The pub, laptop and me.
I was ID’ed tonight. Not always a strange occurance, as I do tend to go out in a rather large city where there is a rule that if you look to be 25 or under you MUST be ID’ed. Ok, fine, I get it. I actually may one day be thrilled that you asked for my ID. Tickled even. But not now. Now, I was ID’ed and it was scrutinized. Closely. And suspiciously. Why? Because I no longer look like the 19 year old girl in the photo.
I obviously need a new ID. How awful. I am now so much older than ID Me that I am no longer passable for ID Me. Well passable, but barely. And I think that it wasn’t so much that I passed Fat Bouncer’s scrutiny, as that I was only able to pass on the fact that I looked to be legal, and my ID Me did not. She looks too young. How did I EVER get away with my fake ID at 18 if when legal I still looked unfit? Anyone? That shouldn’t be allowed…or isn’t. But yet happens. I don’t even know what I’m talking about.
Oh? Also? I’m not even that drunk, despite the copious amounts of liquor shots consumed. My apparent slip into stream-of-consciousness writing is not the effect of alcohol, or of a recent experience with a Virginia Woolf text (thankfully, since being an English major has resulted in this unfortunate experience on a couple of occasions), I’m just feeling rambley. Ramble-y. I feel the need to ramble on.
Along with consuming shots I was also tending them. Bartending, that is. An interesting experience, as it was also my first, but I’m fairly steady, so it went well I thought.
Perhaps I am feeling them. But mostly I just don’t sleep. Ever. Well, much. It is something I am just beginning to deal with.
However, considering the amount of alcohol I have consumed in reference to my height/build? I am pretty pleased. I’m no light weight. And I’m only 5’2”
Thank you Jack. Daniels that is. (I’m aware…not the best…but free “’cause I’ve got friends in low places, where the whiskey drowns, and the beer chases my blues away”). Oh, classy.
Things one should not do:
1. Post post-drinking
2. Get drunk when contemplating blogs relevance (Is it really necessary for a blog to serve a purpose? Be “unique” if you will? Is my engagement/move to the Bahamas my “thing?” It isn’t all I talk about…so “niche” doesn’t work. Hmm)
3. Go out in a town where you once knew everyone and now get excited by the appearance of a random former-roommate of a friend whom you haven’t seen in a while. Then drink with strangers happily, because, hey! They like Emily Hanes and despise frosh too. And are married.
4. Come to the conclusion, while drinking, that the people with whom you are most comfortable are more likely in knit sweaters than trendy shoes. And you are getting old. Even though you are young.
5. Re-read post-drinking post. Sorry, I know I promised more direction; or at least forethought. Damn.
Published by Chi on March 21st, 2008 tagged Daily | 2 Comments »
When I Grow Up
I am trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up. I’m almost certain this is something I should have some sort of opinion about.
So far my options include:
1. Another 2 years of school to become an expert on Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (after the half year more I have to go for my English degree). Sounds more useful than an English Degree…but perhaps limits possible career paths.
2. Become a housewife. (Why does this make me immediately envision a “house hippo”? Stay at home mom?…I’m all for that. There is a lot of work involved in being a mom. But that isn’t what I’m talking about. No kids yet, thanks. Uttering the word “housewife” sounds in my head like a pet, or pest. Cute, round, and slow, sleaping 16 hours a day in dryer lint before making dinner and applying a little makeup for my bread-winning hubby. I feel that I would spend much of this career learning about Gin. Through consumption. Actually, come to think of it. That wouldn’t be all bad.
3. Be a Chocolate Chip Cookie.
This last option may give you a little insight into both my ability to make decisions, and the state of my mental health. Please, don’t go. I’m not crazy. Well a bit. But not in this instance…much. Moving on.
A former friend of mine once told me that as a child, he very seriously informed his mum that he would like to be a chocolate chip cookie when he grew up. Now, the fact that this is the only thing that comes to mind when trying to make this same decision at…not-a-child-anymore age…is making me a little concerned for my future.
I suspect it isn’t a reasonable choice. The life cycle of a cookie is alarmingly short.
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You Tube link to the rare House Hippo (Canadian public service announcement about why we shouldn’t believe everything we see on TV. Sad really, as I would like to have one. Or be one. You know, one of the two.)
Published by Chi on March 19th, 2008 tagged Daily, ramblings and musings | Comment now »
To the multiple Brits who have found my blog via Google searches for “adopt an emo kid”…
I’m sorry I wasn’t much help.
But, if you ever do find a way? Please let me know where you got one. I’m dying to have my very own.
I think I’ll put him in a pink polo.
Published by Chi on March 18th, 2008 tagged blurbs, Google searches | Comment now »
Why I pass up Cosmo for Men’s Health
From Bathroom Reader to Dinner Table Convo
Around here there is a new magazine of choice for the ladies: Men’s Health.
Perhaps this doesn’t strike you as odd in the slightest. I don’t know. The more girls I tell this to, the more I’m becoming used to the response “I know, eh? It’s pretty great. I read my boyfriend’s copy!” (Yup, we Canadians really do say “eh.” A lot. No matter.)
I’ve heard that men read Cosmo for the sex tips, relationship advice, and general insight into the sex that they seem incapable of understanding. In fact there are often sections in Cosmo designed specifically for the male readers. Though, I suspect these boy-targeted sections (“What Women Want from You!”) are less popular than “101 NEW ways to please your man!” I’m sorry, but how many times can you run that headline, Cosmo? Someone is paid big bucks to sit back laughing over a bottle many bottles of wine, slurring as they try to come up with inventive sex positions that even the Kama Sutra would deem ridiculous: “I got it! The armadillo! No one’s thought of that before!”
Oops. Tangent. Where was I?…oh yes, sorry. Men’s Health.
Boy Roomie has a typical collection of bathroom reading material, but mostly Men’s Health. If it wasn’t for the mags being tossed, still opened onto the edge of the tub, across from the toilet, I probably wouldn’t have ever picked one up. But open? Who could help but take a glance?
The various tidbits I pick up regularly find their way into dinner conversations, and the three of us roomies savour our newly acquired bathroom-knowledge and divulge and debate with excitement. (hmm…”bathroom-knowledge” probably isn’t the right way of putting it. Could result in some interesting Google searches.)
Did you know that:
cabbage crops fertilized with pee produce bigger cabbages (urine…pee isn’t an acronym for some fancy chemical. Just a biological one. But pee isn’t really a chemical at all, so…)?
I didn’t, but Finland did. And now, thanks to Men’s Health, I do too. Valuable knowledge, no doubt. Apparently it tastes the same. The Cabbage, that is.
Drinking four cups of coffee a day decreases men’s chances of getting Parkinson’s by 50%?
I’m hoping that my own coffee consumption will aid me in raising awareness. I foresee no drawbacks to this logic.
Mixing antidepressants (also used for premature ejaculation. Who knew?) with Tylenol might cause internal bleeding.
Oh, a little internal bleeding. That’s ok, at least I don’t have a headache. WHAT WHAT WHAT? Does this strike anyone else as sort of A BIG DEAL?
Anyway, I’m sure you get the point. But today I read something that I had a hard time going “Ah, thanks Men’s Health for your god-like knowledge on the Facts Of Life” to:
“Striking out at the bar? Join a running club”
um, seems obvious, but you have me…why?
“Women with athletic builds are less superficial than those with curvaceous figures…the broader a woman’s hips were relative to her waist, the more importance she placed on a man’s looks. Curvier women have more estrogen and a greater maternal urge to find a partner who looks like he’ll produce strong babies and provide for a family.”
Ok, my problems with this little Men’s health snippet are manifold,
1. Women with athletic builds are less superficial? I don’t know about that…they are the ones at the gym, dragging their asses off the couch and onto a treadmill to be one of the fit people. But, Ok, for arguments sake, we’ll go with that as fact.
2. Are they saying that men like the girls with the big hips, not the athletic girls? There is a picture of an athletic girl removing (already) sheer lingerie accompanying the article, presumably to grab the male reader’s attention. So, I’m a bit confused, but again, I’ll bite…Bigger hips than waist? That’s me!
3. “greater maternal urge”? “strong babies”? I don’t know, but I have a hard time believing that most men who read Men’s Health are really looking to find a woman with these particular urges…and at the bar, no less.
I get a very caveman and cavewoman impression of this whole thing. “Caveman want big-hip lady, make strong babies”. I know it’s a whole “human nature” thing to want to produce as many little beasts as possible, but is that superficiality? I’m not so sure.
Sorry…bit of a rambling post this one was. I’m not even sure I made a point. More focused next time.
edit: science-y Girl Roomie just informed me that pee is, in fact, a chemical. Urea. I think I knew that..oops.
Published by Chi on March 18th, 2008 tagged Daily | 2 Comments »
Animal, Cannibal, Fellatio
I have begun back-reading old posts on a lovely blog by a young British woman, which I’m sure will soon make it into my links.
A few have been emotionally tinged, a tad bitter (as any dating-aged young woman’s personal posts are bound to be), or alcohol-induced rants about lack-of-sleep, jobs, and men. But mostly they are light-hearted observations of her daily life, and inrcedibly funny. More than once I have found myself clutching my chest trying to remember how to breath while laughing, resulting in a strange gasping sound like a cross between a crying infant and a pack-a-day smoker’s cough. I’m so sexy.
This short post has lead to an interesting debate in our apartment:
Just one question;
Can vegans give blow-jobs?
After first laughing out loud I realised that this was a damn good question. It is, after all, a human product. Animal yes, but not…wild animal (ahem…debatable in this context I suppose).
Can they engage in fellatio so long as they don’t swallow?
It isn’t like those of us who are non-vegan are cannibals. Are we?
And what about breastfeeding? Is that a no-no?
The infant doesn’t really have the choice…and human milk from your own body isn’t exactly taking from the animal kingdom at large.
hmm…
Published by Chi on March 13th, 2008 tagged Daily | 1 Comment »
Narcissus
Sign in Small Unassuming Florist Shop behind our apartment building: “EASTER PLANTS!”
photo above: proof that advertising, even in its simplest forms, is very effective indeed.
After a long day, running on 3 hours sleep, the potted mini-daffodils were a little present to myself. Unfortunately the weather network is forecasting snow later in the week. Oh well, these narcissistic little beauties will take no notice, and I’ll try my best to spend more time looking at them than out the window.
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Florist in Small Unassuming Shop also treated myself and my two roommates to a story of a local man who comes in now and then, and requests the flowers from the rubbish bin.
“They’re for my girlfriend,” he says, “I don’t want them to be too nice or her husband will be jealous.”
Published by Chi on March 11th, 2008 tagged Daily | Comment now »
“Cause living life’s not a goal”
I don’t have anything particularly witty or insightful to say right now. Though it is certainly debatable whether I really ever do. But that is entirely beside the point now isn’t it? Indeed.
I did think of a something to write, more than once, as it happens. But as I don’t carry a pen and notebook with me, these interesting little anecdotes or snippets of conversation are lost almost as quickly as they are thought of as appropriate for a blog post. Have I mentioned I’m not especially organized? It would seem I wasn’t exaggerating in the slightest.
In lieu of anything new and astonishing to say I am going to take this time to promote the artist with whom I am currently, and only as of today, infatuated. I can’t take credit for discovering her (Girl Roomie, who knows me too well, introduced me to her). And she isn’t entirely unknown in the world of music. I’ve never been one for discovering new artists.
All the same. I’ve fallen for Hayley Sales.
Today was the first sunny day after a series of gray days shrouded in heavy damp air and a general feeling of gloom, and it was a welcomed change. It was wonderful to sit in the local cafe, an artsy place with mismatched tables and chairs, loose tea, posters of 1970’s topical rock bands and a variety of (mostly University Student) patrons, and feel the sun warming my alarmingly pale arms through the large window overlooking the old town’s main street. In some ways the cafe is clearly trying for this look, but it has been around for long enough that it isn’t falsely representing itself. It’s comfortable in its image. It knows what it is, and it isn’t a pretentious place. Not like many of the Halifax Cafe’s which try too hard to be modern and trendy, succeeding, but feeling unwelcoming and cold. The latte’s here are less than stellar, but they sure beat my reheated coffee which seems, inexplicably, to smell of feet.
Listening to Hayley Sales album Sunseed is the perfect ending to an all around good day (minus bizarre unexplained ear ache this morning).
According to her bio Hayley is actually much younger than I had expected (20!) and I think this is a testament to how good she really is. Her music is mature, soft, elegant, raw, and pretty. Full of paradox, and creativity, and a genre that is difficult to pin down - Blues? Rock? Funk? Indie? I’m no music expert, but whatever it is, I like it.
Oh, and she’s Canadian. A nice little plus.
It’s such a shame that
Growing old before our time is just a way to survive nowStop and look at the sun/ tell me what have you done today
That left you dreaming
Cause living life’s not a goal/ it’s been happening all along the way- from What You Want, Hayley Sales
nb. although I quoted Sales’ most well known song, my personal favorite (for the moment) is “Dragonfly Eyes” - very soulful.
Published by Chi on March 10th, 2008 tagged Daily | 1 Comment »
Winter Escape
Every day for the last week I have invariably found myself humming “Escape”. Not romantic crooner Enrique Iglesias’ corny/seductive song (blech), but the good ol’ Jimmy Buffet’s popular Caribbean drinking song:
“If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.
If you’re not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain.
If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.
I’m the love that you’ve looked for, write to me, and escape.”
Now, I’m all for escapism. And with the dull monotony of winter clinging on in this dreary town, I admit I have indulged in some bizarre summer-inspired behaviour as of late, an unusual attempt at reclaiming some sanity. (I’m realizing now that this is entirely illogical. My slightly insane behaviour is not likely to result in newfound sanity. Will ponder this later.)
However, how this song has managed to seep incessantly into my brain each day completely escapes me.
Usually a song heard on the radio when I wake up in the morning will play itself, on and off, in a continual loop throughout the day. But, I haven’t been setting an alarm lately (It wakes me in a panic. I prefer to let my internal clock wake me a little early), so what, I wonder, has made this the song du jour?
Washing my hands in the bathroom this afternoon I suddenly began to hum the familiar tune once again, and was suddenly provided with the answer:
Lying by the sink was a bottle of Hawaiian Tropic after sun moisturizer, cleverly named “Coolada” – An off-season remnant from my roommates reading week trip with Habitat for Humanity to New Orleans. This is either a sign that we are not the tidiest people, or that sun is finally on its way.
Seeing as this weekend’s forecast is, as Girl Roomie said earlier, “A blizzard. In rain form,” I’m going to have go with the latter. Regretable, as I would much rather prepare for sun than clean the apartment.
Appologies for the terrible puns on “escape”. I’m afraid my sense of humour may leave something to be desired. Can I blame the weather? No? Oh, ok. Sorry then.
Published by Chi on March 8th, 2008 tagged Daily, Sackville, New Brunswick | 2 Comments »
Pull me up
We are on our way to the campus bookstore.
I use the term “bookstore” loosely here. That is its official title, but it is more accurately described as a dimly lit brown-metal sided shed with racks of overpriced books, rarely in stock, labelled with the prices of what each would cost “used”. This labelling is of course just a tease, as there are never used books. Many are either the newest edition of a book that had one sentence and a chapter updated – obvious grounds for replacement of a $100 book – or the only edition of a book that will be used for a course once and then excluded from the syllabus the following year; Left to take up space on your shelf, with other unopened scholastic rejects.
The bookstore also serves as the campus mail depot. Packages too large to fit into your designated student mail slot are stored here for pick up. I have been notified of a package received in my name which I must pick up.
The bookstore is a mere 10 minute walk from my apartment. But this is a campus town small enough that the crosswalk lights in town blink with the white “walking man” in both directions at the same time…making it possible to cross on an angle (again loose reference to “town” here. ”Town” is quite literally the four corners where two streets cross). So, 10 minutes takes me from my apartment all the way across campus. That is comparatively a long walk. The grocery store is across a small parking lot. 2 minutes, tops.
When in Halifax I am painfully aware of how preposterous it is to find 10 minutes a long distance to travel on foot. Yet here, we choose to take the car…scraping a sheet of ice off of each window for 10 minutes before climbing in. Ah, victory!
On the way I comment on how excited I am to be getting a package after a stressful week,
“I need to be picked up.” I say…then pause,
“A pick me up.” I giggle. My roommate says nothing.
“Pull me up!” I say, a conspicuous note of hysteria in my voice.
She pauses. Then apprehensively: “What?”
I realise I sound insane, and giggle to myself again.
Apparently I am the only one who watches “Under the Tuscan Sun” every time I am feeling the least bit gloomy. I can’t imagine why.
For those who don’t: At one point in the film Marcello, the stereotypically Italian hunk looks sheepishly at Diane Lane’s character, an American writer named Francis, and asks why she declines to join him in his red convertible for a ride to a nearby town: “You think maybe I am trying to pull you up?”
“Pull me up?…OH, Pick me up!” She laughs, “Yes, there is that chance…”
He, of course, succeeds. Cue Italian whitewash, beaches and a rescued kitten. Oh, and sex.
It’s a cheesy romantic comedy, but I firmly believe that it is impossible to see that many sunflowers and not feel a happy little pull me up.
That night I dreamt that it was sunny and warm here. Both welcomed escape and stark disappointment in the cold winter morning.
Published by Chi on March 6th, 2008 tagged Daily, Sackville, New Brunswick | Comment now »
On Becoming Bahamian…or something.
As there doesn’t seem to be much available for Expats in the Bahamas, at least not like the resources available to European Expats, I decided tonight to see if I can find blog links to people writing in the Bahamas…I hoped for maybe foreigners in a new land like myself, but I wasn’t feeling picky.
The results are limited, as you may imagine. But I did come across one gem. The blog of writer Nicolette Bethel. And as simple as it may seem, this blog has made every apprehension I’ve had about moving to the Bahamas melt away.
Ok. Maybe that’s a little dramatic and overreaching. But it was certainly a wonderful find. She’s brilliant.
To backtrack a little: I haven’t made much of a go at this blog, much to the Welshman’s dismay, as well as my own. It isn’t that I wanted to have people reading it and was put off by the slow reception to my initial attempt; in fact, it was much the opposite. I didn’t mind that people I knew were reading (after all, I gave them the address), but I didn’t like knowing it. And since I did know they were reading (thank you stat-counter), I began to feel like I was writing apprehensively, with a cautious familiarity which should have been reserved for emails or personal conversations, not my outlet: my blog.
I began this blog shortly after a bit of a breakdown. I tend to become a little bluesy in the winter. No, make that extraordinarily bluesy. In fact, my penchant for wearing black begins to feel less like a classy decision and more of an emo tendency.
Wouldn’t you love to adopt an emo kid? In the save-the-wildlife sense of adoption. Or like adopting your own star. The teen-anxt and trademarked anti-fashion is just heartbreaking. But I digress.
It seems that the time of year when the little butterflies of worry in my chest well up into a constant feeling of mild reasonless panic is upon me. So tonight, having already changed out of my usual black sweater and into a coral tank-top, completing the ensemble with the addition of a Bahamian pink coral necklace and shell earrings, I began to think about a life in the Bahamas.
I had previously mentioned that I may move to England, following my fiancé, the Welshman. By some twist of fate, or for whatever reason (“lack of trying” would be, of course, a humourless and pessimistic option. So I won’t go there…oops.), he wasn’t able to establish himself in Merry Old England. He has returned to his home, The Bahamas – admitting finally that it feels more like home to him than Wales – and he has found a happy home in a small PR company.
I’m all for picking up and moving. I develop strong ties, but I like newness and opportunity. So, a move to the Bahamas is both enticing and frightening. It is proudly a Christian country. This should be a draw even for someone who isn’t necessarily sure of her own Christianity. Christians are happy, loving, embracing people right? Maybe not. The impression of a judgemental society is what I’ve come away with.
If you’re Bahamian and reading this, please don’t be offended. I love the Country, but I’m also writing from a very liberal perspective in a very liberal Country.
I worry that my liberal views will make me feel stifled and claustrophobic in the beautiful paradise I will be living in. Crime is rampant, bribery simple, poverty is on every corner, and hatred between classes, races, religions, old-family vs. newly-immigrated Bahamians etc. is something that I could see hinted at in less than subtle ways in the short time I’ve spent there. This is of course evident in every country, so I am by no means discluding Canada, but it seems that the Bahamas is having a harder time convincing itself that this is a problem, not a norm.
This brings me to my original point. Nicolette Bethel’s blog interested me because in it she openly discusses the issues that concern her about her country, and praises the things that she finds make it great. I could do the same (though less eloquently) about my own country. And somehow feeling that I can see an unknown Bahamian not hiding from controversial opinions like an ostrich in the beautiful white Bahamian sand, I am thinking where there is one, there must be many more. My fear of meeting similar-minded people to myself with whom I can befriend on the little Caribbean Island has been alleviated to a certain extent.
So while there won’t likely be many young Canadian expats with whom I can grab a coffee and debate the ‘politics of home’ (let’s be honest, do we ever follow our own politics as closely as American anyway?), I might at least find some Bahamians who see the problems in society as problems worth fixing, and change as exciting, not threatening.
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Worth reading: Bethel’s essay “On Hate”
It took my breath away. I found myself exclaiming “yes! That’s exactly it!” and excitedly reading aloud snippets to my patiently bemused roommate. (Also wonderful: “On Being Bahamian” and “On Immigration”)