I've been thinking...

...and I think that I am ready to fall in love again.
With a soft spoken tradesman with grey at his temples and laugh lines. Or perhaps an author who weaves stories that tug at heart strings and fills the reader with wonder. Maybe a young farmer who will teach me things about bits and bridles and mending fences. Someone who will sit by fires on rainy sunday afternoons with cups of tea and my head in his lap.
Barney Snaith.
My last round at love was painful and rough, and left a few abrasions on my heart. Three years and now, and the scabs have finally healed over. It took this long simply because of neglect. Superstition never healed anything. Talking yourself down perhaps helps with the panic, but not the pain. And distraction is only temporary. Open festering sores need balms and fresh fine linens to bind them up. So now my heart is fresh and pink with only a few scars, and even those disappear with time.
Now I crave that warm feeling on the underside of your soul, and the thrill of anticipating that first kiss. The comfort of walking down autumn streets arm in arm with rosy cheeks.
It's nice to revive this old-soul romantic in me. I think that thanks is mostly due to Laura Ingalls Wilder, who has written books that everyone ought read in both their childhood and adulthood. I will give props to L.M. Montgomery who also wrote The Blue Castle, which in my estimation is what every girl really wants.

finner

Fin Oliver. Totally my main man right now. You should see this kid smile.

jam

Just when I feel the most fed up about things, my boss comes down the stairs with little jars of organic blueberry jam that he made himself. It's not a lot, but it's something, and that's enough.
And it tastes good.

As taken fron Anne of Green Gables the sequel, which I will watch in bed later tonight.

(names have been changed to appropriately fit my situation)

"Joanne. She was the bride of my dreams. She and TIm are gone now. I feel tired and anxious...I don't know."

I don't know what to say. I miss Jo. So much.

argh.

I am totally frustrated right now.
I've been waiting around the house for these dumb boys to show up. All day yesterday, and (so far) today. I waited up until 2 a.m. last night, and got up early this morning. I haven't heard a word. Everytime I leave the house I leave stick-it notes on the door. My days off are precious. These are valuable beach weather days, boys! It's difficult to be annoyed at people you don't even know. They could be perfectly repectable young men, but right now they're totally pissing me off. I don't know if I should be worried or what. I don't know their names, and I don't know how they're getting here. Did they reach trouble at the border? Did they get in a car accident? Did they get my proper address and phone number? Are they just fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants kind of guys? Did communication get mixed up? Were they just maybe going to stay these two nights at my house, and I took it as a for sure thing? Did they get accosted by heroine junkies in the DTES?
I don't know.
I know that I should chill the fuck out, but the Marilyn in me won't let me. I've already scrubbed the bathtub and changed the bedsheets.
This is a rant, and I am sorry.

prairie.

This is what a prairie sunset looks like. At least, that is what I called it until I was quickly reminded that this was actually "the valley".

I am glad I went to the wedding. I am glad I lost one of my jobs for it. I believe the Little Prince would have been proud of me, just for the sake of the sunsets.

It was a quaint little wedding. Full of sweet touches and family and food.

I don't know what I should do. What the fuck should I do?

I don't want to talk about it.

Let's talk about nice things.

Yesterday, I was feeling a bit blue-ish for rather pathetic reasons. So I decided to pack a little bag of a blanket and a book and a water bottle and walk up to Queen Elizabeth Park to lie on the grass before I had to go to work. On my way to the park I stopped at old JJbean for an iced americano with chocolate. It came as no surpirse to find Ben there listening to music and drawing in his little book. That guy can be frequently found there doing just that. So I gathered him and took him to the grassy hill by the duck pond. We had nice time eating olives and stawberries and creamy ping pong crackers. We took silly pictures on my camera and talked about real things. It was exactly the kind of social interaction I needed. I miss him sometimes. I miss our walks home from Arts Umbrella. He is a one of a kind.

Then I realised that I know a lot of One-Of-A-Kinds. And I am lucky. Perhaps I am a little proud of the people I know. It puffs me up. I think that I am perhaps special for the people I know and like and enjoy being with. Does that sound silly? I like walking away from some one thinking, "Man, I like that person so much!" I can't lie. My self-esteem has been in the bucket lately. I've been needing to hear that I am loved and adored and genuinely liked. So these little encounters mean a lot to me right now. Ben wouldn't leave his coffee haven if he didn't really want to hang out at the park with me. Josiah wouldn't have given me hugs if he didn't really want to. Jenny wouldn't have pulled me aside to tell me things if there wasn't a real concern there. So I have it made.
It's remembering that's the problem.

15 Cherry Lane

My newest hairbrained idea is hatched. I always get these, live off of them for a few months, and then they fade into the distance. They never come into fruition, because I am lazy...and scared to death.
Property on Prince Edward Island is pretty cheap. The landscape is as close to the praries meeting the ocean as you can get. You can see the sea from almost everywhere, and it's still pretty rural. My idea is to take a skilled trades course when I come back from Europe. I would like to be a carpenter and make beautiful wooden furniture that is functional and beautiful. I could have a work shop, and a small little farm. I could sell my honey and my furniture to tourists in the summertime. In the winter I could hunker down in my little house on Cherry Lane, and write kids books and make more furniture.
How wonderful does this idea sound? Or is it taking this whole Anne thing to far?

wishing and hoping and thinking and praying

Usually I make it a rule not to have crushes on boys that have already boned any of my friends. (I think that in Vancouver it's a particularily wise rule to have). However (and much to my dismay), I have found an exception. Not that anything could possibly ever happen, but I am in full-on daydream mode. It's sick. It's just because he's tall, and knows my name.

Peeps the cat is a total shithead.

Basically, this is for Kate

It's the wee sma's. I am bagged. I worked until 2 last night, slept four-ish hours and got up to work at 7 this morning. I had a little nap this afternoon, ate some chicken, got gingerale for sick carman, (who I think snarled at my mother today) and went to a Ladyhawk show. It was good show. I think that Ladyhawk make good music, Book of Lists opened and they were also good. I like that I have gotten over a bit of my pride, and can call Laura a friend, even though she stole Annika away from me. At the show I made a few discoveries. I met a guy named stuntman, whose real name is greg. I stuffed my ears with toilet paper. I hung out back stage, which wasn't special at all, anyonw could go back there. I boy asked for my number, and I gave him my now defunct digits. I feel a little guilty about that, because I think I serve him tofu sometimes. But he was a random, and I don't know about the randoms. Iniitally, I didn't mean to give him the wrong number, it just came out first. I forgot his name. That whole thing is weird anyway, I was just standing there watching some bands play, and talking to people. All of the sudden this dude starts asking me questions, and for my number...with his cell all prepped. Is this normal? I don't know. Typically, dudes leave me alone. I guess I can no longer complain about boys. I also found out that this guy from around town, is cousins with Shelley Peters from Capernwray days. Which is weird. I think about her sometimes, we had fun. He's tall and a drummer and crush worthy. He could have asked fo rmy number, but he didn't. Besides, he already got down with one of my girls, so that takes care of that. Shelley is married...or course.
Tomorrow I meet my mother for lunch. She is on her way to the Sunshine State to look after a family of Iwawkis as they prepare for days in the hospital. Lady Codelia has to have surgery on her little head. Poor Darling. I had a little shirt made for her at the Rgional Assembly of Text, which is a sweet little store that you would really like. Brandy's taste is similar to yours. You should be friends. Anyway, the shirt has birds. I hope she likes it.
Goodnight, and I love you.

old as the hills

I have just been contacted concerning my ten year high school reunion. I am old.
I don't want to go. The whole concept is a little whack, especially if you were a loner-type. I still speak to the two friends I had in high school.
Sometimes I am sick of my job.
Sometimes the stigma attached to being a server at The Foundation is a little much to handle. Becasue I work there, people expect me to be cool and snobby and scene, so they treat me as such. Girls especially. I work there to pay my rent, not to be seen by hipsters. I feel like I am being judged, and watched so closely. That, compounded by comments customers have made to me about my appearance, makes getting dressed to go to work an anxiety-filled and stressful experience. I feel like I want to print an article in the hipster magazines and explain to the masses how difficult it really is to serve 13 tables all on your own. That's a lot of drinks. That's about 50-60 people to serve all at one time. Not to mention that we're expected to bus and bill and seat everyone.
Don't get me wrong, I am happy to be there, and am lucky to have a job. It's not even The Job, but the attitude that seems to just waft up the seats. Of course my response to that is going to be less than warm. I try to like everyone, I try to work as hard as I can, and be as pleasant as possible. That's how my mother raised me.
I think the part that gets my goat is that, sometimes the masses are right. I have seen some pretty bad srevice, I have given some pretty bad service. (I have a strict policy not to encourage grownups who insist on acting like babies.) I do know that some people put out that too cool to work for you vibe. And it bothers me. But I don't want to spend my hours comparing myself to everyone else. It's a waste of time.
So I will try to be cheerful.

texada

You know, I am one lucky girl. I hope that whenever I feel down in the dumps and unloved, that I remember today.
I am lucky beacuse I have friends who can fly single engine airplanes, who will fly me over the west coast. To see islands and inlets and beaches and my parents house from 2000 feet. I have friends who will snuggle with me in four man tent on some remote island, and not once mention my snoring. I have friends who are totally cool that I only want to drink two beers while they get wasted. I have friends who ask me to tell them all the ghost stories I know. I am lucky. I have friends who tell me they miss me, and get worried about me while I am in a single engine airplane over the sea. (who don't mind if i steal neautral milk hotel lyrics) I have friends who are glad to see me after months of away-ness to hot chicks in hot lands. I have friends. I do.
I have friends who read my late night ramblings, who love me anyway,
I am lucky.
I also have a kitten who purrs.

pot brownies

I don't think I need to introduce this little guy. Not that I can anyway, it doesn't have a name. So far she answers to anything from Puddin' Puff to Fart Pants. Who knows really?

My roomate came home from work on Friday morning, high as a kite. The guy has been clean for twelve years and a consistant member of AA. But the Purolator guy gave him a pot brownie in a bread garden bag. My roomate only took a few bites, didn't like how it tasted and left it. I guess the receptionist told him to be careful because the Purolator guy had left a pot brownie for some one else before. He told his boss he had to go for a walk, and came right home. He puked when he got home. No, he paced, he peaked, and then he puked. It was a strange mixture of uproariously funny, and kind of devastating. It was a lot funnier later in the day than it was in the morning. He had a pretty bad trip so i think that helps. We decided to make the best of it, so we bought him loads of snacks and rented yellow submarine. We all spent the afternoon on the couch making fun of my stoner roomate.
I'm pretty sure he's gonna punch the Purolator guy tomorrow. I hope he does.
Last night I had a harrowing and horrible dream involving me coughing and puking up worms and worms and worms. When I told me friend Justine about it, she suddenly got concerned and told me to see the doctor, because my subconscience is telling me something it knows about my body...or whatever. So I went looking on the internet, and it tells me that I'm going to get sick, or that i have a negative attitude about the male sex organ. But then I told my dream to another friend, and she was all like, dreams say more about your past than your future. Which takes care of the getting sick part. And as far as the male sex organ thing goes, perhaps that's just me hanging out with lesbians.
Regardless, I never want to have the dream again. You have no idea how dreadful a turquoise earthworm can be when it stuck in your throat, and you just can't cough it up.
At the same time, perhaps justine is right about that doctor business.

a list

-kittens.
-french toast.
-embarking.
-tea swamp park.
-digital camera.
-raleigh folder.
-lindsay lohan.
-jesse booi.
-pink nail polish.
-bandana girl.
-garbanzo bean around the block.
-stanley park.
-a room with a view.
-fairy tale, a true story.
-fin+aja.
-tiny tea cups.
-parkies.

These are things that I like righ tnow for various reasons.

Carman got a kitten. It is so nice and teensy. It misses its mom and cries a lot. Right now it is nestled under my chin, purring and giving me kisses. I like it.

Right now, I am happy.

I am eating humble pie for that

Maybe I could use this whole pregant thing to my advantage. Like, now I can eat all I want and claim I'm eating for two. Or perhaps I can get a seat at the front of the bus anytime I want.

I was asked a fourth time on saturday. It's devastating. Seriously. However, I have decided not to emo-blog. It's just there. I just want to know the thought proccess that happened in their brains before they uttered the words. I always thought it was kind of an inappropriate question. It's kind of like asking a man with receeding hairline if he has cancer and is in chemo. Except it's worse because girls have a huge amount of body image issues.

I thought I was getting better. Everyone deserves a humbling sometimes, but four times is a litte excessive.

I just read Everything is Illuminated. I liked it. I'm going to lend it to Reid.

I have three days off this week. I am going to try to work my magic so i can get out of town.

The best part of yesterday?
-Amanda showed up at work for like a second. I almost cried. I didn't expect to see her. She's supposed to be in Halifax...right? Seeing her made me want to move to the east coast. And live in Cape Cod or wherever. Or Prince Edward Island. Just like Anne.
-Jesse Booi told me we was glad I was there, and he meant it. Then he told me that I looked nice, and he meant it. I could have kissed him.

A girl from highschool tracked me down on myspace. I don't think we were friends. Part of me hated her. Part of me liked her. The 14 year old me is flabbergasted and flattered that she like, looked me up. She was popular, I was...invisible. The 27 year old me has always known that I am not invisible and is even a bit memorable. It's a good natured thing.

mascarra

The woman next door with the hilarious dog is playing piano. The strains of songs I can't recognize are filtering through the walls, and it all seems familiar to me.

Last night I hung out at a classy restaurant with people who have money.
I can't really comprehend spending hundreds of dollars for a pair of sunglasses. Or 14 dollars for a glass of wine.
I felt sort of uncomfortable in my grubby sneakers and homemade haircut.
It was fun. We laughed a lot. It felt like a less-fabulous Sex in the City.

I took an extreme dip into hipster-hood on thursday night. It's true. I found myspef working the door at an Art School after-party. A cute boy came to speak to me. It inflated my ego a little, which needed a little help that day. Earlier a customer had asked me when my due date was. I went to the bathroom to cry. This has been happening a lot. Too much. Weird. But you know, I came home, had a nap. Changed my shirt, and put on some mascarra....and felt fine.
I sometimes think that mascarra is miracle-worker.

summer.

I forgot about that sound.
That sound of wind filling your ears.
I forgot the chill blowing through your shirts.
I forgot how fast you can go.
Downhill.
I also think that peach cider is a perfect summer alternative to beer.

I love Fin Oliver Stewart.
Babies are the perfect summer alternative to men.

This blog was started about a lifetime ago.
The old entries are embarrassing. However, they are honest and true for that time. That horrible post-break-up time. I took a break. A 2 1/2 year break.
This time around, it's going to be fun.
Why? Because it's spring and I've got a rad new brown bicycle, and I'm going to bomb around town with wind in my hair.
It's going to be the equivalent of those Oprah shows where she stops talking heavy, and starts giving things away. Like cars and make-up and bed sheets.
No more of this lonliness and darkness. This is only good stuff.