Lemon

Oh, so what am I doing today?

Alright, well, I woke up at 10, ate some oatmeal, started a new painting, went for a walk, checked the mail, had some tea, ate a cookie, ate another cookie, had some more tea, wrote boyfriend a note for when he gets home, found biscotti recipes and sat down to write this. You know, that sounds like a pretty relaxing day, right? And you know, it is. I'm kind of lonely, though. I miss boyfriend when he's away at his big fancy corporate job. And what's shitty is that I'm headed to work in about 2 hours. I should really shower.

Newest condominium revelations - I'd never buy one. Ever. Before I moved in here, I thought that condos were really a smart idea. No lawns to mow, no driveways to shovel. If the roof's leaky, someone else worries about it. My mail will never be stolen - it's locked into a box in a mail room. There's a gym. There are guest suites. Etc. etc. But really, condo life isn't all it's cracked up to be. My building is full of snobby 30-something married professional-types who have yet to have kids because really, it doesn't seem like they like each other enough to reproduce because it doesn't seem like they like anyone. But themselves. I would know, because I walk by the in-house gym and spy them oogling themselves in the mirrors as they lift weights and jog-jog-jog on the treadmill. Go outside, folks. It's beautiful out there. A chance encounter with one yuppie couple whose arms were full of dry-cleaning outside the parkade elevator produce no conversation. Rather, I listened intently to them muttering to each other about suit jackets and a dinner meeting. And then I decided to take the stairs.

There seem to be some cool people in my building, though. I've just yet to actually meet them. Instead, I spy on them from the peep-hole in the door. Our suite is right outside the elevator, so I've come into the habit of running to look through the peep-hole every time the lift's door squeals open. I want to know who my neighbours are, damnit! There's a condo barbecue on the 22nd that I want boyfriend to go to, in an effort to make friends for us. He's a shy guy, though. We'll see.

I want to do some baking tomorrow. Maybe an apple crisp and some biscotti. Hell, I'll make muffins, too. I'll do anything to escape the "living in a filing cabinet" feeling.

Denver Omelette

Hi,

I don't actually recall the last time I blogged, but a lot has changed since then. I moved to Calgary. What the heck am I thinking, right? People here like country music and beef, the street lights are sideways, my nose hasn't stopped bleeding 'cause it's so dry, and there's apparently no culture to be found. Oh, but that sounds like a challenge, Cowtown. A challenge.

I guess you could say my goal over the next 3 years is to find as much culture, fun and underground entertainment as possible to keep myself occupied in this little-big northern Texas. So far, I'm not a fan. I did, however, scrounge up some snippets of info on an alternative/art house movie theatre in Kensington called the Plaza Theatre. I'll be heading up that way tomorrow night for a little grindhouse cinema documentary action, if boyfriend is willing.

In a never-ending goal to remain open-minded and positive, I'm going to embrace Calgary with open arms and smother it in my chest "motor-boat" style like an old friend, hoping for the very best. While Vancouver Island's majestic beauty is a shame to leave behind me, vacations will occur annually to visit the friends (and really, they're more like family) that I had to leave there. Also, I snagged a souvenir Starbucks V.I. mug, so like....I'm always nostalgic. Shazam!

Last night, I sat down and could name 47/50 U.S. states. Forgotten? Nebraska, New Hampshire and Oklahoma. But those are kind of like the ugly stepchild states anyways.

Joon!

My birthday has come and gone, thus thrusting me into the category of a "twenty-something".

I got a rather unique present for my birthday - snow! Now, granted I was in Calgary for my birthday, but really? Snow in practically June? That's just absurd.

Boyfriend: "I swear, it's not usually like this. You'll like it here! I promise! Really!".

Calgary is complete and utter urban sprawl. I was saucer-eyed for a good 2/3 of our trip, shocked and amazed at how every single borough looks the exact same as the previous. And also, slightly paranoid about the very obvious police presence. "It's mostly safe here," said boyfriend's policeman uncle. "Like, an occasional dismemberment; some floaters in the river. Nothing big." Thanks for the reassurance, man.

In a sudden twist of maturity, I now have difficulty saying 'swear words' out loud. Like, I used to be able to string out sentences entirely comprised of my favourite adult phrases, but now I can barely even whisper what the fuck without feeling incredibly awkward and inappropriate. Y'know, I think it might be less of a maturity thing and more of like...Bump can sort of talk now, and she repeats everything. Previously potty-mouthed conversations have now mellowed out completely; trash words became innocent euphemisms.

Me: "Yeah, that mean lady was really making me unhappy. I wanted to tickle her."
B: "What the french toast, man."

Translation:

Me: "Yeah, that bitch was pissing me off. I wanted to punch that cunt out."
B: "What the fuck, man."

Something like that. 'kay, happy Caturday!

happy days

So, when I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time in my bathroom.

I'd stand in front of the mirror, and pretend to sell my mum's make-up products to myself like a late-night infomercial. I wanted to be on TV, selling you juicers and cellulite creams. I wanted to be an infomercial girl, invading your airwaves after dark.

Well, growing up made me realize that really isn't a viable career choice, because you have to...you know, be able to sell things. I can't even convince someone to buy a lemon raspberry loaf.

Me: "Can I get you anything else with your coffee today?"
Asshat: "No."

Retreeeeeat!

But it's funny what we envision ourselves as in the future as children. I had a lot of weird assumptions about adulthood that are (sadly) not true. At one point, I figured I could make six figures as a puppysitter. Wrong! Also, the treasure of staying up late and eating lots of fudgesicles is not the goldmine it seems. My parents used to warn me about the dangers of getting older, but I never really saw it as a threat - the future was a promise. It was the kind of promise I'd make to my friends on the field during recess. It's the promise I make to myself on the bus to school. It's the promise I've exchanged with Jason every time we've left each other to return to our respective cities.

And it's a promise I still keep.

"I think I might blog.."

Okay, so in the MTV Post-Party wrap-up of UVic 2009 and the subsequent subsiding of first year bliss, I will now blog. Holy shit!

Uh, so I somehow thought that I would become a better, more rounded person after dragging my ass through a year of school. It's more like "One down, three more to go.", and I'm not any wiser. The magical transformation? Still a caterpillar. Whatever.

Okay, what is with TLC and this obsession with little people? I couldn't help but notice that not only is there "The Little Couple" and "Little People, Big World", but now also "The Little Chocolatiers". I don't mean to be offensive, but what TLC is telling me is that if I were like, two feet shorter, I could have a TV show about my super awesome, blogger life. And I could be into that. Maybe I can pitch my ass to TLC for something...

Scene: TLC HQ, programming execs.

Me: Okay, so it's like this: we follow the life of a hefty college gal who works in a coffee shop. And she's quirky. What do you think?

Them: Is she little?

Me: Ah, no. But she's really tall and almost height/weight proportionate.

Them: We think you've got something here.

And bam, I'm rolling in the Bordens. Or Lauriers. Or any other Canadian currency. G's up, hoes down.

Tradition.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement.

I am sad to say that boyfriend and I have broken up. He left me for a French bitch named Marie.

With 11 minutes to spare. :)

I make bad jokes.

This posting is later than a pregnant girl's period, but can I just say that I'm so damn proud to be Canadian?

Way to clean up in Vancouver, my fellow Canucks. Not only did y'all win enough bling to fill every rapper's mouth with solid gold grills, but you did it bigger and better than any other country ever has before. And yes, we own hockey. The ladies and the men snagged some gold, and we're looking exceptional right now for sledge hockey. 10-1 win for Canada against Finland on Saturday - take that, kitty cat!

When I went downtown post-hockey gold, the excitement was electric in the air. Everyone was so charged, feeding off each others energy and cheering well into the night. Flags were flown. Cars honked up and down Douglas street. Molson Canadian was flowing cold and on special. Life was good and I'd never been so proud to be Canadian.

I'd also like to make a special shout-out to those four Íslenska folks who made an appearance this year. All four showed up for Alpine skiing - no medals achieved. This makes sense to me, though, because I'm not good at skiing either. Good effort, friends!

I spent four solid hours this morning working on an essay for my film class. After those four hours, I stopped and re-read my writing. In four hours, I'd completed just half of the first draft of my eight page paper. This is paper one of four. I am so excited for school to be over.

Other things I am excited for? A big fat $750 tax return cheque from the Canadian government, spending vacation time alone with boyfriend in April, having all four wisdom teeth ripped from my skull and eating the double chocolate chunk cookie that's sitting in my cupboard for breakfast. I am, however, not excited to get up tomorrow morning at nine to spend my day slaving away at my papers in the UVic library (see: hell). So, I guess this is goodnight.

I'm going to dream about that cookie.