to a wonderful, casual dinner made by my boyfriend. He's a good cook, needless to say. We talked about our days, his show the night before that I could not attend. My belly was full of homemade food, which is truly a great feeling on a cold winter's night.

My telephone was a little too quiet, I must admit. A friend from back home did call but did not recall that is my birthday. Even though he oftens calls me his best friend and we have known each other for about ten years now. At least, I talked to my family and a few phone calls trickled in over the next few days.

A little later in the evening, a couple of our friends stopped by. They went all out for my birthday and it did make me miss home a little less. Thank you! I couldn't believe people took my online birthday list seriously - I mean, I did secretly want all those things I posted but I was simply joking around when I said to buy me things. I'm not that much of a princess, I swear. I just have a stupid sense of humor. Nonetheless, Ryan and Vanessa came armed with individually-sized penis cakes for my thirtieth birthday as they knew a friend of mine back home makes penis cakes and they didn't want me to be missing home on my birthday! It was a very sweet gesture that made me smile. They gave me a little gift, full of nice things like penis candles and a penis post-it notepad and a penis birthday card and Avon footsoak/cream. I guess the Avon part didn't quite fit with the theme there, but my feets are quite happy now! As well, they are giving me the Housewives Tarot deck that I wished for but it is a little late on arriving. I felt truly spoiled. Also, I opened the gift from my parents. It wasn't so much the contents of the gift that surprised me - it was sheer amazement and wonder of how my mother can fit so many little gifts into one regular sized box. I know Parris probably read that sentence and laughed a great dirty laugh (no matter how I worded that, it still sounded dirty). My parents gave me a ton of stuff - from the fancy KitchenAid pizza cutter that matches my curtains and dishes to packets of rice and Asian seasonings, from cute coffee themed pajamas to various bakeware found at the Dollar Store or at garage sales. Oh, and plenty of chocolate and little cards from them and my grandmother. I felt so loved and spoiled - but I'd give those gifts all up just to have a slice of cake (um, not the penis cake though) with them that day. Well, maybe I wouldn't for that pizza cutter, haha. It's the sexiest pizza cutter I have ever seen, I have to mention.

All in all, I had a lovely birthday with my friends. We sat around and talked, ate a little penis cake, and had a good time. I ended up dipping into the gin by myself and felt a little warm and fuzzy. Good times.

On a side note, I have been feeling a lot better since taking iron supplements and thyroid medication. I feel much more mentally sharp and on the ball. It's been a long time since I felt this way. I no longer feel dizzy and incapable of walking fast in public. I feel a bit happier and more willing to work at what makes me happy, if that makes any sense. It is as though my creative edge has woke up after too many years. I hope this is a good sign as I enter my thirties.

Here are some pictures of my night...well, mostly just the penis cakes, haha.

I received a small chocolate mouse from my co-worker Nicole.

Clean shaven, straight hair, curly hair, and black!

What fine craftmanship!

I ate the black one.

Note, penis candles! Happy Birthday to me!

Tags: 30, Birthday, Cake, Gifts, Happiness, Health, Penis, Penis Cake, Presents, Thirty, Turning Thirty

Turning Thirty - A Wishlist

2007-02-05T18:50:00.000-05:00

So.
I'm actually hitting the so-called "big 3-0" this Saturday. Yikes, I'm not sure if I like this "milestone". It's intimidating and haunting. Thirty. 30. Three-Zero. No matter how you type it, it all seems too grown up for me. Dare I say old?

Actually, it doesn't seem old considering that many of my friends are well into their thirties and they are all still cool and stylish and act like little kids every now and then. It's a kind of strange that sits on a more personal level. It's like one day you are in your carefree twenties, boozing it up and not worried about money (or whatever people in their 20s do, haha) and then the next day you turn thirty and wonder where those years have gone, all those New Year's resolutions that never have been completed. Perhaps, I would think differently if I had others to care about (err, like children) to put things into perspective. Or maybe not. I could be just talking out of my ass as far as I'm concerned!

It's weird, though. There are a lot of things that I should have done and probably shouldn't have done, in my twenties. I won't be spending my time here, beating myself up and confessing all the shitty choices I made. Like that time I thought it would be a good idea to go to school and get a student loan. Farg! I think about that every time I go to work. I paid X-amount of money for school and I work at a call center? Well, at least it is a decent one that gives me time off when needed and I'm mainly doing supervising. I just got a raise the other day - go me! I think about all the things that I did not do - like use my talents. Turning thirty isn't a death sentence though, there's plenty of time to complete what I truly want to do.

So, on that note, I am turning thirty. Therefore, you all should get me presents. Last year, I posted a wish list and received NONE of them. Actually, I ended up buying myself a couple of them well after my birthday. I'm posting another list, for your enjoyment. Hint, hint.

Last year, I asked for a skull and crossbones cardigan. I'm still waiting! Hell, I'll even take a plain pink argyle cardigan!

Also, I asked for the Housewives Tarot card deck. I did not get this either. That's okay, I can still go on the website and play around. By the way, they are available on eBay. :)

I still want a naughty, naked latch hook rug kit. Not necessarily this pattern, but something with naked boobies that I can create with little pieces of yarn. Check out their website - www.madewithsweetlove.com.

And I still want to see a giraffe. Please, take me to see a giraffe? I'm pretty and I want to see a giraffe!

A new addition to my birthday wishlist is a retro Winnipeg Jets t-shirt. Not like I like hockey, I just like Winnipeg and I want to attract other 'Peggers to me when I'm walking down the street. Girl sized t-shirt, please!

A skull and crossbones shower curtain. Yes, it will make our bathroom look even more tiny, but at least it will look stylish! It will also go well with my fishbone soap dish.

Yarn. It seems to be a little too challenging to find craft supplies in Montreal. I want to make a hot pink scarf, meow!

I want some bubble bath. I prefer Ombra's line of bubble baths. Nothing beats a Ginger Lime bubble bath on those wintery nights.

White roses. That would be nice. I don't need 12 of them, one will do just fine.

Last but not least, a penis birthday cake made by my lovely friend Nicole. I don't expect to get one as she lives far away and it probably wouldn't look or taste good when it arrives in the mail. Ah, maybe she can surprise me with one the next time I come home!

You get the point and I'm getting kind of bored posting these pics. I'm pretty easy when it comes to shopping - books, homemade gifts, sexy gotch, or even a simple card will make my day. What I really want I can't have. That is to be with my family, with a little boozin' it up with my old friends back home, and later come stumbling to play with my cat Tiki. Sigh!

Tags: 30, Birthday, Gifts, Presents, Thirty, Turning Thirty, Wishlist

Chia Hippo Update - Jan 24-28th

2007-01-29T14:08:00.000-05:00

So, it's been a few days. Let's see what's happening in the world of my Chia Hippo...

He's starting to look a little more hairier! Thank goodness, I was beginning to worry about him.

He is finally comfortable with his new hairstyle. Note, the subtle smile on his Chia Hippo face.

Unfortunately, he is still suffering from a wee bit of patchiness.

Chia Hippo after his pilates class. He really broke a sweat this time.

Ah, Chia Hippo. I think he is looking smashing!

Tags: Chia Pet

Blood Test

2007-01-29T13:51:00.000-05:00

So the good news is I'm not going to die. I can now sleep at night, haha.

I received the blood test results today and I am now glad that I didn't throw that raffle. Otherwise, I'd be handing out the prizes left and right! Fortunately, there is nothing too severe that cannot be fixed. Being a lazy vegetarian didn't pay off - I seem to be "severely anemic". As well, I have a bit of low blood sugar and low cholesterol. Not only that, I have a "lazy thyroid" (but I'm pretty!). I guess I shouldn't laugh at that. I just keep imagining my thyroid gland kicking back on a recliner and watching television all day long. The good news is...my cervix is in perfect form. Ha-zah!

These results don't come as a true shock to me. Actually, it all makes sense. My doctor said that with a "lazy thyroid" you often feel tired and you have no desire to do anything. Heh, and how! It explains my pale complexion better than the fact that I used to go to goth clubs, haha. It explains how terribly weak I feel sometimes. Somedays I feel like Mr. Burns, all brittle and weak.

Now, I have to take iron supplements and thyroid medication. And then I'll begin my career as a world class arm wrestler. Watch out! Truth be told, I'm just looking forward to having energy again. I can't remember when I last felt like I had some.

And you all thought I was just sleepy and lazy!

Tags: Anemia, Blood, Cholesterol, Health, Iron, Thyroid, Weakness

So the other day...

2007-01-29T00:09:00.000-05:00

I'm at work doing surveys. And I call a man named Mr. Mehboob. Heh. Meh. Boob. I giggled out loud.

Ah, it is the first day of my "weekend". Last night, our friends came over. We drank a little beer, smoked some cigarettes. The boys went off to listen to some music. The girls sat on the couch and clucked away. We ordered some pizza and that was an instant satisfaction. You see, PMS Monster demanded melted cheese and lots of it. There has been a sad lack of cheese in my life lately so that pizza made me feel truly euphoric.

Tomorrow, I get my blood work results back from the doctor. I won't lie and say that I'm not concerned. I'm just a little nervous. I suppose the reassuring thing is that they didn't need to see me immediately. I'm assuming if it is truly bad, they would have rescheduled my appointment to an earlier date. Wish me luck! I still think people should be placing bets on what's my health problem. It could have been a fun thing to do - you know, like raffles during the Grey Cup. Most people have their bets on low iron. I agree with the odd few that say hypoglycemia. Who knows, maybe thyroid will be the winning diagnosis. Thyroid's a jerk that way. My bosses keep saying I'm "with seed" and have the tapeworm, since I'm always hungry. That's how rumours start, I told them. To set the record straight, I am neither "with seed" or do I have the tapeworm.

I feel like the day zoomed past me. Didn't I just roll out of bed a few hours ago? And now it's quarter to midnight. It's no fair, I say! I have to say, I accomplished very little. I did some of my darling domestic duties. I took a hot bath. I surfed the net and posted in my daily photoblog. I drank hot tea. I played around with my cosmetics. And now it's close to midnight. I guess I'm allowed to slack off on my day off.

I did, however, have fun playing dress-up. I, once again, attempted to create a vampy 1920's face. I wouldn't call it a great success. 1920's makeup always seems like a good idea. I love that decade for makeup but I can never get it right. It's frustrating. Painting on those Clara Bow lips, those bee-stung lips, is always a huge disaster. It never fails, I end up looking like a bad drag queen.

It reminds me of that time my friend and I thought it would be a brilliant idea to dress up in modest lingerie and do our makeup in 1920's style....while drinking copious amounts of gin. Anyway, once we got the photographs back from developing, we had a good laugh. Yep, drinking and applying vintage makeup looks don't mix. And nothing is more glamourous than vomiting after a boudoir photoshoot. Hot.

My attempt at a 1920's eye went alright, actually. I suppose if I had the appropriate costume, eyebrow shape, and hairstyle - I'd be more convinced. I don't know if my face belongs in the 1920's or a goth club.

The bee-stung lips. Ack, disasterous as usual. Perhaps if I had a different shape of lips it would look better. I can achieve the shape of the popular lip look of that era with lipliner. Once I fill in the lips with lipstick...enter bad drag queen. I laugh at how ridiculous it really looks. I ended up filling my entire lips, in defeat. I guess I'm just not ment to have bee-stung lips.

Excuse me while I babble about makeup.

That's what I love about makeup. It's fun and I get lost in it. It relaxes me, unless something goes terribly wrong. Like that time I thought my black liquid eyeliner was concealer. I think I breathed fire that morning.

Meh. Boob.

Tags: 1920's, Bee-stung Lips, Bloodwork, Cosmetics, Doctors, Health, Makeup

Unhealthy Obsessions

2007-01-23T19:26:00.000-05:00

There should be a website for wingnuts like me to make it easier to assume what their physical ailments are. For a good month and change, I've been wondering what the fark is wrong with me. I'm dizzy and lightheaded, I'm off balance, I'm hungry .... the list goes on. Sometimes it feels like I am on a plane, ascending or descending. It is hard for me to be in a crowded place with lots of busyness around me. I have to stay focused on what is straight ahead of me when I walk (narrowly avoiding stepping in dog crap on the sidewalk). My concentration is off. I don't know what the hell is wrong.

So, this is why there should be a website out there for people like me who obsess and analyze my health until I feel even more shitty. Instead of random Google searches for possible illnesses, there would be a page of symptoms that you check off. You know, kind of like one of those silly blog quizzes one does to see what kind of an evil CareBear they would be or what kind of famous serial killer they are. You just click on the symptoms list, submit your results, and outcomes all the possibilities of your health issue. And it would be in percentages, like you are 60 percent likely to have Lyme disease and 45 percent likely to have vestibular neuronitis, for example. Having your possible list of illnesses cuts your internet search down in half - it's all right in front of you! With handy links! And it's all available at one handy location! No longer do you have to stay up all night in front of your computer, searching webpage after webpage about what deathly disease you have. Just take a survey, click submit, and you have one page full of ailments to obsess over. All night long.

Truth be told, I tried my best to avoid abusing the search engines to figure out what's wrong. I've been fairly good. I gave in, though. It sounds like dizziness /lightheadedness is a common symptoms of a lot of diseases, minor and major ones.

I have to admit, I am a little nervous. I received a phone call from my doctor's office. They told me that the blood results are in and the doctor wants to see me. After the removal of my blood last week, I booked an appointment. I thought they would have made some sort of note about this upcoming appointment related to my blood work. I got a little worried - what if there is something worse that they wanted to urgently talk to me about, what if it's this, what if it's that.

I asked the receptionist, "Is this an urgent matter, like 'you're going to die' kind of urgency?"

She laughed it off and said she didn't think so. I know they aren't allowed to say anything to me anyhow. Clearly, there is something funky (I'm trying not to say "wrong") with me...if they want to speak to me about tests. Ugh. This means waiting for a week to go to the clinic. Which I can handle but I really want to know what's going on with this body of mine. I'm starting to think I should hold some sort of raffle to see who guesses my illness. So far, there are some bets on low iron. My money is on the hypoglycemia.

I guess I will know soon enough. I'm a little worried about starting to work again (tomorrow). Nothing beats feeling dizzy when a subway car is whizzing past you. Good times.

I must go. I have a steamy date with my newfound culinary skills, vegetable broth, and leeks. And I can't get that damned Hockey Night in Canada theme song out of my head....

Tags: Blood, Disease, Dizziness, Health, Illness, Lightheaded, Sickness

Chia Pet Update - Jan17-23rd

2007-01-23T13:25:00.000-05:00

It is time for another update. I know you all are curious about the health and well-being of my Chia Hippo. Don't worry, he misses you too.

The best place to start, his ass. You see, he is having trouble growing hair(or herb, if you will) on his wee behind. I feel kinda sorry for him.

Look, he is wearing an irritated face after I took that picture of his ass.

The next day, he forgave me.

Here's a nice close up of his growth.

Chia Hippo hates the cold weather and being stuck indoors. This is his view.

I gave him a few days off from posing. Actually, I was just lazy and didn't want to take his pic. Here is his new 'do after a few days.

Don't let it fool you...he is still very patchy. Poor guy.

And this is today! :)

Tags: Chia Pet, News, Update

The Tour Widow's Dreams

2007-01-22T15:10:00.000-05:00

My head has been like a turned-on television set when I fall asleep. I dream, on and on. Though I have slept, I wake up tired but very amused.

I had a dream yesterday that I was in this very fancy and exclusive magazine/wine shop. I was with a good friend of mine. This was a lovely place to be; trendy music playing in the background, mahogany decor, and a lovely wine selection. We walked around the place as though we owned it. I had a glass of red wine in my hand and I catwalked in front of the magazines as though I was a supermodel or had a lot of money to blow on magazines for the rich. We drank our wine and looked beautiful.

Sitting on a mahogany bench was this young man. He was rather nerdy, with chin length hair and glasses. He began to walk about and I began to notice him a little more. He was looking at me. He commented outloud, "They have nice magazines here", while staring directly at my boobs. He just called my boobs magazines!

After a while of drinking wine and roaming around with our noses in the air, the young man approached us. I gave my friend a look of pretend-you're-my-boyfriend. The young man simply wanted to thank us, in a snooty accent, for making this stop on our trip to Montreal and to support the scene. We thought he was a complete wingnut.

And because my dreams are so stupid, I proceeded to go to the magazine/wine shop's kitchen and do dishes while standing on a wee stool and the kitchen staff glared at me.

When my friend and I were leaving, there were grocery store type check-out lines at the exit. I noticed the young man again, but with a woman. And then I figured it all out - he was with his mother and he was really only twelve years old. The thought of a twelve year old calling my boobs "magazines" left a bad, bad taste in my mouth.

The next dream, I was in a very big and open room that had lots of couches and seating areas. My close girl friend was with me. An long-time online friend was there as well. My girl friend presented me with this tiny stuffed animal that she made out of pom-poms and felt. My online friend picked up the toy to look at it, and then made the stuffed animal kiss my nose and my cheeks. He did the same to my girl friend. We felt warm and fuzzy. And then he gave us acid.

He gave us these pills that he called acid, but really looked like the anti-anxiety pills I have taken before. I thought, I shouldn't be doing this, this isn't right. But my online friend, who was wearing wonderful pants, put the pill under my tongue and told me to let it dissolve in my mouth. I couldn't say no, he just had such a nice pair of pants on. He gave my girl friend some pills too. He gave me another pill. He gave her another pill. By then, I noticed everyone was high around me and it was a very peaceful room. Little did my online friend know, I only took half a pill and hide the other pills under my leg. I was feeling dizzy and stoned (not like I know what an acid-high is like anyway). I kept asking myself, what is he trying to do by feeding us all these pills...oh, but his pants are sooo nice.

And then I spent the rest of the dream cuddling with my girl friend on a couch. We took a walk-around and I figured out that we were all in a police youth detention center.

Tags:Dreams, Drugs, Sleeping

Hinterland's Who's Who - Spiders on Drugs

2007-01-18T19:19:00.000-05:00

Anyone who grew up in Canada with a television set grew up remembering the great commercial spots sponsored by the Government of Canada. Of course, there were wonderful vignettes of our history and the faithful Hinterland's Who's Who spots. Apparently, those in Quebec do not seem to remember such commercials. Watching such informational commercials bring me back to my childhood, giving me a warm fuzzy feeling. Just that opening music makes me feel like a kid again. For example, this one is about the great Canadian Cougar. No, I'm not talking about the 40 year old lady in tight jeans that dances at your local top 40 bar.

The other day, my friend told me about a Canadian short film that was a hit at the Winnipeg International Film Festival. It is poking fun at these old commercials. It's brilliant!

Tags: Canada, Canadian Wildlife, Commercials, Drugs, film, Hinterland's Who's Who, Spiders, Spiders on Drugs, Youtube

Chia Hippo Update - January 12th to 16th

2007-01-17T21:18:00.000-05:00

So it's been a few days and the Chia Hippo has yet to grow his mossy coat. He may be patchy but I still love him.

Starting to grow a little mohawk!

He has a stunning side profile, if I do say so myself.

The plastic bag suffocation trick works! He's starting to grow!

Don't laugh at his patchiness...

I think my Chia Hippo was up to no good in this photo I took yesterday. Notice his curious way, as he looks out the window with wonder.

Looks like he took a little vacation while I was sleeping. Lucky Hippo! Must be nice to lounge around on the beaches of Greece.

Chia Hippo meets friends wherever he goes!

Tags: Chia Pet

Healthy Resolutions

2007-01-16T19:40:00.000-05:00

It’s only the middle of January and I have already completed two of my so-called New Year’s resolutions. The first resolution completed - I have (nearly) abandoned my fear and went to see my very own doctor.

I saw my new doctor for the first time last week. The clinic was surprisingly empty. I was afraid that it would be full of snotty children and other various St-Henri folk who may or may not have the dreaded “gastro” that is going around in Montreal. The only annoying part about the wait was the young college student who talked loudly on her cell phone the entire wait. I heard all about her car troubles and the difficulty scheduling her dance classes – like, omg, shut up!

When the doctor finally saw me, she put my mind at ease. See, I’m scared of most doctors as I believe they will tell me something truly awful and tragic. For example, “You are going to die”. She didn’t. She was very reassuring and very friendly. I confessed that I was nervous to go to the doctor. She asked if she makes me nervous. We laughed it off and she told me that if there is anything wrong, we can fix it. Instead of having to fill out a sheet of medical history while I waited in the lobby, she asked me questions and wrote it down herself. That impressed me. I didn’t feel like a number. Much like the walk-in clinic doctor back home, I felt like she was her only patient. I think that is important in finding a good doctor.

She gave me no explanation for my odd dizzy spells though. We talked for a while. She listened to my lungs and heart, checked my neck glands, and recorded my blood pressure (which is apparently “perfect”). She said the reasons for my dizziness/lightheadedness could be a number of things, including anxiety as the doctor back home mentioned. Another good sign of a good doctor – she doesn’t seem like a pill pusher. If it is anxiety, I do not want to rely on pills unless I truly have to take them. She agreed with me and said that exercise is the best remedy at times. Now, if they could only make a pill to end my sheer laziness!

This morning, I had blood work done. I had to go in twice – once before eating breakfast and once after. They will be checking for hypoglycemia, thyroid, iron, glucose, and so on. I will get the results come January 29^th. I’m not as paranoid of the results. I’m at the point where I just want this lightheadedness to end. I’ve basically been off for an entire month on a work hiatus and I haven’t been up to venturing out solo. I feel like I haven’t done enough during this time off, physically and socially speaking.

During this time off, however, I have completed my second New Year’s resolution. I have made soup.

Now, I realize this isn’t a life changing resolution like most people make and then eventually break. That’s why I keep my resolutions simple. I don’t even like calling them resolutions. Ah, more like non-stressful plans for the year ahead of me. If I fail to complete a non-stressful plan for 2007, it’s no big deal. I think the idea of finding a new doctor was the most stressful one on my list. However, one should never underestimate the power of a good bowl of soup.

I have to toot my proverbial horn here. I made a pretty damn good pot of soup for my first time. Sweet Baby Jesus, it was a damn fine bowl of soup! I made a tasty pot of leek and potato soup. It was a, as Borat would say, great success! And not only a pot of soup, I made a dozen of cheese and onion muffins to eat with it.

I rock domesticity.

Tags: Doctors, Health, Resolutions, Soup

Chia Pet Update

2007-01-10T20:58:00.000-05:00

I know...y'all have been on the edge of your seats, waiting for the hot Chia action...

When starting your Chia Pet, be prepared for a mess. I don't think I would ever want a child doing this in my house unsupervised. It's messy and it's not as easy as it looks to apply the seeds. You don't need two teaspoons of seeds either. You soak the seeds which turn into this strange seedy gel. You carefully rub the gel on your hippo (yes, it sounds pretty hot, huh?) and wait for the seedy action to begin. I'm still waiting.

As you can see, the Chia Hippo is not as bathed in seeds as I wanted him to be. It's rather difficult and I'm sure his coat will be a patchy one.

It's been about a week and the only growth has been on two or three seeds. Maybe I need to sing the Chia theme song to it?

Despite my tiredless efforts (okay, only filling his planter to the top everyday), Chia Hippo has yet to grow a mossy pelt. Torturous methods were needed - I am now forced to mist him with water and keep a plastic bag on him. I'm cruel that way. Note: Weedy the Bonsai Weed is in the lower right hand corner. :) Send him special growth vibes.

Stay tuned...

Tags: Chia Pet

Tour Widow's Pussy...ahem...cat

2007-01-10T20:55:00.000-05:00

So I bought myself a handy digital camera for Christmas. You'd think I would take photographs of my family and friends. Nope, I took photos of my darling Tiki - she is our cat that lives back home with my folks. Oh, how I miss that furry little face.

This is the first picture I took of her. She looks like a little supermodel here, all skinny and stuff:

She usually doesn't look this grumpy:

I think she is mad at me now:

But my favourite...looking like a purrfect Turkey Angel at Christmas(and yet still disgruntled):

Tags: Animals, Cats, Pets, Tuxedo Cats

Tour Widow does Chia Plant!

2007-01-09T22:20:00.000-05:00

Yep...I got myself my very own Chia Pet this Christmas from one of my best friends. Little did she know, I have always wanted a Chia Pet. Call me lame, but I like silly little things like this. Anyway, it's been days since I started this project (if you can call it that). My Chia Hippo has yet to grow a fine coat of chia herb. Sigh. I think Chia Hippo is in cahoots with my supposed bonsai "tree" which looks like a small weed. Also, I bought myself a digital camera over the holidays so I can take photographs of my exciting, fast-paced life here in Montreal.

Day One~
You are supposed to soak the Chia Hippo planter. I did that. And boy, was I excited to start planting. I soaked him for the suggested 24 hours and then realized that I was supposed to soak the seeds as well. Oops. Chia Hippo soaked for 48 hours instead. I think he enjoyed his bath.

Awww... isn't he cute?

Tags: Chia Pet

Update.

2007-01-09T21:02:00.000-05:00

Another year has come and gone. This year I will be turning the so-called “big three-o”. Good grief. Sometimes I wonder how last year slipped past me so quickly, let alone thirty of ‘em. Age is only a number, right? I’ll be saying that to the hunky and young pool boy when I’m 80, heh. That and then, “get off my lawn”. And by lawn, I mean….

Anyway, I am not here to complain about my age or appear reflective (also known as panicky) on the last year or last thirty. I’m just here to catch up with you all. Make yourself a hi-ball of gin and tonic or a frothy mug of hot chocolate and get comfortable.

I know I have been a stranger lately. Lately is certainly an understatement, I suppose. There are unanswered emails and tardy responses. Sincerely, I hope no one is offended at me. At least it is cutting down my list of friends on myspace! Truth be told, I simply do not feel like being online. I don’t feel like wasting time – there are much better things to waste time with and I should know - I’m a constant waster of time! I don’t feel like being frustrated with the errors of myspace. I don’t feel like tearing out my hair every time myspace eats a blog. I don’t feel like wasting away reading the same bulletins written by different people, the tired out surveys and the demands on me to look at their new pics. Don’t get me wrong. I will read them if they are written by people I actually consider friends or interesting strangers, I will look over your new photographs and smile. The point is if I’m going to waste time, let it be with something that I actually enjoy. It may be a long handwritten letter or a well planned out hearty meal, a long distance phone call or curled up with a good book. It’s just a better way to waste time and there are less unexpected errors. And let’s face it. The last thing I really wish to do after a long day of work is to sit in front of another computer.

Work has been fine and I am on our Christmas break as we speak (or as you read). It was very hectic and draining the month or so. I’m at my old market research job but in a new position. I knew about this position for a long time. It was hard to keep quiet about it. Now, I’m what you call a listener. Quality control, if you will. Still, I do interviews when needed and necessary. It’s been a very good experience so far and I am sure it will continue to do so. When I first found out about this position, I was afraid that I was not strong enough to stand up to people who are doing things wrong and help them correct themselves. I still feel that pinch of nervousness and doubt. I try my best through and I believe that they are relatively pleased with my work thus far. I feel much more open and outspoken at work. I have my weak moments but I’m becoming much more comfortable to stand up for myself and more aggressive. It’s what I needed. Besides learning how to be more aggressive, I have discovered that I have absolutely no tolerance for most people under 25 nowadays. Anyway, it’s been interesting. What has been super cool is that my boss, amongst others in the office, has been very encouraging to me with my attempt (or lack thereof) to learn French. They will speak to me in French and then translate. I am comfortable asking them what something means in French or how to say it.

In November, we moved into a new apartment. Whew, at last! This has been such a relief, to say the least. The place is much larger, much cleaner, and very quiet compared to the last place. There are no mice! There is no waterfall coming out of our ceiling – knock on wood. Our neighbors are relatively quiet. I feel a bizarre sense of satisfaction when I clean because it actually looks clean. It has been a very good change for the both of us. There seems to be a sense of calm now between us. Perhaps it is the space we now have. Not only do we have space, we have light! We have a better view out of living room window as opposed to a brick wall and rotting garbage. The other day I sat on the couch and just wrote. I felt so peaceful and at home. It is a good feeling to have. It feels like a home. The other place didn’t have that true feeling.

A few days before I flew home for my annual Christmas visit, I fell ill. I don’t know if ill is the right word because I still don’t know what is wrong. One evening after work, I was walking home with my co-worker. I was feeling fine all day, maybe drank a little too much coffee than normal on an empty stomach. In the middle of a stride, I felt strangely lightheaded. Not my normal, I-need-to-eat-on-time dizziness. It was something else. I steadied myself against my co-worker and walked slowly to the metro. This feeling lingered for a few days and I couldn’t put my finger on it – could it be an inner ear thing or an eye thing? Vertigo? Low iron or blood sugar or blood pressure? Funny enough, I only feel this way when I am in public and there is a lot of motion around me in my peripheral vision. Usually, that is. The more aware I am of it, the worse it gets. Seeing the metro zoom past me makes me lightheaded. Walking in the grocery store where there are tall shelves of packages as people walk by and where there are colorful tiles beneath my feet makes me feel off. It is a very unsettling and uncomfortable feeling. I went to see the walk-in clinic doctor when I was back home and he checked the basic things – ears, eyes, mouth, blood pressure. Everything looked fine, he said. He had a very sincere look in his eye when he told me to promise I see a doctor when I got back to Montreal. Also, he said that it sounds like anxiety to him. I always knew I leaned towards the anxious and nervous side. I just never wanted to hear it said by a doctor. He gave me a very small prescription of Ataman to take when needed. I took one to see if I would experience any side effects. I didn’t want to take my first one in public and find myself passed out on a mall bench, as bums pick through my pockets. Or worse, have the side effect of explosive diarrhea. Thankfully, I just took a lovely journey to a town called Sleepyville. I began to feel better in the middle of my trip and it was only a couple of days ago where I felt like this again. It feels like being on a plane when you are ascending and descending. It’s a weird, another world type of feeling. I found myself a doctor taking new patients very close to our place and hopefully I will know more this week. Wish me luck. I am trying not to worry about this because I realize it will only make me feel worse. Sigh!

As for my trip home, it was great but flew by too quickly. Christmas is always a funny time of year to visit. I never get to see the amount of old friends I wish to see. Everybody, including myself, is busy with family. People are saving up their money for New Year’s Eve celebrations. They are wrapping up work and getting together with their other sets of old friends in from out of town. I can only understand and make the most of it. Once again, I wasn’t feeling that great so I didn’t want to exert myself with many social activities, like going out to a bar or what have you. I did get to see a handful of friends and catch up though. There was a great little Christmas party, lunch with old friends, late evening coffee sessions. A day of shopping in the not-so-crowded mall. Hanging out at friends’ houses. Sitting around in my mom’s kitchen, chatting with those who stopped by for a minute. I walked through the village one afternoon with a friend, stopping by the shops that I used to browse in. On my last night, we had drinks in a local drinking hole. Nothing fancy about the bar but it was being with my old friends that made the evening special. It is often a bittersweet feeling.

The best part about going home is seeing my family. I miss them more and more, each time I walk away to board that plane back to Montreal. Even if I see them on every single day of my visit, it doesn’t feel like enough time! I had a little more time with my sister this time around and we even had a little sleepover at her place. We spent the entire day in pajamas, playing video games. When was the last time we did that!? Probably when Colecovision was the hottest must-have toy for Christmas. I got to spend a lot of time with parents and my grandmother as well. I regret not seeing my brother-in-law as much as I could have – we totally have a bowl of boozed up punch with our names written all over it, as we gang up on my sister with sarcastic comments and jokes. And last but not least, Tiki. I spent so much time playing with my cat. That sounds dirty, heh. I missed my beautiful little kitty cat sooo much. What an angel. I taught her a few more tricks (for example, attacking my leg) and she thoroughly enjoyed her new cat toy I gave her. Those with animals – always give daily thanks for that furry little face that brightens up your every day. As least I have my new neighbor’s cats (as well as the strays they feed) to make me smile. I’ll have to take a photograph of their cat. I call it the “big white cat with the small white head”.

Sometimes it is hard being away from home. So much can change in a few months, let alone a year or two. Each time I come home, I notice changes in people and changes in myself. As I mentioned, it is a bittersweet feeling. It makes me feel like I am in limbo, in a sense. I don’t have a wide circle of friends here and people are a’changin’ back home. Often, I feel a little left out of the loop with people back home. It’s nobody’s fault, of course. I guess that is what happens when you move away. The best feeling is when you meet up with someone you haven’t seen in a very long time and there have been so many changes. You meet up, you go to some dingy coffee shop, and it’s like you have never left – it’s like you just hung out with that friend only a few days ago and are laughing at the same old things again. I like that familiar feeling, like no time has passed whatsoever.

So now I am back in Montreal and the days have been lazy. I have been writing everyday in my journal. I have been tending to my new Chia pet. I have been reading. I have been learning new knitting techniques (don’t expect a sweater soon). Out of sheer curiosity, I have been watching Ultimate Fighting events. I have even made cinnamon buns from scratch! I’m sort of anxious to get back to work but not really, to be honest. I like work, I like making money – but I want to take care of this dizziness thing before it gets the best of me. I want to be able to venture out on my own without the fear that I will black out one the metro or in a crowded shopping center.

I am turning 30 years old come February. Yarg! It seems wrong not to celebrate this age (as I write this, I am mildly cringing) without the people that I grew up with, from childhood through to high school. If I was loaded with cash, I’d fly out a few old friends for a weekend of boozy celebrations. Sigh…I can dream, can’t I?!

Tags - Christmas, Dizziness, Family, Friends, Health, Life

Wet and Wild

2006-11-01T19:43:00.000-05:00

As some jerk once said, when it rains – it pours. This should be the motto of our current apartment that we will soon be moving out of. Thank goodness for that, since our apartment has been equivalent to a house made out of cards. Piece by piece, it is truly falling apart.

It never fails. Something retarded must happen when my partner is on the road. It seems to be some sort of unwritten law. If it isn't a mouse seeking shelter in our stove top (which was the source of Friday night's emotional meltdown), it's something else. And that something was presented to me on Sunday afternoon.

In anticipation of my partner arriving, I took the time to dress up for him. I wasn't feeling that great about myself earlier in the weekend so I figured I would doll myself up for his arrival. I put on this tight and low cut shirt, a black skirt, and knee high argyle socks – saucy, mais oui!? I was doing the dishes in this outfit because I hate doing housework. The way I see it, if I'm going to do some redundant chores I might as well sauce it up a bit. You all should try it sometime. Nothing beats making a bed while wearing a very short skirt or vigorously scrubbing a bathtub in a boobtastically low cut shirt. Anyway, that's beside the point. So here I was, vigorously scrubbing dirty dishes in the sink. I have some good music blasting in the background. I feel good. I feel sexy. Soon, my man will be home and I'll be all over him like white on rice.

I hear a noise.

It's a kind of snapping noise. I turn off the water and stop cleaning the dishes. My first thought was fire. I'm morbid like that. I peek my head around the corner. There's fucking water pouring from the light fixture in the hallway. Fuck me. I'm pretty indecisive when it comes to first reactions but I kicked into gear, while profusely swearing. I'm grabbing buckets. I'm putting on my shoes because I don't want to get electrocuted. I'm running upstairs to pound on our stupid neighbor's door. There's no answer. I call all the numbers in our phone book – the landlord ("mailbox is full, goodbye"), a caretaker (who says he has nothing to do with this building), and the so-called handyman (number is disconnected). I call my in-laws and they tell me to call for emergency, which I did. By now, it is a waterfall pouring from my ceiling. Great.

I ran around the place, moving guitars and trying to remove all the vinyl we have in that area. There is a lot of vinyl and water is streaming on top of me. Within minutes, the firemen came to my rescue. Thank God. I have to admit, they did look very amused. Of course, they were concerned at the fire hazard this posed and at the stuff that was quickly being damaged. But here I was, all dressed up and nowhere to go but tend to a big messy disaster happening in my apartment as water dripped all over my cleavage. Hey, at least they got a smile out of it.

In a few more minutes, my father-in-law showed up to keep me calm and assess the damage. I was glad for the company, that's for sure. We were both glad that my partner wasn't home just yet because he would have seriously strangled the upstairs neighbor. Let's just say, they are not the sharpest tools in the shed. If they are not leaving the doors open for cracked out bums to squat in our building, they are playing their loud art-rock crap to keep us up at night. An unnoticed water tank leak doesn't surprise me in the least. About ten or fifteen minutes into the domestic waterfall, one neighbor came home to see her door busted down and probably a lake in her apartment. Her first reaction – a hearty laugh. A hearty laugh? Jesus Christ! Who finds this funny? When our water heater busted earlier this year, I didn't bust a gut. I think it took her a good hour and change before she realized her vinyl was ruined to which she bellowed a hearty "like, oh my god?"

And then my partner came home, earlier than we expected. I wanted him to come home to de-stress from being on the road. I wanted to make him some tea, have a nice dinner, and have a long hot shower. Nope, he came home to this – firemen walking through our house, the electricity shut off, a lake in our hallway, and the dumb laughter of our idiotic neighbors. He was obviously instantly irritated, to say the least.

Eventually, the landlord and his minion, the "handyman", arrived at the scene. I wanted to punch the landlord in the neck because he walked up the stairs with this shit eating grin on his smug little face. Hell, what does he care? They have never cared about the concerns of their tenants in the first place, whether it is a shit load of water pouring from our ceiling or waist deep rotting garbage filling up our fire escape. They simply do not give a shit. There was a slightly heated argument between the boys. I avoided that scene; I was already stressed out as it was. The handyman looked at our apartment because he was apparently there to fix something – which he didn't. He was trying to turn on the breaker in our apartment but we barked at him to stop. The firemen told me specifically to not turn on the electricity for a good day so that the ceiling and what have you can dry out. But no, the half-wit handyman is pawing at our breakers and saying it should be no problem. There was so much dumbassery from our landlord, the "handyman", and neighbors – it wasn't even funny. And then they were asking me, why didn't I call them? Why didn't I let them know before the firemen came to knock down their door? Fuck you! I have water pouring from MY ceiling and out of a light fixture, no less. And you want me to sit there and wait for them to pick up their phone? Yeah, like that's going to happen. These are the same people that told us that there were no hot water tank repairmen to fix our water tank when it sprung a leak. In the entire city, no one was available. You know, except for the one we called ourselves. Lazy bastards.

Needless to say, we are living in chaos at the moment. I'm glad that we didn't have too many of our precious possessions ruined. And I am truly glad that we have finally have the keys to our new place and we can get out of this shit hole at last.

My Halloween Costume - An Insecure Girl

2006-10-28T18:39:00.000-05:00

I used to love Halloween. I still love it. I feel as though my level of enthusiasm is dwindling though. I feel my level of enthusiasm is dwindling on a lot of little things recently. I suppose you can say that I am in a bit of a funk to say the least. I am not going out this Halloween. I didn’t go out last year either. This, I admit, saddens me.

Back home, it’s always “back home…”, I used to do it up right. Sure, I never had a concrete plan for my costume. I rushed around just like everyone else, putting my costume together at the last minute. I always came up with something, whether it was good or not. The last costume I wore for Halloween back home was Rosie the Riveter – the “You can do it!” poster girl. Some thought I was a mechanic. One customer at work thought I was a farmer. The frustrated but dirty minded business men, the majority of my customers at the store, thought I was plain ol’ sexy. My last costume here was Vampira. Basically, I looked like myself with more extreme eyebrows and a little more pale than normal. Still, it was all in good fun.

Now, my costume is a pair of pajamas on a Saturday night and bed-head hair. Oh, and a little patch of stress induced acne on my face. I am alone and I can’t shake this stupid sense of blue.

I have been feeling so far from sexy lately. I don’t have the greatest skin and I thought it was something that I worked through. I thought I accepted it. I know I did back home. Regardless of the scars on my face and the few nasty break outs, I still had people complimenting me and appreciating my beauty. I know I shouldn’t rely on the observations of strangers. It shouldn’t constitute my mood. If I am simply not happy with myself, no amount of compliments and sly glances will make me be that constant and happy person. But here in this city, I don’t see it. Have I built a wall so thick that no one can see me at my best? My partner does and that’s what truly matters. He sees me for my beauty. He loves me. He doesn’t care if my face looks like hell. He doesn’t care if I lounge around a little too long in my clothing that eventually looks like pajamas on my body. The others, those random strangers, see nothing. I have lived here for two and a half years and only caught two strangers checking me out. It’s not like I want people to ogle me every moment of the day. I don’t. I get the other side of the stick. Call me paranoid, but I see the way a lot of people look at me when I am on the subway or walking down the street. They look at me like I am ugly. They look at my short painted nails. They see how tired I look. They notice the quality of my skin. They see my skin. I know they do this. I have been laughed at on the subway in the past. Sure, they were kids and kids will always be jerks. Once, I heard someone say that it isn’t my fault that I am so ugly and I was paralyzed. I couldn’t turn around like I wanted to and say fuck you. Fuck you in your stretch jeans and fuck you in your retro 80’s look and fuck you with your boyfriend in his saggy assed jeans. Fuck you. I got off at my stop and shut down. I walked to work with tears in my eyes. What feels worse – to be called ugly practically to your face or to be silenced by the ignorance of teenagers?

It’s been a long time since I completely dolled myself up. It’s been a much longer time since I dolled myself up in new clothes. I haven’t been shopping in ages. I am very reserved with money because I don’t make much. I don’t know how long my job will last and we have to eat. I have to pay my bills. I can’t be carefree with my money like before – have I ever been carefree with it anyway? If something happens with my work situation, I can’t rely on anyone else. My partner is a musician. I’m glad he is doing what he loves but I worry. Overall, I am glad he is doing what he loves rather than making tons of cash while being absolutely miserable. I’m envious of that, I admit.

I want to be taken out and I want to wear that dress. You know that dress that stops you dead in your tracks as a mumbled “wow” spills from your mouth. I want to be lusted after. I want to walk into a room with that dress and have my partner drop his jaw. I want to beam and light up that room. It just seems that I don’t have that in me lately. I feel plain and invisible. My skin looks like hell. My options of doing my hair consists of wearing it in a pony tail or not (at least my bangs look good still). My clothing is all old. I am uptight. I can’t be comfortable and tell me when I had my last true belly laugh with a friend here? Tell me when I laughed so hard I had tears coming out of my eyes with a friend here? Tell me when I talked so comfortably with a near stranger with that certain openness? Let’s just say, it’s been a hell of a long time.

I want flowers.

I know all of this probably sounds pretty awful of me. I have a great partner who makes me feel loved and beautiful no matter what. God, he even puts up with all my wacko emotions. I’m very grateful for him. He thinks the world of me. I’m just not happy with myself and I’ve always been like this. For the life of me, I don’t know how to get over this mountain of insecurity I build for myself.

I have distanced myself from a lot of things here. I know it’s my own fault. I know I should have learned French by now. Knowing French would probably make things a lot less uncomfortable and awkward for me. It’s been two years and who can I call a true friend here? It seems like whenever I meet another women that I feel I connect with, something stupid and dramatic happens and I am just back to being acquaintances with them. I’m lonely. It sounds pathetic but it’s true.

I feel like it has been a long time since I could say I had an amazing night. I can’t seem to let loose here. I’m so bloody reserved, it makes me sick. I feel a tug of envy when I go to these shows and see everyone having a blast. Everyone is drunk and everyone is laughing and here I am – stuck in the middle of it all, trying to smile naturally. I hear about how great nights were, how much fun was had by all. When was my last great night, surrounded by friends and laughs and drinks and smartassery? I can’t let loose here. Back home, I was on fire. I went dancing and I had a circle of friends. I ogled women with my guy friends. I got ready with my girlfriends for a night of painting the town red. I had my set of private jokes with close friends. I had a sister nearby to console me if my world was falling apart or if I needed someone to annoy like only a little sister can do. We recently had a friend stay here from a far away city. I found myself talking to her and saw her zone out. Am I this boring? Do people no longer get serious conversation? I felt awkward yet again. I felt I still had nothing interesting to say. I feel so one dimensional lately. I make small talk and jokes at work and no one gets it (except my “team leader”).

Is this the difference between the English and French in humourous conversation? You don’t realize how lonely it is actually is when you live in a place that is difficult to make the simplest of small talk and passing jokes. Some days, I just want to make a random comment or compliment to a stranger and I hold back. City folk are different here, busy and rushed. And it is the language barrier. I used to loathe small talk and all those hellos from strangers downtown. Now, I long for it. I sit on the same subway car every morning, with the same people. There are no smiles of recognition. Back home, we’d call each other intimate strangers by now. I remember the first time a stranger here made small talk with me in the grocery store. I could have given him the biggest hug for those brief words. It was about soup and tofu but it made my week. I existed in this random city, this random grocery store. He took a minute out of his day to be friendly to another stranger. I truly appreciate his gesture. It made me very happy and his soup suggestion was a fantastic one at that!

Everything is layering up on me yet I am still so cold.

Tags:
Depression,Halloween,Insecurity,Loneliness,

Sadness,Strangers,Ugliness

The Great Mouse Breakdown

2006-10-28T13:59:00.000-05:00

I should be writing about something fun and sexy. I should be confessing a juicy bit or two about that time I drunkenly made out with one of my girlfriends or describing to you that panty shopping extravaganza. You know something giggly and girly - something flirty and foxy. But no...I'm still dealing with Mr. Jingles here and it's honestly putting my mood off. I must admit, however, my mood was put off days ago. Maybe it is the arrival of shorter days and the winter. The mouse in my house just gives me that last straw, that reason to have a big ol' messy breakdown in the middle of my kitchen.

If you read my last post, I wrote about the discovery of a mouse in my apartment. Clearly, this mouse is taunting me. The mouse only seems to grace my presence. It never comes out when my boyfriend is home. And this, I fear, makes me look crazy! Oh no, it stays wherever he set up camp. The boyfriend leaves the room and I enter that same room - and there it is. Taunting me, laughing its mousy laugh. Of course, it somewhat behaves itself when my partner is home and that's fine. He goes away for the weekend and let the fun and games begin. Great.

Last night, I was talking on the phone to a friend and saw it skedaddle across the counter, jump behind the fridge, and run under the washing machine. I let out this stupidly girly squeal on the phone. I can handle it running across the floor for dropped crumbs or what have you. I can almost handle that. Once it starts crawling on the counter...that's another story. I stood there and thought what the fuck am I doing wrong here? I clean up, I keep the counters clean, and all food is kept well packed and away. It's still running across my fucking counter and I have absolutely no heart to go out and buy a mouse trap. Oh, I can buy the mouse trap but I don't want to see or deal with a dead mouse carcass. That is NOT in my job description.

I clean up the kitchen again. I wipe the counters down again. I sit down to smoke a cigarette. I decide to touch up my nail polish. I walk into the kitchen to grab the bottle of polish and look! The fucker is on the counter again and disappears INTO THE STOVE ELEMENT! And then I had my mental breakdown.

Like I said, I can handle if it was just running across the floor. No, it's not my idea of fun but I don't prepare food on the floor. Now, this little rodent is not only running across my counter but is pooping in my oven. Pooping my oven! My eyes fill with stupid tears. I call my mom.

I love my mom but sometimes she can be a little morbid. I whine to her about my mouse problem and how it went into the stove and all I want is her to say that everything is going to be okay. I want to be coddled. Just for once, coddle me. Anyone, please. I am surrounded by realists. Tell me that I'm good and everything will be okay and that I'm loved and I have not much to worry about. Nope, I don't get that - well...only from my sister - thank God for her. Mom tells me to hit it. Kill it with a pan, she says. Chase it out the house with a broom and kill it. Poison cheese with bleach. She goes on and on about the different ways to kill this pest while my dad is piping in the background with a hearty "kill it with a flyswatter! kill it with a fly swatter!” And to make matters worse, she tells me that mice can chew wires and I should watch out. This very mouse can set my apartment on fire. Thanks, mom. She tells me I should do this and that, clean out the stove as well. And then it dawned on me, I'm turning 30 soon and I don't even know how to clean out my oven - let alone deal with mice on my own.

And then I called my sister and cried like a baby. Not only am I getting old; I'm living in an apartment with a mouse problem that only is a visible problem when I am home alone, I don't even know how to clean my oven, and I'm going to wake up to a blazing fire in my apartment. And worst of all? I have been feeling very lonely these last few days. I don't have anyone to call up and vent to in this city. And it's probably my own damned fault.

I suppose this entire mouse thing is the last straw. I know this funk I am in is not all about the mouse. Bah, crying while I write a blog makes me feel fifteen years old.

I haven't taken care of the mouse. I put bowls and pot lids over the elements. Mom suggested sprinkling laundry detergent around the place it always seems to hide away to. I haven't seen it since. Yeah, I know it's avoiding the problem. I don't want to use the oven or the stove. I don't want to even use the toaster. Was it lounging around in there too? Have I been cooking and baking my food with mouse dropping nearby? I'm sorry, but that's fucking gross. I guess I should be a bit grateful - I haven't seen multiple mice, the droppings on the floor/counter have been very minimal, and my apartment hasn't started on fire yet.

Thank GOD we are moving out soon. Thank GOD we are getting a new stove that doesn't have the standard elements. Thank GOD that our new place isn't surrounded by idiots - landlords and tenants, who think it is okay to pile waist deep garbage in the fire escape and leave the doors open for mice and cracked out squatters. I can't wait to get out of here.

I just need a little help. Help with packing. Help with the mouse. I feel I am doing all of this on my own. I'm tired of being alone.

Tags:
Domestic,Loneliness,Mice,Mouse,Sad

Mouse in the House

2006-10-22T16:10:00.000-05:00

Why does all the stupid stuff happen when my partner is on the road? I suppose I shouldn't fret. I shouldn't be so nervous. Nothing broke down like that one time he went on the road in the middle of the winter and the washing machine backfired ice cold water all over the kitchen floor. The only thing that happened this summer was the discovery of fucking maggots in the garbage can and I swear - that traumatized me.

This morning I awoke to the sounds of something eating something. Nothing loud and that concerning. I have a tendancy to worry about every single thing so I brushed it off and labeled it as sleepy paranoia. I got up, went into the living room, and heard another slight gnawing noise. Shit. And then I grabbed the baseball bat. I'd hate to see how I'd react if a person broke into the apartment if I am arming myself with a bat when I fear the presense of a damned mouse.

I stood there in my pajamas and armed with a wooden bat. No, I wasn't going to kill the creature. I don't have that in me. Hell, I haven't even cooked meat since junior high home-ec class. I stood there and listened to the noise. Is it coming from under the stove? I poked the stove with my bat. Silence. What would I do with a home intruder? Tickle him with a knife? From under the stove wandered a little but replusive moisture bug. Nope, no fan of bugs. I took my partner's boot and killed him. I can kill bugs if need be. So I walked away and heard the gnawing noise again. Once again, I stood there and listened. We have this space where a dishwasher would go. There we have this plastic storage containers, beer bottles to be returned, and some flattened cardboard packaging. I poked the bat at the plastic containers and something ran past my feet. I like to imagine that I was dressed like some sassy 50's housewife in heels and a saucy house dress and I jumped on the table like a defenseless female. Instead, I slammed the bat down onto the floor ten times and squished the mouse into a bloody pulp as I screamed in my best Samuel L. Jackson voice, "I will have no motherfucking mouse in my motherfucking house!".

Actually, no. I stood there in my wrinkled pajamas and weakly held the bat in my hands. And then I mumbled something about this not being in my domestic job description - this is HIS job, not mine. And then I felt sick to my stomach.

No, I'm not scared of the mouse. I know it's scared of me. I feel I have some sort of domestic reputation to uphold. Does having a mouse guest mean your house is a complete mess? I think my worst enemy in cases like this is my vivid imagination. I don't picture one little hungry mouse. I picture mouse babies and hundreds of them. I picture this disgruntled rat the size of a small dog, living behind my fridge and picking food out of his teeth with a toothpick. Talking like a mobster in a New York accent. Smoking a cigar, after attacking my jugular vein in the middle of night. Why does this affect me more than the raccoon that decided to visit our kitchen in the summer?

Only a few more weeks and we'll be out of this place. Only a few more hours and he will be home. He can get reacquainted with Mr. Jingles when I'm at work tomorrow.

Tags:
House, Mice, Mouse, Rats, Rodents

Reading in Bed

2006-10-18T22:16:00.000-05:00

I read to you in bed,
the sheets pulled over our shivering bodies
that were otherwise naked.
Serenity in your smile and
peace in your eyes,
you taught me how to say superfluous
and I discovered just how beautiful you truly are.

As I read those words
my hungry voice wanted to confess -
Your beauty is something else,
something valued in my amazement
and something I have never witnessed.
The distance between us revealing
that I never wish to take for granted
your breath on my skin.
It warms me more than you will ever know.

I placed the book gently on your bedroom floor
amongst our scattered clothing
that fell from nights before.
I fell into you once again,
I fell into something that moves me.
Your face that shines before me
tells me I will never grow tired of discovering
Just how beautiful you truly are.

Death of a Childhood Pet

2006-10-14T20:31:00.000-05:00

A few weekends ago, my big handsome orange cat passed away. He was my grandmother's cat and he was 21 years of age. I knew my beautiful orange beast would have to leave eventually. Afterall, 21 years is a long time for a cat to live.

What I did not want to experience, perhaps selfishly, was that part of childhood departing along with him. The moment I heard he passed away, I felt just a little bit older. I cried.

I'm a cat person. I used to idolize Winnipeg's infamous "cat lady" when I was a child. When I got a little bit older, I laughed about looking forward to becoming a bingo playing baba with too much lipstick (running into my lip wrinkles) and rouge, a chain smoking habit, and living with thirty cats in lieu of a hubby. And then I fell in love with an allergic-to-cats man.

I lost my own childhood cat a few years back. She was sixteen and I grew up with her. She was my fiesty little calico angel, who adored to torment the majority of my friends with frightening growls and vicious claws. Often, we would share a good laugh and high five together after my friends went home. Once upon a time, I thought the end of a relationship was tragically difficult. And then I lost my childhood pet. Now that is true heartbreak - to say goodbye to someone who never honestly done you harm, someone who made you smile by simply curling up on warm laundry or chasing a toy, someone who loved you unconditionally. True heartbreak, I tell you, when you come home after a long day of work and there is no furry little face looking up at your with sheer innocence.

I had a special bond with my big handsome orange cat, I like to believe. He was born in my backyard when I was 8 or 9 years old. He was the calmest of the four kittens. A small bundle of orange fur. The other kittens, they eventually found their own homes. This fluffy orange kitten ended up at my grandmother's and became somewhat of a barn cat.

Maybe I didn't have a connection with him. Maybe I just like to think we did. He trusted me enough to cradle him like a baby - even though he was a macho and masculine cat, a fierce hunter of birds and chipmunks. He would wait for me in the yard. In his older years and in the winter, he would remain in his little barn but poke his head out of his small cardboard box house which was stuffed full of woolen blankets. His coat was massive, covered with a thick mat of clumped fur which would eventually be trimmed off by my uncle come spring. No matter what, my big handsome orange cat would greet me with a happy meow. In the summer, he would come out and hop on this old school desk outside that was weathered with age. I would sit beside him and give him his well deserved affectionate petting.

When I was about eleven or twelve years old, he went missing for a good year or so. He wasn't one to stray, considering he had a large yard to explore. We had our suspicions to why and how he would go missing. One afternoon and quite the distance from my grandmother's house, my sister and I took my younger cousins from out of town to the park to play. Lo and behold, there was my big handsome orange cat sitting contently in the grass. It was him! I was so happy to hold him again. I was convinced it was him and we promptly took him back to my grandmother's yard, his home. Sometimes I wonder if it was really him or perhaps I simply abducted another cat. Ah, I do not regret my actions. I was convinced it was him and I found him. He never left home again.

Like most cats before they pass on, they don't feel well and barely eat. According to my family, he took one last walk around the yard and was later found in the bushes. He may not have been the prettiest cat, with a luxurious coat. He may have walked with hobble and had ragged ears from the winter's frost. He may have had a drooling problem. But to me, he was the most handsome big orange cat in the world.

Though I was sick my entire visit back home this summer, I got to say goodbye to him. I sat in the grass beside him, as he played with my sister with a long piece of grass. He meowed. I gave him a big hug and rubbed his kitty cat tummy. I called him my big handsome man cat and said goodbye. I knew it could be our last cuddle, our last exchange of adoring words and kitty cat purrs.

I'm gonna miss you, handsome one!

Tags:
Animals, Cats, Childhood Pet, Childhood, Death, Death of a Childhood Pet, Pets

Life

2006-10-11T20:31:00.000-05:00

You could say I've been on hiatus, just like your favourite television shows during the summer. There seems to be a lot of little news these days. A lot of little events. I should have been a lot less lazy but in all honesty - I just don't feel like sitting in front of the computer. Don't y'all worry now, I've been reasonably happy and life is good. Rest assured.

In a nutshell and a quick blurb about the last little while -
I went home for a two week visit in August. During said visit, I got a nasty headcold and it kicked my ass. It lingered and turned into a bleeding ear infection. And when I say "bleeding", I mean actual blood. I didn't see as many people as I would have liked to but I saw the light on a particular matter. I came back here, only to stress out about money. When I stress out, I become paralyzed and accomplish very little. Once that calmed down, I got a job. It's only temporary, it's full of team spirit, and I have to wake up at six in the morning. I may live most days as a character of Dawn of the Dead as I stumble to the metro, but it's paying my bills. As well, we have found a new place to live. We will be finally moving out of this little apartment in a few weeks. The building is nice and clean, there's plenty of room, and it's in the same neighbourhood but on a better side. It is very much a home. I anticipate decorating. I dread packing. In this very same nutshell, my grandmother's cat died. I will write a longer blog about this because I literally grew up with this beast of a cat. He was 21 years of age and I called him "my handsome cat". Sigh. I had a friend of a friend come to visit - it was nice talking with someone from home. Another friend from the south came to visit us this past weekend. Yeah, this nutshell doesn't sound like much. In lieu of sitting in front of the computer and wasting time, I have been busy in the kitchen with the cooking and the baking. Talking lots to friends, feeling the weight of money stress come off my lovely shoulders, and simply looking forward.

There is a reason I wanted to write tonight, however.

I found out the other morning that someone I knew of passed away in his sleep. Now, I'm not going to be an asshole and say I knew him, that we were buddies. Too many people do that when someone passes away and I cringe at the thought of being that brand of phony. Simply, he was my body piercer from years ago. He was my friend on myspace and we exchanged a few short comments a while back. Though I did not know him very well whatsoever, it came as a saddened surprise to hear this. What I did know of him was that he was kind and friendly. He put you at ease when you were in his presense and getting pierced. He was the definition of professional. He seemed truly genuine and I am certain that he will be missed by many.

Forgive me if I sound preachy. It is sad that these kind of stupid life occurances (that don't seem fair) solidly remind us that we should never go to bed angry at our partner or our parents - or hold silly grudges over silly issues with friends or family. Man, life is too short as it is. Let go of all those small things that line our breathe with petty bitterness or catty jealousies. Let go of that late night squabble about something unbelievably forgetable. Walk away from those that pull you down in their shitty little world and be there for yourself, be there for the people that truly appreciate you.

And never forget to tell that person that you love them. Or that you appreciate them. Or a thank you for being such a wonderful mother or father or sister or brother-in-law or friend.

...more blogs to come, promise!...




Tags:
Death, Life, Love, Relationships

Boobs and Titties!

2006-08-12T21:14:00.000-05:00

Currently, I'm going through boob envy. I don't know at what point this envy has reared it's ugly head, but it's here. Like a good paranoid and overanalytical girl I am, I am dissecting every possible reason for this feeling. Ah, I can never let feelings easily pass.

The thing is, I am feeling incredibly sexy lately. Sexy thoughts are running through my head. I'm sexually curious these past few days (or rather, the thoughts that have always been there are coming alive). My body feels good. I feel fun and sexy. Fun and sexy like sassy, put your hair up in pigtails and wear your best schoolgirl outfit and have an ass-slappin' good time fun and sexy. Fun and sexy like pull those pigtails and show me who's boss, teach this bad girl a lesson that's hard to swallow. Heh....I'm even working myself up just by writing this blog. Whew.

*insert greasy smile here*

My partner recently returned home from being on the road for two and a half weeks. Seems like nothing when you have 52 weeks to fuck with in a year, but believe me - it's tough. Especially when you overload on porn to kick off the time alone. He's gone tonight but returns tomorrow. I leave on Wednesday for two weeks. Time is running out! All I want is my hair pulled, my skin bitten, and my ass slapped. Show me that you love me - leave a playful mark!

Anyway, back to the boob envy. I'm feeling sexy and naughty lately. I'm liking my body, despite being a little fleshy in the middle section. My skin is clear. The days are bright and there's this very loving, honeymoon vibe that has surrounded us since my partner got home. I feel loved, I feel beautiful. But what about my boobs?

Is bigger better? Would I actually feel better mentally if they were bigger and bouncier? Would the attention I would garner be legit? After playing with them for a while, will I become bored?! Is this a symbol of my own insecurity?

Yes, of course it is. Life wouldn't be better with bigger titties. Sure, some guys (and hopefully some ladies) would selfishly agree. I'd probably get more stupid attention and a little less eye contact. I'd have to buy a new wardrobe. Am I falling into the ridiculous assumption that I would be more confident with bigger tits? Who knows, maybe I would be bizarrely more confident.

I'm a tall girl. I'm slender but not a walking stick figure. I have hips, I have a nice ass. I wouldn't complain at a little more boobage. Other than the obvious brains and nice smile bit, my best feature would be my long legs. Gams, or walking sticks, don't get enough credit. It's always the boobs that get objectified and maybe I'm in need of a little objectifying lately. Don't get me wrong, I'm very content with my legs. They're classy and no one can accuse them of being implants or plastic. I can pull off trashy garters and I can pull of fishnets with great success. But still...my boobs ain't tumbling out of my shirt as I like them to! Tumble, dammit, tumble!

My boobs are a big insecurity. Not because they are small - because they are quite uneven. Yeah, yeah...I know it's completely normal. Many girls are uneven. None of my former partners nor my present (and very hot) partner have complained. However, I live with them. I contain them in a bra (almost) everyday. I see them attempt to jiggle in all those appropriate (and sometimes inappropriate!) moments. I'm the one who has to find an expensive bra to conceal this insecurity and try to create some harmony (AKA, even cleavage) between my breasts. I feel like I'm not all there, as far as my boobs are concerned. I'd be satisfied if they were both the same size - even though I'm sure this insecurity is simply obsessed on and personally exaggerated. I'm sure my boobies are just fine the way they are.

My partner is in a band. The singer loves to drunkenly coax the ladies into flashing their boobies for free swag. He takes pics of all the boobies on tour and proudly displays them on his MySpace and cellphone. Yes, I have my stupidly jealous-for-no-reason moments. I am learning to brush them aside. As I dissected my jealousy, I realized that secretly I want to be that wild girl who actually has the nerve to flash her titties. The only thing that holds me back has been this damned insecurity about my somewhat uneven boobs. I want to be objectified!!! I live in a city where NO ONE objectifies me! Well, no one under 60 and beyond my slum neighborhood. I want to catch someone looking at my small but reasonably proud amount of cleavage! I want someone to notice me cross my legs and find the subtly in that sexually appealing!

Even though it's the guys who are eyeing up the boobies, the women have always been worse in pointing out these kinds of natural flaws such as having uneven boobies. When I got my nipple pierced a long time ago, I had one of the most unnecessary embarrassing moments of my life. If you've ever had your nipple pierced, you know that you don't really feel like putting on a bra afterwards. I walked out of the piercing room, content at my new piercing and a little dizzy with my extra sensitive nipples. This woman was sitting in the waiting room, along with a few other people. She pointed at me and loudly barked, "I bet you got that one pierced". She pointed at the slightly bigger boob. I declined to tell her what I got pierced. Oh, but she went on and on and on. It was like a terrible Saturday Night Live sketch, where five minutes seems like eternity. The other people in the waiting room shuffled around nervously. I became uncomfortable and irritated as this chick was obsessed with my boobs! She kept calling out the fact that my breasts aren't "perfect". I felt smaller and smaller. The woman that pierced me finally shut her up by saying that it was none of her business and that no woman has perfect real breasts. All that embarrassment for a simple piercing. Dumb bitch.

Yeah, that was just one very obvious incident that added to the insecurity that has always been there. I used to be so insecure whenever a partner first saw me naked. Now, I'm comfortable. They may be a small handful but I have delicious looking nipples. Sure, I can't necessarily fill out a shirt to the point of button popping, but I won't have back problems when I grow up. I won't worry about saggage. I'm stuck with them - I have to learn to be happy because being miserable with yourself isn't sexy and doesn't help you out in the bedroom.

Besides, I got me some long gams to wrap around my man.

Tags: Boobs, Breasts, Insecurities, Sex, Tits, Women

No Longer a Tour Widow...for now

2006-08-03T13:24:00.000-05:00

Late Monday night, my man returned home! Good grief, what a lengthy time apart! Needless to say, I am glad that he is around again.

I was on pins and needles all night. It felt like we were dating again and it was all shiny new. I got all prettied up, even though he was scheduled to arrive in the middle of the night. I didn't care. I just wanted him to see me again, looking fresh and dolled up even though the first thing he wanted to do was take a shower with me. So, at least he saw me dolled up for a good fifteen minutes!

He came home, tired and furry-faced. I kept staring at him, as though I have never seen him before. What a handsome man, he takes my breath away! We talked for a bit and got him settled in. It was nice to sit and talk with him - and not just over the telephone. Damn, did I ever miss him.

Clearly, he missed me too. We showered together and there were plenty of passionate kisses between us. Even though being apart sucks big time, time apart is often good. It helps you realize that all those little aggravations that come with living with someone are just little meaningless things. You appreciate your partner, with a little time off and space. You are more grateful to have that person in your life. I think it benefited me to have a long distance relationship with him. I like to think that I never take him forgranted, though I'm certain that we all do in some way and at some time or another. I remember how much it sucked to live in two different cities. It wasn't easy but it taught us to value one another and enjoy each other. Even with the simple things, like holding your lover's hand. We certainly enjoyed one another the night he came back from tour. Wink, wink. Knudge, knudge.

I'm glad to say that he won. Aunt Flow lost the race! Yippee! For once, my body worked with me and not against me! We got in some time to get "reacquainted" and the next day I got my period. At least I got a little action before I was stricken with "the curse". Speaking of action, last night we put on some doowop and kissed. I find that kind of music especially fun to make out to. It makes me feel all fuzzy romantic inside. It makes me dizzy and want to kiss and be kissed. Drunk with love - Le sigh!

Yes, everything feels great and back to normal. We've been talking a lot and enjoying each other's company. We have been eating bowls of ice cream between kisses. I mentioned how one day I would like to be called his wife and he didn't run away with sheer terror. Okay, actually I asked to be called his Wife-o. Haha...I love words with an O at the end of them.

Day Eighteen and Sixteen Hours!

2006-07-31T10:50:00.000-05:00

My man is sixteen hours away from me. This means he just may arrive here before Aunt Flow comes! I'm thrilled, although I can honestly see getting my period an hour before he arrives. That's the kind of luck I have.

Anyway, it was another sleepless night. I thought this whole stopping smoking thing was supposed to make me feel better. Nope, I actually feel like crap. My sinuses are stuffed up. My sleep pattern is all fucked up. I'm a walking zombie today. A walking, yawning zombie. I woke up every hour, wide-eyed. The raccoons came back and tore apart the neighbour's garbage at 5am and I couldn't help but laugh. I tossed and turned, stared at the ceiling. I finally fell asleep around 8am and an hour and change later, an old friend called. It was nice to hear from her but I feel like nothing ever makes sense when I am this tired.

I can't even write an exciting blog entry here! Bah!!! This is my last official entry as a Tour Widow, at least for the time being. I should be recounting the days in a carefree manner, laughing over small moments. I choose to yawn instead. I dream of nap. Mm, sweet sweet nap...

Maybe I'll be more clever later today. Right now, I am toast. And it's not even noon.Good news is, I have to wait up 'til 4 or 5 in the morning so I can let the boyfriend in. Sleepy...

Day Seventeen - Almost Home!

2006-07-30T22:42:00.000-05:00

I told myself no blogging until I get my shit together today. And finally, said shit is together. Here I am, at 11:42pm. It's a little later than I expected and I'm a little less full of piss and vinegar. Hopefully, I will entertain someone out there.

I heard from my partner early in the afternoon. He was calling from a small city about 2 hours west of my hometown. This means the easy part is done. Now comes the hard part - driving through Ontario. It would have been incredibly easier to simply drive through the States but they do not have any proof that they are NOT doing shows there. Otherwise, they would technically need a work permit to cross the border. Instead, they painfully cross the large province of Ontario. I wish them luck but what I really wish is for them to be home...NOW.

You see, the race is on. Yes, they all want to be home. Yes, they all want to see their significant others. However, I am full-on PMS monster. The race is on, bitches! I'm going to get my period anyday and, sweet baby Jesus, I want me some dirty sex. Damned period. I'm not what you call a regular girl. The only thing regular about my cycle is how it always seems to come whenever something relatively special is going on. Fuck you, Aunt Flow, fuck you! *shakes fists to heavens*

I wish I knew exactly when they were arriving, because I'm neurotic that way. The house is tidy. There's food in the house to eat. I will shortly finish watching the "things" I've downloaded and I'm too embarrassed to watch in front of my partner (it may or may not be Big Brother 7 live feeds). Also, I can just see him coming home when I'm taking out the garbage in my pajamas - while, not to mention, being incredibly bloated from PMS. I want him to come home and see the pretty me. Not the bloated whale in unsexy pajamas handling a bag of garbage, haha.

All in all, I am so very happy that he will be home very soon! It's exciting actually. It brings me back to a time when we were doing the whole long distance relationship thing. I feel like that girl of two years ago, getting off the airplane to see her lover again! I'm all giddy inside and elated! My knees are weak! I want to look extra pretty for him (even though I'm sure he thinks I'm always pretty, even in bloated pajama pants)! I just want to give him that long-at-last kiss! My best guess is that he will be home either VERY late Monday night or anytime Tuesday. Sigh...kisses!

The rest of the day flew by. I spent the majority of the day completing my last lesson on my online French course. I need a break. There is too much to remember about past and future tenses, too many verbs. My head is toast. I'm surprised I can write in English here tonight because the French honestly kicked my ass tonight. I don't think I have learned too much but I'm proud that I stuck to it nonetheless. I wasn't too pleased with the Barnes and Noble class anyway.

Other than the French, the rest of my day was great. I lingered at the bookstore, caressing the spines of gently used books. I picked up some groceries in a, believe it or not, relaxing environment. I talked to my plants. I talked to an old friend. I may or may not have done a short and spontanious robot dance to Gnarls Barkley. The sun was shining, the temperature was very comfortable, and old men ogled me in my neighbourhood. I feel sassy! Maybe a little bloated, but definitely sassy!

Perhaps it was the wine and estrogen - I had a couple of girls over last night for a soirée. It's nice to be surrounded by girls, as strange as that sounds. Our apartment is usually full of boys, which would probably appeal to my single girl friends. I'm usually swimming in testosterone and band sweat. It was my first time buying white wine and I ended up with a bottle that had a drawing of a monkey (not a member of the 60s band) eating a banana on the label. It screamed quirky, even though I dislike monkeys. It was also my first time buying a bagette. Does that mean I am now officially a true resident of this city?! Anyway, it was a lovely evening of drinking on the patio and girlish gossip. I look forward to more nights like that before summer is over.

Tags: French, French Lessons, Menstruation, Period, Women

Day Sixteen - Light-headed and Dreamy

2006-07-29T12:49:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling light-headed this afternoon. Am I falling apart? Is my blood sugar all wonky today? Please tell me body, I'd really like to know. I thought I was supposed to feel better after quitting smoking. I'm shaky and quivery - my body says to take it easy. I couldn't sleep last night. I woke up early, with a lot of energy. I popped on my hair metal compilation and bopped around the house. It was after that I started feeling shaky and light-headed. All I wanted to do was rock.

Maybe I need a sammich? Perhaps, I should play weepy and lethargic music instead of energetic inspired-by-the-80's music? Currently, I am listening to Dogs Die In Hot Cars. Ooh, I love 'em. They make me wanna slap on some jelly bracelets and do a Molly Ringwald dance. Enjoy it while I can...soon the man will be home and he'll leave the house whenever I feel like tripping back to the 80's or getting jiggy with it with hiphop. Yeah, I like saying things like "jiggy" to make me sound like a complete loser.

I had a dream last night about a girl who was being severely stalked by a man who could morph into different races. He was very mean and no one believed her. All she wanted to do was run away and be safe - but she couldn't. He placed bugged objects in her room so he could hear her plans on where to run next. He was the actor who plays Henry Gale on Lost/the orderly in Saw. When he morphed to attack her, he turned into a black man. The black man looked like Kramer's lawyer Jackie Chiles from Seinfeld. Even though I should have been taken aback by a scary stalker dream, it was Jackie the lawyer on Seinfeld - haha.

How could anyone be scared of Jackie Chiles!!! And he had that great moustache in the dream!!

Anyway, the band will be back home soon. Unfortunately, the van is sick with a broken alternator. My partner seems far from happy and I hope it is just the road talking. I probably unnecessarily fear certain things. I just want all of them to come back and DE-STRESS. Take some days off. Realise that being on the road causes personality clashes. Give it some time. And then have everything be back to normal.

Yeah, I don't do tension very well. I'd rather avoid it completely.
Can't we all get along?

Power Cleaning - A Romance With Mr.Clean

2006-07-28T23:30:00.000-05:00

One of the great things about having the house to myself is that I can freely dance like an idiot and not feel ashamed. Tonight, I slapped on my track pants (or something close to being track pants, I'm just trying to make myself sound gangsta) and threw on a Kanye West cd...and power cleaned. Holla! Usually, I listen to heady depressing music when I'm alone but I figured I'd "raise the roof" *insert Arsenio Hall dog calls and hand motions here* and kick it up a notch. Actually, I just wanted to make sure my power cleaning went quickly instead of listening to mopey music while tragically scrubbing the bathtub.

Yeah. Power cleaned. Everything is sparkly shiny. I think Mr. Clean loves spending Friday night with me. He reassures me that I am not a loser for staying in on a Friday night. So there.

I'm afraid I do not have any witty and captivating cleaning stories, unless you get off on girls who clean in low-cut shirts. Cleavage heaving away, with each and every scrub. Meow! Actually, I guess I got some more lipstick on the bathroom floor somehow. No big surprise, I get lipstick on everything. When I mopped - cleavage heaving, by the way - lipstick was smeared everywhere. Oh, Mr. Clean! Our love affair continues!

The guys are playing in a small city out west tonight. I wish I was there. There have only been two venues that I have been jealous about. Obviously, back home was one of them. Party with my friends, get drunk with my sister. Then, there was tonight. The only reason I want to be there is to meet my close online friend. No fair. I want to drink out of sour cream containers with her. Le sigh. Regardless, I hope they have a fantastic send off to the road home. They are missed and I hope they can return to the city in good spirits. And not wanting to kill one another.

Soon, soon, soon!

Day Fifteen - The Final Countdown

2006-07-28T17:32:00.000-05:00

Insert some Europe hair metal band synth here...because it's the final countdown! Oh yeeeah! One more show!

First of all, every website I go today is down. Everything I touches no longer turns to crap, but crashes. I think you can no longer blame it on Tom - I'm convinced I broke myspace. Sigh. Actually, I lied. I didn't break myspace. Although, I would really love to give myspace a punch in the neck given the chance.

I shouldn't be surprised, nor am I in any desperate need to check my myspace. I just wanted to spend Friday catching up on email. I punch in my email and password - oh look! An unexpected error! I punch it in again. And maybe a few more times. It eventually works, right? Well, then I received a bold red message that said I punched in this password too many times and now I must punch in the verification code. Here's the kicker - the verification code wasn't showing up. Thanks, Tom.

Hours later, the code is now appearing but I still cannot log in. Unless I've suddenly become dyslexic this afternoon but the code ain't working worth shit. I don't know how it is to run a major website that's very popular - but the amount of errors and shit becomes really tiring. Somedays, I just want to turn my back to it and press delete.

I'm happy to say that I feel much better today! Yay! No more heart attack! I even had a dream last night. I was at a friend's place and she was having a garage sale. She was selling bulk canisters of lime flavoured novelty condoms and a ton of vibrators. I wanted to buy a vibrator, so she showed me how to hook it up. She pretty much put the faux cock onto this power drill body - it was rather intimidating! Still, I bought it.

Not much to report. I spent the afternoon chatting to a friend online, doing French lessons, and coloring my roots. My hair is a major pain in the ass. Let's just say, it's not fun coloring your hair when it reaches down to the middle of your back.

I'm turning into a goddamn hippy.

Tags: Myspace

Day Fourteen - Sick of it ALL.

2006-07-27T16:43:00.000-05:00

Sigh. One more gig and a whole ton of country between there and home. I think I am officially sick of it. I just want him home.

I still feel physically unwell. I've had a difficult time putting my finger on it. It feels like heartburn yet it feels like a panic attack. It's less strong today but it's still dragging me down. It is the same feeling I had when I drank that Corona beer. Is it an allergic reaction to all the red wine I drank on Saturday night? I felt like this a day or two after drinking one and a half bottles of Corona. Perhaps, this lasts longer because I drank more wine that night? Whatever it is, I am sick of it. It's tiring. I have PMS. I'm lonely.

Come to think of it, this is the first time I have had no one to lash out on while on PMS. Hmm. These last few days I have felt like crying and crying. I'm not going insane, I promise. I just need to cry and release all that pressure I feel building up on my chest. I feel so far from witty and interesting. I feel like I failed at writing with all this time that was given to me. I have to remind myself that at least I am going through my French lessons online.

I couldn't sleep for the life of me last night. I would have loved a body next to mine, just so I could listen to the rhythm of his sleeping breath and have it lull me to sleep myself. I was tired but wide awake in bed. Around 4 in the morning, a raccoon started tearing apart the neighbour's garbage and I laughed. At 5, the raccoon and his friends came back for a second helping. It was amusing. Like I said in the past, raccoons are only funny when they are digging through your neighbour's garbage.

I feel like I am wasting away.

However, that is probably just an ultra dramatic statement brought to by the letters : P,M,S.

Day Thirteen - I Feel Weird

2006-07-26T19:49:00.000-05:00

I haven't been feeling well, these last few days. I thought, at first, it could be just the simple start of your general cold since my friend fell sick. I can handle that. I feel weird though. I know something isn't right but I can't actually put my finger on it. It's the same feeling I had when I drank that Corona beer, but not as queezy.

The best description is I feel like I am on the edge of a major panic attack. The funny thing is, I don't feel that mentally/emotionally stressed out. My throat and chest feels somewhat warm. I have a slightly heavy feeling in my chest. I'm exhausted. I feel like I can be easily winded, as though I have been smoking too many cigarettes (I haven't been smoking and not even craving it because of this feeling). I feel a little lightheaded and emotional. My appetite is fine. I feel better when I curl up on the couch and after I eat or drink something. I have a bad taste in my mouth.

I can function...don't get me wrong. I just don't feel right. Should I be concerned?

A friend reassured me and told me to stay clear of all those nasty self diagnosis websites. Heh, is it possible to be having a two day long heart attack? I talked to my partner and I cracked down in a big ol'mess of tears. Earlier, I paid some bills and I got teary-eyed. I curled up on the couch and cried for no reason. It's like I need a HUGE mental breakdown of tears to let it all out and I'll be fine.

My biggest worry is money. I don't feel like talking about it now, sorry.

Good news, I booked my flight to go back home. I'll be broke but at least I'll be stress-free.

Groupies

2006-07-25T12:32:00.000-05:00

What is it with girls and musicians? If someone has an answer to that, I'd really like to know.

I understand that when you settle down with a guy in a band, you have to learn to deal with the "fans". There's no way around it. Yeah, it's not fun to have flashes of secret jealousy but it comes with the package deal - and it doesn't help when the band's lyrics praise naked boobies and anal sex. Though it's all in good fun for the boys, I'm certain there are fans who naturally assume that these four guys are swinging playboys and mansluts who are just waiting to take a groupie back to the van and then it's on their way to the next gig.

That is the concept that creeps me out, only because I know the band personally. I'm aware of their personal lives and I know who they are when they aren't plucking guitar strings or singing into a microphone. They are far from playboys and mansluts - heh, maybe only for their patiently waiting partners at home!

I know I didn't lead the life of angel in my single days. I know I got myself into some pretty messes. Like most girls, I can be attracted to musicians. I can also be attracted to postmen or waiters or athletes. Heh, I don't discriminate! Maybe I am just a shy person, but it never really crossed my mind to set my drunken eyes on a musician with the goal of fucking him. Well, maybe young Leonard Cohen...but that's another story.

The other night, a cross-eyed hefty gal tried to pick up my man. She was cool at the beginning of the night. She had a boyfriend and he was to stay with them, as the others were at another house that was full of cats. Fine. She ends up dipping into the sauce and suggests that they "screw in the van". Don't worry...her boyfriend was only in the house with her four year old child. Yeah. The night before that, two girls tried to pick up him and another guy from the band. At least they backed away when they said they were in relationships.

Screw in the van? Jesus H. Christ. That irked me. I keep reminding myself...this is what happens when you're with a band guy...this is what happens when you're with a band guy. I threw it back at him. What if a man said that at the party I went to on Saturday night? Would he be pissed off? He said he wouldn't be, especially if the guy was that drunk. I know the truth, however. He would be very pissed off. I'm not into these games that make other people jealous but it will never happen here. I'm invisible to the eyes of Quebecois men. Back home, I was on fire. On fire!

This is the bottom line. These girls are only after them because of the fact that they're on stage and playing music. Would they be approached if they were simply that guy in the crowd enjoying the band? Probably not. Place an instrument in their hands, add some hair grease, and show your tattoos - and they're Gods. Take away the instruments and they are just any other guy with styled hair and tattoos. Dime a dozen. If you overanalyze that to death, there's not much compliment to be had there. Like I mentioned before, I know I've been through some pretty lil messes in my past. Now, I would hate to know the only reason why someone wanted to fuck me was because I was on stage. I would hate to know that I am just another girl that was unfuckable beyond the stage. There is so much in between to discover that goes unnoticed - and I think it's kind of insulting that all the in between stuff is completely disregarded.

Of course, I'm not a man in a band. I'm sure they probably get off on simply knowing that these girls are stupid enough to put out - and that's how these guys usually think, my dears.

It used to really make me crunchy when they coaxed girls into showing them their breasts. I've threatened to do that myself but I'm a little uneven, if you will. Then it hit me. Not my boobs, haha. I would be way more hurt and jealous if my partner actually sat down with one of these fans and had an intense conversation about those little but significant details. I would be hurt if he deeply asked her what her favourite book was.

So anyone, please tell me - what is it with girls and musicians? Why is it that they can say they are in a relationship or married, but these girls still try to weaken them into "screwing in the van"?

I would really like to know.

Tags: Groupies, Musicians, Relationships,Sex

Day Twelve - Fuck White Margarine!

2006-07-25T10:52:00.000-05:00

I just rolled out of bed a little while ago. I'm groggy and stuffed up, but I feel not too shabby otherwise. Thank God for the discovery of coffee! If I didn't have that morning companion, I'd be lost.

I slept well but in the middle of the night there was a bit of a thunderstorm. It woke me up but didn't alarm me. I got up to close the window, in fear of the potential wind that might knock over my collection of carnivorous plants. Instantly, I fell back to sleep. There must have been a lot of rain as I collected three mason jars worth of rain water! No, I don't collect rain water for the hell of it. It's the best to water your Venus Fly Traps with and it saves me from spending two bucks on distilled water every other week.

It has been weird since my partner left. I haven't had a dream that I can recall! I wonder if my body is a little more alert in bed because he is gone? Perhaps, I simply dream weird dreams for his amusement. I have me some strange ones typically.

I have to pay bills today (or very soon). I dread bills, like everyone else does. I know there's no way around it. They have to be paid, regardless. It makes me crunchy. I am holding off looking for work because I want to go home in mid-August. But money is tight. I really don't want to forgo August. I miss my family and I have a friend coming home from Asia. It's a matter of surviving until then and have a bit when I come back. Ah, sometimes I wish I was a kid again! I guess it's my own damn fault for not finding something to fall back on during these summer months. Let's hope my stinkin' work calls soon.

The other day I wrote the provincial government via their website to enquire about a French program that is offered but clearly hidden. I wish they would just cut me some slack but I realize that I have to do my fair share of sleuthing. I asked about this program or if there are any programs for people who are struggling with French and steady employment. I explained that I cannot pay for French classes as my employment isn't solid. I don't want to have to go on welfare just to take free French classes. I don't want to go on welfare, period. This program, I have heard bits and pieces about, is one where the government pays you while you take the free classes. I can do that! Finding information is another thing. You would think that a province so proud to be French would encourage others to learn. I received an email from them yesterday. All they sent me were links to other sites - the English school board, a collection of online French lessons, and a list of schools that offer classes. Yeah, thanks...for nothing. That did not answer my question ONE BIT. Sometimes I just want to say "FUCK YOU, QUEBEC". Fuck your white margarine and fuck your no caffiene in light coloured sodas. Fuck you!

Heh, my PMS says hello.

Day Eleven - Slightly Sick

2006-07-24T21:36:00.000-05:00

Well, there are only three more shows and a whole lot of driving in between. Soon, he will be home. Le sigh!

I think I caught a little cold. I don't feel that bad but I could feel a lot better. I feel so incredibly lazy which makes me wonder where all this time has gone. I haven't written this book that I babbled enough about. I guess one cannot force creativity. I know I can't. I'm like a dry wash rag. No matter how hard to squeeze or wring it, you ain't gonna get water - not even a drop. I built up this amazing large task for myself and I ended up a little overwhelmed. That's not to say I have no ideas. Au contraire, mes amis. There are some ideas blossoming in my head.

The thing that concerns me is that I have nothing to show for my time apart from my partner. By the way, I am way to critical of myself. I wanted him to come home and be as proud of me as I am for him. I have been doing a lot of those French lessons online so I guess I have a little something something. I don't know if I can use it in public but c'est la vie.

I did hear from my partner tonight and he has fallen sick himself. Poor guy. He is a very typical Cancer. He likes his home, he likes his space, and he likes doing things on his own terms. I think he just wants to come home, regardless of feeling ill. I don't think I could handle being with the same people every day and then work with them at night. I'd go nuts and just want to go home pronto. He's sick and I know how he is when he falls ill. I wish I could have him here just to make him a little tea and honey, before cuddling in bed. I miss those simple things. I wonder if I am feeling ill because he is. Ah, that's the romantic version. I'm sure I just caught a germ.

Today has been a groggy one. Luckily, I woke up to a lovely gift in the mail! Oh, if there is anything that makes me happy - it's receiving mail! My friend from back home, a newer friend at that, send me a little something in the mail. A random gifting, if you will. Wow, what a surprise! She sent me a little makeup bag that is white with flowers and card deck faces (it actually reminds me of the 50's floor tiles in my grandmother's house). Inside, another surprise! A $25 gift certificate from MAC Cosmetics and a pair of Bettie Page barettes! And best of all, a short handwritten letter. Letters are wonderful, a true lost art!

Just to let random readers know, the barettes rock. I have about four different kinds of barettes now from the same company - BeBop Hairwear. The designs are rockin' and fun! They are full of attitude and style. I don't even know how to do my hair and these barettes cause me to gather up the compliments. Whether you want skulls, Betty Boop, polkadot bows and bats, tiki stuff, or even Elvis - she's got what you need! I love love love this girl's stuff - and she is an amazing person in real life. Check it out. Mine are little Bettie Pages with a light blue with white polkadot ribbon! Very cute and sassy!

I tried to rest up today, in order not to get sicker. I curled up on the couch and watched The Breakfast Club again. Now, I'm gonna get a lot of slack from 80s movies fans here - but I really would love to see a Breakfast Club reunion or look into their lives in 2006. I know such a movie would bomb completely. I can see Brian being the rich, smart computer geek. I can see Andy and Ally Sheedy's character being the oddest couple - kids, she's bossing him around because he can't talk to herself, basically taking care of him and the family until she has a big ol' breakdown. Claire and Bender - considering how his dad talked to him and berated him, he's a prime candidate to be a miserable bastard as an adult when he's in relationships - will obviously have an abusive relationship. She'll eventually become an alcoholic. Maybe Btian would like to dabble in coke. Or did that happen in the actor's real life?

And I just realized what a lacklustre idea that was - haha. Hey, I'm not feeling well.

Day Ten - Pooped Out

2006-07-23T21:26:00.000-05:00

It's day ten of Tour Widowry. I am struggling at the keyboard. I want to write, I honestly do...but I'm such a pooped out kitty. Le sigh! All I feel like doing is curling up on the couch and staring blankly at the television. It's one of those nights where I would love to have a package of sleazy cable challenges to waste time with. Nope, I have fuzzy farmervision instead.

My stomach is queezy. I don't know if I am getting sick or if I am simply worn out or if I have the beginnings of PMS (I'm sure it will arrive the same day as my partner does. THANKS, BODY!). Maybe it is a combination of all three. My stomach is unsettled and I need something to distract myself with. I am currently downloading a couple of 80's movie classics and the Big Brother live feeds from yesterday.

As sad as it sounds, I want to see Kaysar with a shaved head. I'm really not liking the season this year, by the way. I think they are all a bunch of fucking losers who are simply there to play the game - the game of promoting their crappy t-shirts and the restaurants they have shares in, their websites and their supposed acting careers. Don't worry, in a year they will all be forgotten. AND, they hate on Chicken George. Man, at least he is not plastic and fake. Nakomis, George, and Danielle seem like the most real people there.

I didn't come here to complain about reality television though. I'd rather complain about my stomach and my indecisiveness. Should I make soup or not? Can I handle it or not? I didn't really eat as much as I normally do? This is why I like the man in the house. He knocks me down a notch and shows me that I really do overanalyze for no good reason.

So! Last night I went to a party with the other lovely Tour Widow. I'll send a "shout out" to her, heh. It was a nice time, I was surprised. Usually, I'm very uptight and nervous when it comes to parties. I lurk where no one socializes...I stick to one area...Yeah, I've never been good at parties. This one was lovely and calm. I drank some red wine. I smoked some cigarettes. I talked to a few people I never really sit down and talk with. It was nice. I felt like I wasn't just "the girlfriend". Knowing that is a nice feeling. Now, if my stomach was feeling better - I'd give you more details. Blarg.

A little drama on the way home though. I brought my wine in this "new" backpack that a friend gave to us. I thought it was alright looking, more ergonomically designed than my tube-like Swiss Army bag. We were in the cab to drop my friend off at her bus stop and then I would continue to go back home. I'm feeling a little fuzzy from wine. I look through my bag. I can't find keys. Okay, so I wanted to cry but I kept it in - haha. I'm kinda freaking out...I keep looking. Every worst case scenario pops into my mind - what if they are in the door and our place gets broken into...what if I left them at the party...what if I have to get a locksmith and I can't pay for it...what if my in-laws yell at me...

We get all the way out (hour long bus ride) to my friend's place. Lo and behold. My keys! They were hidden in some sort of retardo hidden pocket. I kind of felt like an ass after that. However, if I really did lose them - I'd feel like a bigger ass.

I have more to my night and today but I'm really not feeling that hot. I need to eat and drink some hot tea with honey.

I know, I know. Y'all want to hear about how I almost peed my pants last night. It'll have to wait...mawahaha!

Day Nine

2006-07-22T15:08:00.000-05:00

Day nine...and I'm trying to be a busy lil bee. Well, I'm probably doing a horrible job at it! I slept in and I woke up feeling at peace. I find that I am sleeping on his side of the bed now, with my back facing the wall. I wonder if it's a territorial thing? I usually sleep facing the wall, with a body behind me. I have yet to spoon with my baseball bat, haha.

This afternoon has been all about tidying up, while fitting in my pathetic attempt at exercising - HAHA. I must laugh in all-caps. Basically, I've ate a lot of pasta while he's been gone. The carbs are all going to my thighs! Well, not really. I'm doing situps and some other type of exercise that is probably not even considered an exercise. I'm also lifting 10 lbs weights. HAHA. It's getting a little easier. Maybe by the time he comes back, I will look like Arnold and challenge him to an arm wrestle...heehee.

Everytime I go to the store, I forget to buy Mr.Clean. Or M.Net, if you live in Quebec. My floors are kinda grubby and it doesn't help that our hardwood floors are all scratched up - at least it hides the grub. Now, I'm paranoid if my tour widow friend sleeps over. I don't what to be known as the girl with the dirty floors...and I don't want her socks or bare feets to look like she's been running through a field of dirt...

Tonight, I am conquering my fear of parties...HAHA. Another loud laugh in all-caps. I should go as it will be good for me. I need to start being more out there. I'm sure it won't be as bad as I dream it will be. It should go smoothly and it will probably be fun. Maybe I'll surprise myself with some witty banter! Maybe I'll be on fire!!!! By the power of the prairies, I will be on fire!!!

Using French, Thanks to Barnes & Noble University

2006-07-21T19:36:00.000-05:00

Being the sassy broad that I am, I decided to stir up the proverbial pot and use my French at the grocery store. Instead of saying a mumbled "merci" - I added a semi-loud "beaucoup" to the end of it. Heh...it's something. As well, when I asked for cigarettes (yes, yes...smoking again) I proudly said "aussi" out loud. The cashier looked at me blankly. They're not super friendly at my local grocery store. Whenever I hear people ask for cigarettes, they never say "Players, aussi!". Ah well, it's something.

Actually, I don't care for this Barnes and Noble course too much. I think it's truly meant for people who just want to order food in France and get by with random sentences. It bothers me that I am reading over these lessons and not getting the full explanation of proper verb uses. I know my verbs in present tense but I can't talk about the future or my past. I'd really appreciate a lesson or two on that, even though it would simply be there to refresh my rusty ol' memory. And don't get me started on their message board - it's so difficult to navigate.

When I got home from the grocery store, I decided to shut off the computer for a while. It wouldn't. I silently freaked out and became glad I bought those cigarettes. I hate the computer. If it was mine, I wouldn't care as much. It is not my computer, however, so I have to be extra careful. The last thing I need is my man returning home to lost files and blood curdling screams as I curl up on the couch crying. That's not a good way to say hello after three weeks on the road.

Anyway, I called his father and he talked me through shutting it done properly. I'm not a dummy - I know how to do this. I just wanted him to guide me so that my partner doesn't think I just did what I thought was best (and then having it fuck up). Everything is okay. Whew.

The only issue is that when I am shutting down the computer via that window that says shut off, restart, etc - the screen goes black and white. When I hit cancel, it returns to color. I'm gonna keep my fingers crossed and hope that something tragic does not happen. According to my astrology loving friend, we are in a mercury retrogade and we should back up our computer files.

I'm with headache tonight. I feel better from my little breakdown this morning, but I am feeling a little lonely. I'll survive. A party tomorrow night will probably change that fairly quickly.

Tags
Barnes and Noble, Computer, French

Day Eight - Ms. Lonely

2006-07-21T10:38:00.000-05:00

Late last night, I found myself in a sour mood. I think this tour widow thing kinda sucks - well, at least, last night and this morning. You know, I'm happy for my partner and all that crap but it would really be nice to just have him near. Yes, I'm whiny and I know he would rather be home than in a stinky van too. I think PMS is kicking in, though my cycle is wonky as it is. Watch, I'll get that visit from Aunt Flow the day before he's to arrive back home - that's the kind of luck I have.

The truth to my being bummed out was I looking at flights online. I want to go back home. I think it would be lovely to go back in the summer vs. the winter. I haven't been back in summer since I moved and my home town is not fun in the heart of winter. As well, I have a close friend who is visiting from Asia then. So, I'm looking at this website at flights and the prices are pretty high. My parents offered to pay for it but I want to get the best deal for them. I'm very indecisive. I know my partner has other shows next month ... but when are they, what day would he like me to go on (not like it matters), will we have enough time to ourselves...Yep, here I go again, analyzing every single detail until I get myself sad.

I never ended up booking my flight either.

Then, there was a thunderstorm. I don't feel very proud about admitting how I was a bit of a scaredy cat last night. I was, I admit it. I remember a time when I used to watch the thunder and lightning through the living room window as I sat on a wee chair. I loved it. Of course, mom was close by so there was no reason to feel afraid. Last night was something else. The sky looked like some sort of massive strobe light at a rave. I couldn't believe all the flashes of lightning. It was striking fairly close at that! It got me a little nervous. Call me a defenseless girl, but when you previously lived in house that got hit by lightning twice - you get a little bit paranoid.

I just talked to my partner. I ended up in stupid tears. I couldn't contain myself. I think I have PMS and this quitting smoking thing has affected my emotions a touch (however, I feel better physically). One of my biggest faults is comparing my life and myself to others. I hear him having fun and I get a little sad. Sad for not being alongside him. Sad for not having that interesting of a life. Heh, that's me being melodramatic though - things are not that bad. How can one measure "interesting" anyway? He also told me he did a little acid last week on tour. I'm glad because he didn't do it around me. I'm pissy because I am honestly not cool with that kind of shit. Smoke your weed all you want - I'm cool. Do anything else and I feel like I have betrayed my inner list of traits I like in a partner. I don't care if I sound square, I'm simply not cool with drug use that isn't just weed. He could at least lie to me - but the photos from that after-party gave it away. I don't want to hear about it.

I had a hard time sleeping last night. I could feel anxiety rising in my chest. Every time I would sink into that first stage of sleep, I would wake up with a panic of allowing myself to let go. Somehow, I drifted into sleep.

Well, I asked for that sad and self-destructive mood to bring out my writing - hahahaha...Maybe my masterpiece will be written tonight!

Tags
Anxiety, Depression, Loneliness, Sleep

Day Seven - Quitting Smoking

2006-07-20T20:09:00.000-05:00

It's been a week since I have played the role of a Tour Widow. How time flies!

Today, I thought I'd give up smoking again. I know I don't need it and I know that in the long run it will effect me. I have such a paranoid mind that all I see is getting sick from smoking too much. I hate how it makes my lungs feel and I hate how tired it probably makes me feel as well. It's not good. It's been a good day without smoking. I don't feel moody. I don't feel like killing anyone. I suppose if my man was home right now, I'd probably be super crunchy.

It's pretty easy for me to quit smoking. When I lived back home, I only smoked casually or just during work breaks and every other evening. I did not smoke at home, in fact I hid it from my folks. And then I move here...Here, the cigarettes are insanely cheap. Here, everyone smokes. Here, if you don't smoke you are kind of the minority. It's easy to start smoking in this city and, believe me, it's easy to smoke my face off while I am staying here alone. My problem is I over-indulge. If I have a fresh pack of cigarettes before me, I will chain smoke. I over-indulge in a lot of ways, but that's probably the most unhealthy one. I should stop while I don't have the pressure of anything on my back, nor do I have a boyfriend flaunting his smoking ways before me currently. This is perfect timing.

That's not to say I would decline a cigarette at this very moment. Au contraire, mes amis. Quite truthfully, I would love one right about now. I'm sure this quitting thing will only go so far because it's difficult to control yourself when you are a with a bunch of smoking friends. We'll see.

It's easy for me to quit because my first vice is nail biting. I want that more than anything, to be honest. It's a daily battle not to bite them all of in a fit of whatever-mood-I'm-in. It's not a pretty habit and I have had many a person bark at me because of it. I have tried my best to grow them into pretty lil claws, but they drive me nuts. They end up getting in the way because I am not used to them. I keep them very, very short. I admit, I still take a little nibble here and there behind my boyfriend's back. Of course.

Yeah, I kinda want a cigarette but I have no cash on me. That's probably a good thing. I just stared at the monitor for a good minute, daydreaming about a cigarette. That's not good.

I'm getting a little down on myself for not accomplishing great and fantastic things so far, with my time apart from the man. I know I got to a bad start, with the weather and all. That wiped me out for a good three days or so. I have been doing French, so that's good even though I am confused at this point. I'm doing the daily blog (and found a good secret for attracting a crowd. I'd tell ya...but then it won't be a secret anymore - nya nya!). I've kept the house relatively clean - though I previously admitted the bedroom looked like a mall vomited all over the floor. The main thing is that I am in contact with people and eating well. And gosh darn it, I did not go insane (yet?)!

I sit and try to write. My head is toast. Do I have to be terribly sad and self-destructive to write? I mean, I feel good here - I'm missing the guy but I'm not truly sad and I haven't fallen into a pit of misery. That's good. The bad part is is that I am not accomplishing what I said I would. That makes me feel like a complete idiot. I might as well say that I enjoy the fine art of lacrosse (yeah, brain is so toasted that I cannot even come up with a good comparison!) because it's not like I am doing much where writing is concerned. And if I don't have this apparent talent, what the hell am I good at anyway? Maybe I'm just one of those floaters. They just float and are meant for a meaningless life of retail jobs. That's the spirit!!

I'm still feel like I am sitting around and gaining weight. So much so, I actually did some sit-ups today! I did that and some other type of movement that makes me feel like I am actually doing something without having to join a gym. I took out a 5lb weight barbell too. For a tall girl such as myself, one would assume that I kick arse. Ha! I laugh bitterly. I am so weak, but my legs are strong. Roar! I lifted these weights for a little while (in front of the fan) and felt so winded.

The only true moment of wanting a cigarette came when my friend called me. Sigh. I love this guy to pieces, he's a sweetheart who means no harm. The problem is that I can only take so much of him before I need a time out. I realize he is ADD and I realize he has some issues - but it's very, very tiring to sit through his phone calls. No, he doesn't drag me down. He just doesn't recall what he told to you during each and every previous phone call. So I hear the same things over and over and over again. If I have to hear about how he left his sunglasses in Mexico one more time, I will explode. It's not like he went to Mexico last week - he went in January.

I'm spending a lot of time lounging around in the man's boy shorts underwear. I'm sure I look lame and there's a little muffin-top action going on...but they're comfortable. Sigh...I always want a cigarette after I finish a blog.

Day Six - Hometown Review

2006-07-19T22:41:00.000-05:00

Ah, day six. Time is going by, ain't it?

Well, last night I lived vicariously through my partner and each and every old friend of mine back home. The band played in my home town and of all cities on their schedule, it was the only place I was truly jealous about not being able to attend. Last night, I sat here and grumbled to myself. I bitterly smoked cigarette after cigarette. I waited. I was even nervous - will they impress my friends? Will people show up? Will they end up hated my home town as they assumed they would? What if they think my friends are lame and square as the rest of English Canada?

Thankfully, I had a lot of sleuths who took of every single detail to satisfied my analytical mind! I was wired all day so I stayed up rather late to get wind from people, either online or via telephone. And that I did.

The first person to call was my lovely sister. She, ever the optimist, confessed that the show went very well. They blew the other band off the stage and my man's guitar playing was very impressive. A few people danced at the front of the stage. It was reasonably crowded for a Tuesday night (according to another friend, it was more full than usual!). The people seemed to enjoy it and the band members were all in jovial moods. There was only one set of home town boobies flashed to the band. Yay, for home town boobies!

My partner met a lot of my friends that he never had the chance to meet when I was in the process of moving out of my city. I felt a little sad at knowing I was not there to give big hugs to old friends with him, but I am very pleased he had the chance to meet my crew. I even got one friend to grab his ass and tell him that I send my regards - apparently, he got a kick out of that. From what I heard from people, it seemed to prove a positive environment for the boys and a relaxing one at that. It's just want they needed, methinks.

I went to bed excited like a kid hepped up on candy. In fact, I couldn't fall asleep until well past five in the morning. I was wired. I have to admit that I felt on fire all day - I was witty as fuck and I had no one to bounce my brilliance off of. The thing that made me so giddy was hearing from my sister and many other friends about what my partner was saying about me. I felt like that kid in school who finds out that their crush likes them back! He said so many sweet things! He told everyone how much he misses me and loves me. He told them that he just wants to come home to me. He told my sister that he wants to come back to my home town to become more close to my family and he that he wishes to meet my grandmother. Yeah, I was getting teary-eyed at this point! He said that he was sorry that he called me up in a grumpy mood (I took no offense!). He was introducing my sister's husband to the band as "his brother-in-law" - that made me get very sappy too! Also, he told my sister to tell my family that he is really a doctor who drives a cadillac - I don't really know where that came from other than the rum, haha. I know I turn to my very protective big sister whenever things aren't calm in my relationship, so it was nice for her to see how much of a gentle, peaceful, and kindhearted person he really is. Don't get me wrong, she has never doubted that. It made me very happy to know that many of my other friends saw that side of him as well, even though they don't know him very well.

I talked to the man in the morning. I set them up to stay at my friend's place. It made me truly happy to know that they were being well taken care of and that he would be well fed in the morning. Perhaps, that sounds a bit silly of me. I figure, it must be tough on the road as they are constantly sleeping the van or on the floor and not able to do laundry. My friend's mom was very hospitable and extended this invitation many months ago. He called in the morning, the sounds of sizzling bacon and sleepy chatter in the background. He was well rested and happy to declare that he actually slept on a bed last night - in his own private room, at that! I talked to my friend for a moment, who is sending a gift with the band for me. He told me how the show went and how much he loved and missed me. They sounded like they were in for a big breakfast. I told him to give my friend's mom a big hug from me.

Later, I received an email from the mom. She said many sweet things about him - how intelligent he is, how polite, and how young he looks! He is a very nice man, she said. I believe they just may stay there on their way back home. Ah, if only my partner could see my folks while he is at it.I suppose it's close enough but they'll be worn out.

I've been walking on air today. Tomorrow is his birthday. Sigh...no birthday blowjob, haha. Actually, I don't think we have ever spent his birthday alone - he's always been playing a show. Next year, it will be the same!

On a side note:
-I am struggling through lesson two of French. Good Lord. I thought I kicked ass on lesson one. Je suis stupide! Mais Oui! Nothing sinks in in ye olde noggin.
-I am smoking too many cigarettes in lieu of kisses.
-I feel like all I am doing is sitting here and getting fat. I'm probably not but I fear my boyfriend will come home to a beluga of a female.
-All I have been eating is pasta salad. I really should learn how to estimate because my pasta salad for two could have served a family reunion.
-And best of all, I have recently grown another nose that I fondly call my new beak. Yes, the brightest and biggest zit you have ever seen on the bridge of my nose. Hot.

Learning French

2006-07-18T20:17:00.000-05:00

The break from the heat has given me a better opportunity to take full advantage of the day. Sure, the bedroom looks like a shopping mall vomited all over the floor again but I think I have made a good effort at my time off.

I entered the virtual class room. I am taken an online course at Barnes and Noble University. It is French for Beginners. I have gone through lesson one all afternoon and it stretched into the early evening. I'm proud of myself! I still have to complete to writing exercises and perhaps I should practise on here. Thankfully, a lot of it makes sense. Those two damned years of French in junior high paid off. I still regret not using my paid - gulp - course to the full extent. That was a good waste of $300. Ah well. It's never too late.

The biggest hurdle with learning French is becoming more confident. It's hard to just strike up a conversation at this point. Everyone knows me as English. What would they think if I, all of a sudden, started parlez vous-ing at them. It makes me laugh, because in my head I can see my brilliant expertise. Ah, that is only a dream. One day, I'll show them. I'll be mais oui-ing and s'il vous plait-ing until the cows come home. You'll see.

Another thing is, with a lot of these beginner French courses, is that it is Parisian French. It is far from the Quebecois French they speak out here. It's more chewed up and spat in your face. That's not an insult to the Quebecois. I'm just calling it like it is.

On a side note, I am completely and utterly jealous that my partner's band is playing in my hometown tonight. I want to be there! I told a few friends to grab my man's ass and tell him I send my regards. I hope that happens. I hope my hometown proves them wrong, oh yes. Often, it is a city that is at ease with complaining. People complain there are not enough good shows or events to attend. When there is something finally great in the city, no one shows. They are much more content to sit on their couch and complain until winter-time. I hope for a fun show and lots of people. If the city disappoints them - I will take it personally!

I just want to be that girl surrounded by friends and loved ones, enjoying the music. Bah!

Speaking of my love, he is stressed out. I don't like to hear him in this state. I sincerely hope that it is just the lack of sleep that is talking. I just want to rescue him and be along side him. He is a typical Cancer. He loves being at home. He loves his space. He gets cranky when that is denied. And boy, does he ever love his own bed. Meow!

I will, hopefully, hear from him tonight. I lined up a place for them to stay. There will be beds and a hearty breakfast in the morning. Selfishly, I hope there are a lot of good wishes for me from my old friends that I miss so dearly.

Day Five : A Very Hot Female

2006-07-18T11:22:00.000-05:00

Who's kidding who, the last few days have not be fun. I'm missing my very own musician, but I'm dealing with it. It is humidity/heat that I have the problem with. If humidity was a person, I would punch him or her right in the neck. Ha-zah!

It's still very warm and sunny out. The humidex reads 32C (89.6F) but compared to the last few days, this is like the damned arctic. If it's one thing I hate, it's sweating like a marathon runner when the only active thing I am doing is simply sitting still. Not hot. I think I have suffered from bouts of heat stroke over the last few days in my sweat-box of an apartment. I have been very lethargic for no other reason. I set out to have a very enthusiastic and active day. By mid-afternoon, I am done. My sinuses get blocked, my head aches, and my stomach becomes very unsettled. I am normally the type of person who does not get nausea so it causes me to become very whiny and needy. Heh, it's easier to control when you have no one to complain to! Anyway, whenever I get a bout of nausea, I end up becoming paranoia. Did he plant a seed? Did I drink bad milk from the fridge? Do I have worms? Nope, it's just the damned heat. I guess I should be happy that it's not a case of the worms.

My in-laws brought over two fans. Unfortunately, they did not want my autograph (Hey-o! I'm here all week!). I have three fans in total. My living room is like an 80's model photography shoot - my hair blowing around in the wind, while I wear my Jordache jeans and neon tube top to the sounds of Michael Sambello's Maniac. Ah, paints a lovely picture for y'all!

Seriously though, this heat is causing me to become a great sloth. I can't think. I can't do anything with such an uneasy stomach. I can't focus, even on the most easy tasks. At least I cleaned up the apartment yesterday, before my fellow Tour Widow came by for dinner. After my surprise in the garbage though, I had to retire from everything. I was done for the day. Blarg!

It was lovely having my girl friend over last night. She brought over a bottle of chilled white wine and strawberries - she claimed she was not going to seduce me, haha. I don't think a guy has even done that for me before (I do recall, however, trying that out on a man in the past. He was more interested in the television. At least, I didn't have to share my damned strawberries)! We sat outside on my patio and talked for a few hours. It was really nice and I appreciate her company. I'm no master chef, but I like making dinner for friends. I made a cold pasta and bean salad - which doesn't sound like much. Originally, I was supposed to make chili but after sitting in my apartment, otherwise known as the fiery depths of hell - I imagined the both of us spontaniously combusting due to being overheated.

I'm such a cheap drunk, it's not even funny. Half a bottle of wine and I'm fuzzy headed. This is the reason I care not to drink in public anymore. When feeling the booze, I get warm and loving and social for a good half hour. After that, I just want to sleep. I've always wanted to be that wild and crazy drunk. Well, it wasn't my life ambition - I just wish it didn't hit me in such a sleepy way.

After my tour widow company left, I went online and chatted with a friend I haven't talked to in YEARS. This was a girl that lived back home. We used to go to this particular bar together and dance our asses off. We used to have a blast together. She's a very kind-hearted girl and I always wished the best for her. When she moved back to her reserve in Ontario, I was very sad. She ended up falling in love with a French man and now she is "with seed". It was nice catching up. The only stupid thing is that I found out her partner's family is from here and they were out here last summer! If only I knew, we would have hooked up for a coffee!

Tonight, the band plays in my hometown. It's the only stop on their tour that I am rather bitter about. I know my old crew will be there. I would have been in MY environment if I was there. I would have been the one dancing and getting my boobs grabbed by my friends! I would have felt a lot more comfortable and into the music. I hope my town treats them well. I know, sometimes, there is a lack of spirit and participation. I want to prove the band wrong! I want them to love playing there. They better put on a good show for my friends...or else! I'm certain I will get the full update later on tonight or tomorrow. I really wish I could be there.

Le Sigh.

Day Four - Panic Attack

2006-07-17T12:09:00.000-05:00

Call me dependant on my man. Call me a stupid defenseless girl. Paint me whatever you wish - I don't fucking care. Right about now, I would really love my man to be around.

No, not for a moment of passion and not even for the companionship (though I would not object). I need him to kill some bugs. Oh, sweet baby Jesus...I need him to kill some bugs.

The summer I was 23, I smoked weed here and there. I never truly liked the feeling of being high. I would become even more quiet and withdrawn. I would stare at people for a little too long. I would obsess about how I wasn't saying anything and how boring I am. That same summer, our city's trees were infested with tent worms. I never liked worms but I could deal with them. I mostly just avoided them. Being high that summer and getting over some personal issues, for some reason, helped me develop this panic and fear of worms. Plus, I had a really bad first date where I found a worm in my tea - after I finished drinking it. I guess I can't say I'm scared of any kind of worm. Seeing them fills me with panic, especially those tree worms and maggots. Even thinking of them turns my stomach. I'm pretty cool with earthworms but feel very uneasy when it rains and they are all over the side walk.

I've been a very busy bee this afternoon, getting the house all clean and tidy. Tomorrow is garbage day. I kind of put it off last garbage day and I don't put the bag outside as raccoons have been a problem lately. I take the garbage out of the can and worms. Worms. Maggots. I'm domestically embarrassed to admit that, but I suppose it has happened to everyone at least once. I freeze. I feel shivery, cold, and dizzy. Usually, at this point I call for my man to deal with it. Instead, I stand there and breathe deeply. This has been the only moment I have truly wanted a cigarette. I run for my bottle of hairspray to kill them. There are a few on the floor too. They won't die. I get hot water and disinfectant for the garbage can. I'm armed with too much paper towel to kill them. I want to vomit and I want to cry. I hate worms. I am still shaky...

Somebody give me a fucking cigarette and a shoulder to hang onto. I'm on the quivery edge of a panic attack.

Day Three

2006-07-16T21:05:00.000-05:00

I had my last cigarette two hours ago. I'm considering quitting for good. Let's see how I will feel about that two hours from now or tomorrow when I finally crack open that bottle of red wine I've had since Christmas. I sincerely wish to quit or at least become a social smoker as I was before. I know my body hates me the more I smoke. I hate myself the more I smoke. I'm turning 30 next year and I don't want me no babies. Both my partner and I should be taking good care of ourselves since there will be no children to take care of us in the future. Ah, if only the thought of child birth and pregnancy didn't repulse me. Otherwise, I'd have a kid. I'm sure one or two would come in handy to plug in the coffee machine every morning (the switch is broken and outlet is under the table) or sweep under the bed for dust bunnies.

I guess you can say I am somewhat tired today. I think the novelty of an empty house to myself is starting to wear thin as of this evening. I find myself irritated, but mostly at myself more than anything. I know I am not making full use of my time here. I haven't started my online French classes. I just started to write something and that is why my head feels like a bowl of oatmeal. I am becoming a little too lethargic for my own good. Honestly, I just really want to blame it on this blistering humidity. Okay, I'll do that.

On the plus side, I have had some wonderful telephone conversations with friends. Normally, I miss their calls or it's too late to call. I'm a night owl. I'm cool with late night calls. I talked to a few people back home and a friend in Costa Rica. We caught up and that is always important. We complained together and contained our secret catty behaviour! Meow. I miss having that spicy Latina in my life. I regret not hanging out with her as much as I should have. It's my own fault for being so anti-social. From now on, I will only be anti-social to the people I don't give two shits about. I'll open my arms and welcome the rest in.

It's even a struggle to write this post. My eyelids are feeling heavy. The fan is pointed at me and yet I still consider the notion of ripping off all my clothes for the sake of personal comfort. My sinuses are giving me hell. The computer is like some sort of miniature furnace. I should really shut this nonsense off and use my eyes for something worthwhile. Reading, for example.

I did not have the company over as I expected. It's okay, though. I think both our brains took a vacation this weekend. I hope they are enjoying their holidays together. I don't know if it's the heat or if it's the change of daily routine, but we both feel like we are moving at a different pace. It's too bad, I would have appreciated the company today. However, I feel unable to maintain a normal conversation. The heat is truly getting to me. I went to bed with an upset stomach last night and I am gaining a new one as we speak. The other tour widow(s) and I might hook up tomorrow. I have promised to make vegetarian chili. It is the only thing I know how to successfully make. No rush, if the ladies cannot come with.

I did some writing today, but I consider it cheating. Basically, I blended together two pieces of writing I scribbled months ago. It's a struggle and I feel utterly forced. Dance, monkey, dance! I shouldn't even be this hard on myself. I just wanted to write. I have looked forward to this moment for a few months already. I was anxious to get my fingers in a dance on the keyboard. Now, I sit here and stare blankly at the screen. Today, writing is like panning for water in the desert. It's a big, big struggle. I guess it's my fault for not planning this idea out, heh. I've never been good at making plans.

I've been keeping myself distracted with episodes of Everybody Hates Chris. I like that show. It's like the Wonder Years with balls. I like Chris Rock's narration. Later, I will watch some episodes of Bullshit. Until then, I will listen to some old Gordon Lightfoot songs in hopes of any kind of inspiration. All I feel inspired to do is to nap. At least I do that well!

I heard from the man. He is in the middle of Ontario as we speak. He is well and recovering from a hangover. He sounds happy and satisfied. He is only mildly disgruntled as the pillow he took with him no longer smells of me. That was sweet to hear. Everything is going smoothly. The shows are going well. I pulled out the mom card and expressed concern at the possibility of the boys drinking too much and too often. He confessed that one of the guys almost suffered heat stroke in the van. I wonder how they ever overlooked the consequences of touring across country in summer without air conditioning or windows that open. He almost had a heat stroke the weekend before last. Clearly, he is the weak one and I know I'm talking like I'm on a reality show here. They should be a little cautious about getting plastered. At least, consume some water!

Yep. Today, the novelty is wearing off. I miss him and it's only day three. Sure, I miss all the juicy stuff. What I really miss is having that companion, that someone to share words and tea with. I miss having that certain someone who laughs at my incredibly lame sense of humor.

Hopefully, whenever he hears a bird caw-CAW! - he thinks of me.

Rachel and Rob Rotten

2006-07-16T00:17:00.000-05:00

You know what I should be doing? Something productive. That's what happens when you download a handful o' porn and have an inviting pack of cigarettes. I indulge. If I had a chocolate cheese cake before me, I'd probably eat the whole damn thing while I'm at it. Perhaps, all at once for comic value.

I watched a plethora of Rachel Rotten porn (see pic, with some guy). I heard about her through a friend at work. My co-worker blurted out loud in front of many people that I remind her of this particular adult entertainer.I wasn't embarrassed, by any means. When I googled her up online, I found a small picture of her. She had a mouthful of cack and her eyes closed - it looked so much like me that it shocked me! I can see how people think she looks like me and I am certainly not complaining about that (minus the fact that I am way more fleshy but with less boobage and have a big ol' Eastern European head). She's a very pretty girl - and there are not too many girls in porn I can freely label as pretty. Of course, I'm no porn expert either. I don't know much about her but what I do know makes me like her "work" (is that the proper term?) even more so. The porn she shot was with her boyfriend Rob Rotten. They look cool - these are the kind of couples I long for in porn. She has a nice hair style, complete with bluntly cut bangs. He's covered in tattoos (and not crappy tribal ones) and has a big mohawk. She's got real boobs. He's got, um, a tattoo on his penis? It's different and I appreciate that. They look hot together and you can sense their attraction to one another. And that is what makes watching this enjoyable. Though, you know they are aware of the cameras - you can tell that he actually likes going down on her and it's not just for show. You can tell he was being careful to not mess up her bangs or ruin her makeup - I found that genuinely sweet. I wasn't utterly repelled when I saw him naked either. That's always a good sign. Shaved legs and baby oil isn't a turn-on for most women.

The only thing I found a little unsettling was how thin she looked when she was spread out this way and that. I'm going to say that it's the camera angles, but I almost wanted them to take a break so she could eat a sandwich.

I wonder how she manages to give head without messing up her cherry colored lipstick? I wonder how her hair stays so perfect? Good God, if ever I leave my lipstick on...I end up looking like a clown with rocker hair. Kudos.

I watched another one that I had to turn off shortly after. It was three girls enjoying one another. I could deal with this, even though on of them had strange looking fake breasts. Two of the girls were fine. The other one moaned as though she was undergoing an exorcism. It, quite frankly, disturbed me. I kept thinking about that movie, The Exorcism of Emily Rose. She kept moaning and inserting a few, "Do you fucking like that?" grunts. It scared me. Not only did it seem like she was undergoing an exorcism, but she had this look on her face that most men would be afraid of. The face of a crazy, drunken, and obsessive ex-girlfriend. Not hot.

Ah, at least the phone didn't interrupt me this time as it usually does! I win!

Day Two - An Unsleepy Tour Widow

2006-07-15T10:33:00.000-05:00

It's late morning and I feel well rested. Insert sleepy time morning music here.

Last night, I watched The Straight Story. It's a true life story about an old man who travels for many weeks on his John Deere lawnmower across a few states to see his brother that he had a falling out with, who recently had a stroke. It's a sweet story, but one I thought would be better watched alone. It was slow and lazy, and I like that about movies. I have to say that it was on the depressing side of things, but it still warmed my heart. I like rural tales and I enjoyed seeing the country side. It kind of reminded me of Margaret Laurence's The Stone Angel, which is my favorite book. Though it scares me to know that one day I will be old and not as mobile, it provides a good view into the life of older folks who truly desire their independance back. Their minds still work but their bodies don't allow them that brand of freedom. It was a sweet film and it got me a little teary eyed - especially when Alvin was talking to another old chap about being in the war.

At my on again/off again job, I do telephone surveys on behalf of the government. One of the hardest ones was a satisfaction survey for war vets. It was awful but completely enlightening. Yeah, everyone in the office dreaded it and some were quite mean in regards to the older people. They take their time to answer the questions carefully and at times they were confused(thanks to awkwardly worded questions written by French people). It was frustrating for us. Despite all of that, you heard some sad and unforgettable stories. People now laugh and say that war is bad. Hell yeah, it's bad. But to hear it from the mouth of men and women who were there and ended up getting fucked over when they are seniors are another thing. What I gained was great respect for these folks. What I learned was I cannot relate. The hardest thing I realized is that, on the most part, we treat seniors and older people like they don't exist. Not only do a lot of these people get next to nothing for benefits (especially, widows of war vets), but we put them through confusing telephone procedures and fancy lingo in letters. I don't think we should dumb it down but we should take that extra time they so deserve. I will never forget hearing the crying voices of old men and women in pain. It wasn't only the pain of their old age bodies - it was the pain in their hearts from fighting in the war and the pain in their hearts for losing their soulmates. We, the younger generation, take older people forgranted. We should all go to hell when we curse as we walk behind a slower old person or when we forget to keep in touch with our grandparents.

Before dinner, I tackled the sink of dishes. Today, it's the bedroom. I don't know what happened but it looked like a mall threw up all over the floor. Jesus. I did not accomplish as much as I thought I would yesterday, on my first day of being alone. Ah well, I was beat.

It seems like the moment my partner left, I am more body aware. I feel like I gained ten pounds in a matter of hours, all in my tummy region. I probably didn't. I should be more active and I should be more fit. It seems that whenever I plan on going back home for a visit, I get super aware of my body and fear that I'll return home to whispering voices that will comment on weight gain. Ah, I shouldn't complain. I'm still fitting into my pants.

I slept very well last night, next to my baseball bat. I usually don't fall asleep peacefully unless I have someone near. I missed having that extra body in bed though. I fell asleep without that heavy nervousness hanging over my mind. This is a good sign. At five in the morning, I had this dream that someone was yelling at me to answer the green phone. Of course, the telephone was actually ringing right by my head and I missed the call! It was the boyfriend checking in, sounding sleepy and drunk. I feel bad that I missed that call.

I took care of the wallet this morning. It is officially off in the mail, along with a short handwritten note and a cheque. I'm sure his father will put in another phone card and some extra cash. I'm glad that's taken care of.

Today is all mine. I feel awake and refreshed. And sticky - it's another humid day out. I don't know what I will do with myself but I sincerely hope that I do not waste this day. I have to catch up on my own journal, clean up shopping center clothes disaster in the bedroom, and get a little writing in. I believe another tour widow will call me this evening. Oh, I should also fit another visit to the used book store down the street.

The whole day is mine!!!!

Out of Town Events & the Reason I Don't Tag Along

2006-07-14T21:52:00.000-05:00

It's always hard to hear from someone you admire that you are fucked up. The worst thing about it is actually knowing it.

There's a good reason why I do not go along with the boys, when there is room for me in the van. I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb and I feel social anxiety kick in full throttle. I'm not one for team sports.

Last weekend was no exception. In fact, it was a rough one. Well...only half the time.

The first part of the voyage was great. I felt very positive and I pumped myself up for the outing. It's not like I'm some sort of recluse or wack-job in the first place. I just have to encourage myself to not fall into a pile of anxious messiness. I try so very hard but my inner demons always seem to win!

I know it's probably not healthy but I tend to stick to the people I am most comfortable with. Being in Quebec and not French, I lean towards the English people. It's a comfort zone, though I realize I should try a little bit harder with the French. The only reason the first half of the band trip went smoothly was because I had another girl friend there. An English girl friend and one that I understand when she speaks French. It calms me and, besides, I honestly enjoy her company. We chatted, we laughed - it was a good time on the road. Eventually, everyone fell asleep in the van with the exception of the driver and myself. I felt at a loss for words, but there's so much you can say when you are in the backseat.

The show went just as well. I chatted up a storm. I was friendly. I felt good inside. It was a hot summer day and I felt my skin getting redder and redder. I tried to revive myself with my good friend, Beer. I drank a quarter of a can and felt uneasy. It was one of those days where I couldn't hold down alcohol. I shouldn't be drinking in the first place, given the heat and the lack of food in my tummy. Sometimes it is either drink and be a part of the crowd until I black out (low blood sugar) or stay sober and healthy. At least I know better to not listen to the Beer Demon, that lurks inside each and everyone of us. I floated around here and there, but mainly stuck to the people I drove in with. I made a couple of rounds, talking to a girl from back home (what a pleasant surprise!) and another girl I met off Myspace. Everyone was having a good old time.

Enter inner demon.

At the end of the night, I was tired and sunburnt. I just wanted to chill out and relax. Take it easy, if you will. I should have known better because before I knew it, people from the outdoor show were being invited to our hotel room left and right. Insert the beginnings of social anxiety here. I fell into a less than pleasant mood to say the least. It took forever for everyone to pack up their vans and I got stuck manning the merch booth. I have no problem with that. A local approached me and we talked about the town we were in and I casually mentioned how I would love to see Niagara Falls as it was only 15 minutes away. I figured that while we were this close, we may as well see one of the world's biggest tourist spots.

He replied, "It's only fucking water!"

That was almost the straw that broke the camel's back! It's only fucking water? What the hell? It's freaking Niagara Falls! I tried with clumsy words to explain myself. I proudly stated that I was from the prairies and you don't, obviously, see landmarks such as that. He looked utterly bored. He turned his attention to the French girls and they all began to rave about Quebec. It's the best, it's the greatest, the woman are the best women. Yeah. I felt like a big ol' prairies reject! After that moment, this guy did not speak another word to me nor did he acknowledge my presense - even when saying goodbye the next day! I have to say, it kind of kicked off that mood and offended me.

We all piled into the van and it's drunken French people everywhere. And it's also drunken French people singing drunken French songs. People are laughing. They understand. I sit there, clued out as usual. Frustration is beginning to rear it's ugly head.

We get to the hotel room and there's a good number of people. I am instantly cranky. Cranky like a little child who has been stuck in a mall or out in the sun all day long. I just want to crash. I don't want to socialize with a bunch of drunken strangers. They sensed that, I assume, as no one approached me.

There's always a kind of awkwardness when you are the only sober person in a room full of drunks. I was glad that they were all having a good time. I just felt a little disassociated, a little disconnected from that brand of fun. I know it was my choice to come along and not drink, I know it's not my say to what the band wants to do. I tried to swallow my seemingly selfish feelings but it was next to impossible. I know I showed a look of irritation on my face. I felt isolated and in my own nervousness - all I wanted to do was flee. I seem to always want to flee when I am far away from my own shelter.

You know, I don't like this about myself. It's a side I have always known but it seems to have come into bloom upon arriving to this city. I'm the sober one. I sit back and watch people being asses. I see them having fun and taking silly photographs and grabbing boobs and doing stupid dances. I sit back and what kicks in is a longing to return home. I used to be like this, I recall as I sit back. Now, I am stuffy and stiff and awkward. I cannot seem to let loose. I know I'm fun. I know I am interesting. And I certainly know I am downright silly! However, with the majority of the people in this city, I cannot seem to break out of this very tough shell I have built around me. I feel left out and I know I have made myself feel left out all on my own.

I go for a walk. I would prefer to go on my own but I do not know the city well. I long for a visit to a trusted 711. They don't have any here. I settle for a lacklustre convenience store. I curse the postcard situation. My partner is not impressed. I can almost tell that he wants to keep away from me.

As we return, I latch onto two younger girls who are very nice and sweet. They are sober and tired - they, too, are waiting on their boyfriends to quit partying and head back to their hotel. I sit there, smoking endless cigarettes, and outright complain. I vent and vent and vent. They feel bad for me. Not only can they see the tired expression on my face but they can see the irked expression that comes with the other kind of younger girls who think it's so fun and cool to flash their titties to a band in front of a camera. Ah, the sweet icing on the cake. These girls I sat with felt so bad for me that they took it upon themselves to take me to Niagara Falls. I tell them how appreciative I am for their gesture and thank them for listening. I bond with these girls, even though one of them said she was age five in 1990. Upon hearing that, I imagined myself as a complaining old hag! I get to see Niagara Falls. Just my luck, there were no lights on. Still, something amazing before my prairie eyes!

We return to my party and the token completely fucked up girl was awake (again). She had this shrill voice that made you want to spontaniously do roundhouse punches to the neck region, to anyone in your path. A lot of people were gone, but they were still in and out of our room to rescue beer. I clenched my fists, tried not to storm into my room(but probably did), and went directly to bed to the sweet sounds of shrill voiced completely fucked up girl yapping away about something to gain any kind of attention.

Sleep. Sleep is always a beloved companion.

In the morning, I was full of rise and shine. I had another one of those sympathy hangovers. My head was killing me but I was happy to get out and enjoy the drive back. It was a waiting game. Hungry and anxious, I paced about but was in a calmer mood. It was morning. And then we went for breakfast.

I'm all over breakfast. Nothing makes me happier than a greasy breakfast and that first cup of coffee. A group of 12, we were. We get two seperate tables. I, of course, get stuck at the French table. Usually, I enjoy listening in (though it has taken me a long time) and I sit back. Eventually, the words are translated. I sit there in silence and gobble down my grub. I think only a few words are spoken to me. I get pissy at the rude comments they say about the waitress in French.

We drive for eight hours, plus rest stops along the way. All French, once again. No one says a word to me. Once again, I shut my doors. I feel a sad storm brewing inside. No one talks to me and I barely understand (only insults and dirty comments about women, I seem to get). I just sit there. I sit through the long drive and nothing. I come to the point where I pretend to read and sleep because what's the point, I figure. I know I cannot speak French and I know it's my own damned fault. I could have tried harder. I know it's easy for them all to fall into it. But I just sit there. I feel unimportant, left out, cast aside. It's an incredible lonely feeling that I have only tasted since moving here. It's bad enough when someone is involved in a fun conversation without you, but it's worse when you barely understand a single word being said. It's incredibly lonely and I do not think anyone in this circle of acquaintances can relate. I come off as a grumpy snob when all I feel is tremendously left out. After eight hours of that, I fell into another round of sad.

Not only did I mope around with a little angry cloud over my head on Saturday night, but I stared off in my own silent world for hours upon hours. I know it's mostly my doing, my own odd feelings. What was I suppose to do? How was I suppose to act after that many hours of non-stop language that I just did not understand? How was I suppose to react when the only English spoken was in regards to the young attention whores displaying their naked boobs? The only thing I could think of was a good swig of homeopathic anxiety remedies.

I know I was a bit of a pain in the ass, this past weekend.

When we got home, we both exploded. And when I say exploded, it's honestly not that bad. Perhaps, the proverbial pot bubbled over. It was long and messy and full of tears. Sigh.

I reacted to the whole weekend and chose to bring it up by turning into a wingnut. I brought up the naked boob attention whores. Not cool. Just insecure. Whenever I try to verbally explain myself, sludge flows out of my mouth. Nothing works. I sound like an insecure idiot. I tried to explain that I just couldn't fit in and I felt left out, so I reacted harshly. I told him that I felt lonely. That I used to be cool and fun and wacky. I told him that eight hours in a van and not being spoken to once drove me crazy. I told him that I do not know what to say to new people, especially when they are not sober. He told me next time to stay home.

He told me that it is not normal for me to be here for two years and not have a set of friends. He's right. He told me that it's not normal that I have been here for two years and haven't tried to learn a stitch of French. He's right. He told me that I haven't tried hard enough and that I sit to watch the world go by. He's right. He's right. He's right. He told me that I am not well adjusted. He's right again. He told me that I have a lot of potential and he wants to see me use my talents. He's right - problem is, I have no idea what this potential or talent is. He told me that I am not a very happy person. He's right. He told me that he is afraid to go away for three weeks, in fear of me going insane. That hurt.

(Of course, being the paranoid person that I am...I actually wondered "what if I do go insane!?")

He compared me to his friend the schitozphrenic. Yep, and that hurt too.

The thing is, I know he is right on a lot of levels. Maybe I just don't like hearing it spoken so bluntly.

Sometimes, I am so afraid of letting loose here and getting close to people. I feel like I am on a constant first date with a lot of people. You know, those wonky gaps of silence and that small talk. I'm fine with that, only until I start thinking about home and I get very lonely. I recognize that change within me and I am not sure it's a good change. I just want that old set of friends like I had back home, like people have here. Sometimes, I am afraid of letting those old friends go in order to accommodate the new ones - yet I know there's no reason to why I can't have both. Sometimes, I am so very afraid of losing my own identity here in the sea of French. I want to be that prairies girl for a long time. I want to be proud of where I come from. I never want to forget my home, my background.

And that is the reason why the Tour Widow doesn't go on tours. I complicate things. I complicate things there and in my own damn head. I make a molehill into a mountain. I panic. I want to be at home or in private. I desire my own schedule. I don' t want to socialize with girls who are barely legal who have no shame to piss in a parkade or flash their tits at every guy who holds a musical instrument. I'm better off left at home. I may go insane but at least I'm not miserable.

Day One - Tour Widow Zombie

2006-07-14T18:07:00.000-05:00

It seems as though whenever I go out and not drink, I gain an honorary hangover the next day. It's not fun and it's not pretty. I've been zombie-girl all day, running into things and tripping over my own lethargic feet. Months ago, I thought it was a clever idea to start writing my very own novel while I had the place to myself. Today, all I can think of is the sweet art of sleep. Mmm, sleepy.

Last night was the gig to kick off the nation-wide tour. It was fun. I was social, for once. Good times. The show wasn't as packed as we liked it to be but it was a Thursday night and a hot one at that. The first band was loud but mediocre. I think it put a lot of people to sleep, actually. You have to be thankful of the smoking ban sometimes. At least you get to escape when a boring band is on stage. I suppose that is not the correct way to show your support for (somewhat) local music. Meh.

The band put on a good show. With a short amount of practise time, they are getting tighter and tighter. I see where the loose ends are and I'm sure by a couple of back to back shows, they'll be kicking ass (or arse) across Canada. It's refreshing, the new line-up. I'm sure the guys will have a fun time on the road, even though they'll be missing their lovely ladies back at home.

This morning felt dreadful, however. It's never easy to say bye - even when it's but a few weeks. I'm sure this time apart will serve well. I must admit that I've been a wingnut lately and perhaps even a bit suffocating. Space is good in relationships. I'll get my head together...starting tomorrow! Mwah-HA!

Bright and early, we said bye. Everything has been packed up and waiting by the door for days. Two hours into their journey, I get a phone call. It's the boyfriend, sounding disgruntled (which isn't that abnormal, by the way). Guess what? Two hours into the great province of Ontario...without his wallet! I groaned, oh shit.

This afternoon was all about me frantically trying to get a hold of a string of people who are traveling from here to Toronto without actually having proper contact information. I had to scramble around Myspace, randomly asking strangers for a particular person's phone number and felt like an idiot as I couldn't sign into my real profile. I had to do it through my cat's profile - and yes, I'm lame for making a Myspace for my kitty. Anyhow, people were finally reached and messages were left. I put off my errands until I got ahold of people to figure out what the hell to do. It wasn't until about five o'clock when I heard a real voice that ended up bringing me bad news. They already left this morning.

We're going to express post the wallet to my family back home, in hopes it will get there by Tuesday evening. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. My sister will then party it up at their show, armed with man-wallet. It doesn't sound like much but what a tiring day it has been. Yawn!

I ran my errands late and did it zombie style. Good Lord, if I had a dollar for every time I tripped over my own feet this afternoon, I'd be rich. Or, I'd have about five bucks which feels rich when you're unemployed. I took the lazy route and pimped it up subway style. Nothing is worse than being on the metro, in the blazing humid heat of summer. There is no fresh air whatsoever. You enter the car and it's like the air of everyone's breath. When you think of it that way, it really churns the stomach. At one point of the ride between two particular stations, it was vibrator bumpy. Thank God for small boobs and a good bra, otherwise I'd knock someone's eye out with my jiggly boobs. I felt like a half melted bowl of jello on the subway, shaking every which unsexy way. Combine that with being tired and sweaty and it paints a delightful picture.

My plans for today are minimal. I have a sink full of dishes and it looks like a fashion tornado ripped through my bedroom. The place is a dive, actually. I'm a bit embarrassed at how messy it is. I am just so tired and hot - I don't want to move. I just want to curl up on the couch and nap like a good rural female.

So much for writing that award winning novel today!

Tour Widow's Itinerary

2006-07-07T16:02:00.000-05:00

In lieu of smoking too many cigarettes and pathetically staring in front of the computer, I came up with a list of things to do this summer to keep my idle hands busy.

- Find stuff to sell on eBay. Already, I found a vintage deck of tarot cards that are selling for a good $50. Yay, me!

- Set up a store on Cafe Press (or a similar site). Of what? That is yet to be determined.

- Months ago, I challenged myself to write a book while I have the apartment man-free. Oddly enough, this challenge now intimidates me.

- Participate in another round of Barnes and Noble University's class on beginner's French. I tried this before with little or no luck. Let's see what I can do while I am alone. Truth be told, I did not like how their website is set up and I found it simply irritated me.

- Blog, blog away!

- Catch up with the fine and lost art of letter writing.

- Cook something new and good for myself, at least once a week. Normally, I turn my back at domesticity. I am not a good cook nor do I enjoy the typical roles of housewifery. In fact, I avoid it! I am still a vegetarian, however, and I need to eat well.

- Originally, I was curious about doing data entry online for extra coins. Then I found out it was one big ol' scam.

- Mystery shop! Okay, now I look like a boner. Yep, I signed up for mystery shopping and I have yet to go "on assignment". All I can say is is that my choice of mystery shopping locations kind of suck. How can I mystery shop a gas station when I don't own a car? Le sigh!

- Continue on with my daily journal.

- Think about potential website. I have some ideas, rest assured.

- Exercise. Meaning, don't be a sloth for three weeks because I can. When I say exercise, I mean long walks. I'm pretty lazy that way.

- Quit smoking! Yes, living here is evil - cheap cigarettes and lipstick stained couples are the norm in the romantic city of Montreal. I will break this habit. I will! And if not, I will when I go back home since I'm almost thirty and mom still doesn't know I smoke.

- And last but not least, see my fellow beautiful tour widow for gin and tonics, cigarettes (oops), and perhaps the Asian film festival that is going on.

More to come, I'm certain!

Tour Widow

2006-07-06T18:41:00.000-05:00

Soon, I will officially be a tour widow...for longer than just a couple of nights. Though I am very excited for the boys who will be accomplishing their musical tour of duty, I am overcome with many other less-than-positive feelings. Yep, call me selfish.

This month has sneaked upon us both. In about a week, my talented partner-in-crime will be gone - off on the road to entertain the masses across country. Until the day he leaves, we will be spending quiet time together and enjoying one another. Insert dirty ol' smile here.

I suppose I always knew it would happen, that he would go away on tour. It sits more comfortably with me now. We started our relationship as a long distance one - this should be easy, one would think. A piece of cake! It's not though. I've come to depend on him, in a sense, and it's always comfortable to know he is within reach. Some girls are ashamed to admit that they are dependant on their partner. Perhaps, one reading this would gently assume that I am overly co-dependant and/or pathetic. Au contraire! I admit it and I think it's completely fine. I may be dependant but it's out of appreciation - not a matter of my own personal survival! Anyway, back home in a long distance relationship seemed much easier. At least I had my plethora of healthy distractions.

When we began talking about this summer's tour, I must say I felt some awfully selfish and paranoid emotions. I, of course, worry about his safety on the road. As well, I worry about all those dirty tarts who thrive on tempting the elusive musician - luring, if you will, as though they are a rare species of bird or mountain cat - with their stiletto heels and their undying (well, just for a night) fascination with guys on stage who just so happen to play instruments.

I was jealous too. Not necessarily of the other girls who will get to see them play every night. Rather, I was jealous of the amazing opportunity before them to travel across the country while I am stuck in a town I'm not completely satisfied with. Eventually, it sunk in. This is no journey of leisure for them, there will be no playful snapshots of road side landmarks. This is a job. This is a job that involves sitting on their asses for hours on end in a poorly ventilated van and somehow mustering up the energy to perform at the end of the day.

On another selfish note, I just didn't want to be alone. I still don't. I know I will be on edge and alarmed the entire time. I will distract myself in the most unhealthiest way. I will commit the worst bad habits, because I will have no one to supervise me. I will stay up 'til morning light, eat the most godawful foods(spaghetti-in-a-can, anyone?!), and I will smoke too many cigarettes. I know I will be jumpy at each and every sound in the apartment, each and every sound from the city street.

Ah! Those are only selfish reasons. He has to do what he has to do and I support him regardless. I may have my stupidly selfish and gloriously girly whiny moments, but I stand behind him and probably wearing a free band shirt.

Once, another bandwife told me that no matter how many fans inflate their egos and no matter how much appreciation they receive at the end of each night - all they really want is to stop missing you and come home.

I christen this blog - The Official Tour Widow's Companion. No, it is true that I cannot spoon with you when I am falling asleep nor can you rescue me from that terribly large spider residing in the bathtub - but you will be my virtual shoulder to lean on and my outlet to admit my redundant fears of being alone.

Enjoy the personal inside view of what it's really like to be an official tour widow!