Wednesday, July 27, 2011

I'm The Sky You've Been Burning

The following took place on a popular social networking site. The conversation is real (aside from the dude's spelling and grammar which I have fixed for blogging purposes). The people are real. These are their stories.


Him - "Hey there Kristen. It's been a really long time, how are you? I hope you remember me!"

Me - "Hey [Name omitted to protect the idiotic]. Sorry, I can't seem to place ya. How do we know each other?"

Him - "We went on a date once. Does that help?"

Me - "We did? That's odd, I'd rarely forget someone I went out with. I apologize. When was this?"

Him - "Summer of 2009. Best date I had ever been on."

Me - "Summer of 2009? I was living with a boyfriend at that time, and I'm no cheater. Sorry, I think you might have the wrong person!"


Him - "No, it was you! I would never mistake you for someone else. You're far too memorable."

Me - "Honestly, we did not go on a date in 2009. Or ever. I promise you that. You have me confused for another chick obviously, and that explains why I don't recognize your name or face. Sorry."

Him - "Ok, you got me. We didn't go out. But now that I have your attention, do you want to go out with me?"

Me - "No... No I do not."


Creeper-dude... you've now been blogged.



Friday, July 22, 2011

I'm Getting Lazy; Throw Me A Bone

What a friggin' day yesterday was.

Hottest day of the year, decade, recorded history - I've heard all of 'em.

Point is? It was hot.


Since my poor hot dog and I were sweating to death in our air conditioner-less apartment, a friend set us up in his office to keep cool (thank you, sir).

That was a good thing about my day.

But the way home was... not so good.

On my walk to the Queen streetcar, my shoe started to literally fall apart. By the time I got on the packed car, it was completely busted. After standing for awhile, I finally managed to hobble my way to a seat to inspect the shoe. It was beyond immediate repair.

This is what I get for buying cheap shoes (hey, at least they lasted for years).



And so, I had the fun task of walking home barefoot.

One one arm, I had my computer, books, and all the crap that went with it, plus a broken shoe and a half broken shoe.

The other hand? Reigning in a panting, crazy Daisy.


I managed to burn my feet on the insanely hot pavement, and then step in glass. Huzzah! Such luck.

By the time I got home to my sweltering apartment, I was sweating buckets and ready to kill something. Anything.

Instead, I did the smart thing. I had a beer.


Having discovered that Daisy loves watermelon and it seems to cool her down, we gave that a go too.



So, although it was hot as hell, I figured we'd be ok. We got past the worst of it, right?

Wrong.

Later that same night the heat finally made me sick. Heat exhaustion, heat stroke, whatever you want to call it - I was sick. Dry heaves, dizziness, headache...

Kris was not a happy girl.


You can probably guess what I'm doing today.

Yep. Hunting for air conditioners.

Screw you, heat & bad luck. I shall own you.


Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Swap The Boots For Red Shoes

Well, I did it. I made it to 28. It's a strange number to me, but I can't quite figure out why. 27 felt a lot younger, 28 feels more like a "you'd better have all your shit together" age.

I'm ok with that.


I got an interesting email today. There's a site called FutureMe.org, and you can send an email to your future self. Apparently I forgot that I wrote one on July 16, 2010 - to be sent to me today:

Dear FutureMe,

Life right now sucks monkeyballs.

Remember when you used to like monkeys?

Yeah. You don't anymore.

Hope everything is better by the time you read this.

Hope you're finally happy.

Happy 28th.


Ah yes. Sunshine, lollipops and emo mood swings. 2010 was awesome.

And for the record? I do still like monkeys. PastMe was a liar and quite possibly a thief. I can't prove that, though.

I just want to thank everyone, friends & acquaintances, for all the great birthday wishes. You know who you are, and you've brought a smile to my face today. Such nice messages make the letdowns less significant and have truly made my day.

Speaking of making my day - my wonderful friend Mark sent me this earlier. It's like he knows me or something!


And now to see who I'll be spending the birthday with. Maybe no one, maybe everyone.

Maybe you.


Sunday, July 17, 2011

Endless, Nameless

On Tuesday I'll be turning 28.


Every time that comes up in conversation with friends, we end up talking about The 27 Club. The famous musicians who died at 27.

Kurt Cobain. Jimi Hendrix. Janis Joplin. Jim Morrison. Brian Jones. These are the more notable ones.

I recently saw this site that lists many others (including non-musicians) who died at 27 - including The Elephant Man and Jonathan Brandis. Who knew?


So, it makes me think. If I didn't make it to 28, what kind of legacy would I leave behind - what would I have been known for, if anything? How might I be described, as a non-famous member of The 27 Club?

"Remember Kris, that blogger chick who really liked beer and poutine?" or maybe "Too bad about whats-her-name. She was really good at high fives."

Hmm. That's just not good enough.

After last year's birthday, I promised myself that there'd be a lot of new changes. It was a brand new chapter. And, though it was a bit of a rollercoaster, a lot of those changes became reality. Many more are still in progress.

So, assuming nothing bad happens in the next couple of days (someone please knock on wood, damn it), I'll be making a similar promise to myself on my 28th birthday.

More positive changes. More awesomeness. More beer, poutine and high fives.


And when I join The 98 Club, you can be damn sure that there'll be something I accomplished worth remembering.

Bring it on, 28. I'm ready for your craziness.



Thursday, July 14, 2011

Just Like The Ocean, Always In Love With The Moon

We've all heard the saying over and over:

"If you love something, let it go."

And apparently, if it's really yours, it will come back to you. Possibly delivered by a magical unicorn who will shriek with glee that this thing you let go of is truly yours. That's real love, y'know.

Well, I've tested this theory out. Extensive and exhaustive research has led to me to call bullshit, for the most part.


Like that time I bought a cheesecake. I paid for it, so it was mine. But I gave it away, knowing that since it was mine (and I truly loved it), it would come back.

It didn't.

And when I was younger, I lent my favourite book to someone. Once again, it was my book... and I loved it... so I lent it out. Surely, it was comin' back right?

Nope. Never got it back.

Whoever has it, I hope it brought paper cuts to your thieving fingers!

Now... I know what you're thinking. The saying isn't so much about inanimate objects as it is about people. Well, then it should be more clear. Instead of "if you love 'something', let it go" it ought to be:
 
"if you love a living person who has the capacity to love you back, let them go (but don't kill 'em or anything, cuz relationships never last in jail.)".

There. Much better.

But even then, I don't necessarily agree with it.

Cheesy cliches like this one are possibly correct part of the time. Sometimes it actually does work that way - kinda like another one: "you don't know what ya got 'til it's gone". So you freak out & get it back cuz you screwed up. It's allowed. While it's too late for my cheesecake and my book (I'm holding back tears, here), it isn't too late for you.

If you love someone (or something), keep them. Hold them as close as you can and don't let go. Because if you do lose them, for any reason, you may never have them again.


And that, my dear hosers, is why we have leashes.



Monday, July 11, 2011

Burning Black Holes In Bad Memories


Years ago, when I was going through a(nother) rough patch, a woman at work sat me down and offered advice. Along with the advice, she said "We all feed off of drama. We feed off of our own drama, and the drama of other people."


I was sad to learn that she passed away recently, and I still find myself remembering those specific words she said. They've never left me.

In so many ways she was right. We do feed off of drama - the negative, the sad, the difficult. The more it takes control of us, the more we allow it to. And voyeurs love to watch it happen to others.

The blog has been a fairly prime example of that. On more than one occasion people thought they were passing on good advice by telling me to not bother with any positive posts. According to them, readers were only interested in the ones about struggles and depression; times I was hurt or completely lost.
 

Is that the truth? Maybe. Probably.

But I'm not where I was before. It's not all sunshine and lollipops (more humidity and beer bottles), but every moment is an improvement. I'm doing my best to shed the worries and Perpetual Doomsday Chick persona I had, because it needed to be left behind.

I'm ok. Better than before. I'm living, and I'm doing everything on my own terms. Ah, maybe on Daisy terms too. Fine.


So, for anyone that takes issue with happier (read: not so deppress-o) words and a lot less of my own personal drama tales - the internet's a big ol' place, full of emo kids to indulge you.

And hey, they'll even give you eyeliner tips and pictures of sad puppies.
 

Now that I've put this crap into your brain, realize that we don't need to feed off of each others drama, or our own.  It's a vicious cycle of bullshit, and I now have a strict Anti-Bullshit Policy. You can read the Terms & Conditions if you're inclined to do so.

Fine print's a bitch.  But you get the point.


Smile, folks. Hold hands, sing Kumbaya and share your beer with those that currently have none in their fridge.

Ahem.


Thursday, July 7, 2011

Bigmouth Strikes Again

Females everywhere get it daily. The whistles, the honks, the catcalls. Surely the most evolved and intelligent of our male counterparts cowardly showing their "appreciation", usually from the window of a moving vehicle.

Be still my heart, guys.


We're told to ignore them; it's just something that happens. So, most of us do. Myself, I usually just keep walking, or laugh it off. But, depending on the nature of what was yelled out the window at me, my reaction may be a nice "in-your-goddamn-dreams-buddy" style wave, or a smile and a middle finger.

But at what point does it become too much?

The other day I was walking home from the hardware store (yes, the hardware store), and a couple of guys yelled "SLUT" at me on a residential side street. I had to wonder what brought that on. Was it my Doors t-shirt? My loose-fitting ripped jeans? No, it was probably my running shoes and all the makeup I wasn't wearing.

The sluttiest of outfits, to be sure.

How about the time I walked home from a business meeting and some yard workers begged me for a smile while grabbing their crotches at me and calling me "honey"? Is that just another thing that women should ignore? Cuz I certainly didn't.

And shouldn't it be considered not normal for someone to yell "I'm gonna fuck your girlfriend" at my male friend while I walked down the street with him? Or any of the other random body part comments that I'm supposedly meant to be flattered by?

Come on. It's ridiculous.

Years ago, when I had my meek moments and was easily scared off, this type of shit made me not want to leave the house. Now? When I find myself wondering if an outfit will attract too much unwanted attention, I have to give my head a shake. While it's easy to have fun with the harmless comments, there is a point when it does go too far.

Being called a whore while dog-walking, and hearing a stranger's play-by-play about my ass as I walk by should definitely not be the norm - for any of us.

So what's the point of this long-winded tirade?

Fight it, ladies.

No matter what you're wearing or where you're going, you have every right to do so unbothered by these drooling troglodytes. If they cross a line, give 'em a reaction they aren't expecting. Own it.

Because I know that if & when I have a daughter, I never want her to feel like less than she is, just because of her anatomy and the comments that may be directed toward it.

And guys? The intelligent men know that genuine compliments work. This other crap that some of you yell at us is the reason you're perpetually single and have to resort to spewing things out the window of your friend's shitty "done up" '93 Honda Civic. Colour us unimpressed.


This hardware store slut has spoken.



Monday, July 4, 2011

You Take The Whole Thing Baby, Not Just The Broken Parts

I took a week away from blogging.

Not purposefully at first - I was just too busy. Went home for a couple of days, came back to a lot of business activity, had some events, etc... and then just decided that an official Week Away From Rambling made me feel less guilty about not wanting to blog.

Not like anyone noticed, surely.

But hell. This chick's back. Hi there.


For any of my artsy readers, you may want to be a part of The Courvoisier Collective. They sent me a kit full of info in case some of you wanted to submit an art piece.

Artwork can be photography, paintings, mixed media and printmaking, with the theme of "Renewal".


Check the website for more info, and submit your stuff now.

And before you ask, no - I won't be submitting anything. I lack skills in the artsy department.

But while I also lack skills in the sports department, I still ended up having a fairly sport-centric weekend.


Spent an afternoon over at Hoopdome.


Followed by a much more Kris-related Canada Day night of live music at the Harbourfront.

Please note that, even while blurry, Luke Doucet is still cute. As is his entire musical family.

Adopt me. Please.


Right back to the sport theme, as I hit the TFC game the next day.

Yep. Sports.

And of course I made sure the long weekend included beers, beaches, boys 'n buddies. Wouldn't be me if it didn't.

But I won't lie... I'm now tired and don't want to leave my house.


Poor little whiny girl. What a life.


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