Friday, September 28, 2012

Promises Are Whispered In The Age Of Darkness

[This post is originally from Wednesday, Sept  26. I had to delete and re-post without photos because the site has been malfunctioning and those pictures may be the evil culprits. So here's a scary non-photo post.]

My daily conversations with Masuka often bring up some interesting topics. Some are deep, serious, and thought-provoking.

Some, as you'd likely expect, are solely about boobs.

Along the subject of breasticles and other such matters, he brought up two questions people often get asked "for fun". So obviously, I turn to you guys. And, no - these are not the deep, thought-provoking conversations as mentioned above. These are asshole topics, cuz sometimes we are assholes.

The first topic: Would you rather be young and ugly or old and hot?

Age and attractiveness. Two things the world is far too obsessed with.

When I think of Hollywood, and the older women who are still stunning and awesome, I decided that "old and hot" is a good way to go. Attractiveness can just be an attitude, and the way you project. I hope to one day be a feisty old lady full of attitude and sass.

Yup. Sass.

The second topic: If you could only have one, would you rather have an attractive body or an attractive face?

A tough one. But Masuka chimed in with his thoughts (of course):

Masuka - "You can be gorgeous and fat and people are like "yeah she would be amazing if she lost 50 lbs" It's a question we used to ask ourselves, would you rather have a girl with a big rack or a nice ass... well, you can have big rack and be 500 lbs..but a bangin' butt means you're fit and hot.

Me - "So, a better body then?"

Masuka - Hell ya.. you can fix the face with plastic surgery. you know how much lipo costs?!"

Don't know that I agree, but fine.

 So, how do you answer these asshole questions?

Young and ugly or old and fat? Attractive face or attractive body?

Go on. We don't judge.

Monday, September 24, 2012

Got Bitten Fingernails & A Head Full Of The Past

When was the last time you went off the grid?

Ignored Facebook, Twitter,  maybe even emails and texts. Didn't whip out your phone every 5 minutes to see what's going on everywhere else. Just stayed off the damn grid. Yes, the interweb grid.

I work for myself and always have to stay connected, but sometimes I just need to step away a bit. This past weekend I hardly checked up on any social media outlets at all (except when managing my client's accounts, of course). I didn't even take photos while I was out; instead I did what would now be considered archaic and weird - I enjoyed the moment, whatever I was doing, without updating the world about it.

Crazy, I know.

It's something that we did in the 90's. It was called "going out". That was also a time when we used this weird thing called a "telephone" to speak to our friends. We spoke with our mouths & not our thumbs. We even had actual film in our cameras, and had to cross our fingers and hope that awesome photo would turn out.

A different time, to be sure.

For those of you who are a little too connected to everyone and everything, I suggest taking a break. If not for a weekend, try a day. Put the cell away and go do something awesome.

Think of the extra time you'll have to enjoy yourself without tweeting "I'm having a superfantastic fun time!", and then instagramming a pic of your superfantastic happy photo face as proof.

The internet will still be there when you return. I promise.

Accept the challenge, folks. Go off the grid!

Can you do it?

Thursday, September 20, 2012

And Admit That The Waters Around You Have Grown, & Accept It That Soon You'll Be Drenched To The Bone

A few weeks back, I spent the day at the island. This included a trip to Centreville to go on a few rides, after wandering around for hours and hitting the beach.

The last ride before we headed home was caught on camera.

And so, allow me to show you what it looks like when a grown-ass woman gets freaked out on a kiddie ride. Because that, my friends, is how terrified of heights I am.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

You Can't Resist Her, She's In Your Bones. She Is Your Marrow, & Your Ride Home

Visited Blue Mountain for the first time ever this past weekend.

Had no idea it wasn't just a winter destination. Visitors come all year long.

Why didn't you tell me?

I went with the partner-in-crime on an office trip (obviously not my own office, as The MediaHaus trips consist of Daisy and I skipping through the park like happy morons.) And so, there were a bunch of scheduled activities.

Little did I know that I would become a huge chickenshit.

Let me explain... they have these things called Eco Tours. And on these 3 hour tours (is the Gilligan theme in your head yet?), you are guided through the forest valley with activities along the way.

The photo above? That's the suspension bridge. It's 300 metres above ground. I am terrified of heights, but managed to cross this thing without too much of a freakout. Once done, I thought "oh good, I did the treetop walk. I faced a fear and didn't scream bloody murder." 

The bridge was just the beginning. The treetop walk was next.

I almost avoided it completely, but was talked into giving it a try. I chickened out after the 5th platform (there were 16), as it got incrementally higher and higher and I was about to lose my mind.

Did I mention that it was cold and raining? Slippery suckers, those small wooden slats were.

Then there was cave-walking (fun) and zip-lining (couldn't hack the high one).

I failed. I'm a joke.

Soaked to the bone and messy, but happily checked into the hotel room.

Oh, how I love solid ground.

Not a shabby view from the room.

Too cold to swim, and didn't have time for the hot tubs.

I would've been ok just staying in the room for two days. Parts of it were better than my apartment.

Dishwashers in a hotel room. Ok, you win Blue Mountain.

The fireplace came in handy due to the cold weather. Where did my freakin' summer go?

I'm not ready for this. Hold me.

I won't go over every detail of the trip (for those of you that are actually still reading this far in. Oh, hi.), but we did an Iron Chef competition later that day.

That's right. Me. In a cooking challenge. Aw, hell.

Needless to say, I was the not the head chef of our group. Luckily this guy can cook.

...but that doesn't mean I didn't steal the chef's hat. Briefly.

Best part was, the challenge was held in a basement night club, complete with stripper pole.

Mmmm... tastes like glitter and regret.

I made a dip. Because I am useless.

I like to think I'm good for group morale. "Wayta fry that thingamajig! Great job on the... heating up of the... whatever it is. Yay beer!"

Didn't wanna leave.

And apparently I wasn't allowed to take the fireplace with me as a souvenir.


Bye bye, Blue Mountain. I likely will not be back to ski on you.

Because along with treetop-walking, I have no idea how to ski.

Luckily someone missed me. And was maybe wishing she had come along.
Next time, dog. Next time.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

I Saw It Written & I Saw It Say, A Pink Moon Is On Its Way

Allow me to preface this post by saying that, at the moment, I am very sick. Hopped up on pills that aren't working, with a brain full of fuzzy, confused clouds. So if anything I type fails to make any sense whatsoever, please - keep that in mind. Because this time, this time, I have an excuse.

Ah hell, one more preface: to know what planted this subject in my head (though in many ways it always is), you can read this. It's a blog post written by a woman who shared a personal story about a terrifying experience on public transit, and what most women go through regularly.

Sometimes, as a woman, I am afraid..

It can be hard for some men to understand this. As the post I linked to above said, even the most wonderful, kind, and caring men will never quite comprehend it. But the truth is that it is very common for us to be involved in less-than-positive interactions with men who aren't so kind and wonderful.

I don't often speak publicly about these experiences. They are often too personal, or too numerous to even bother mentioning - and that in itself is a problem. I wrote long ago about the cabbie who locked me in his car and grabbed me and kissed me. I've blogged about the guys who would follow me home when I lived in the Village, screaming obscenities at me and waiting outside my door. But there are others. There are always others.

The majority of women have stories of being victimized in some way or another. It's a sad truth. And it is because of this that we may feel less than safe when alone. Case in point - last night, I took my dog for a walk before bed as I always do. My street (in what would be considered a safe neighbourhood, I should mention) was empty, dark. Except for a man sitting alone on the curb, staring at me. He did nothing but stare, and yet it frightened me. Because sometimes, that's how it starts. Just a certain look, and you know this person may have bad intentions. Past experiences have truly ruined me in that respect.

Now I've lived alone for quite awhile now. I'm a tough chick, I can take care of myself and I do. But I've also changed some of my behaviours due to being alone. For example, if I'm going out with friends and I find out that I have to travel by myself  before meeting others, I may swap my cute little dress and heels for jeans and a pair of Chucks - just to try to avoid unwanted attention that could turn negative. Sometimes blending into the background feels safer.

It shouldn't have to be that way. It just is.

Yes, we're all used to catcalls. Cars honking as we pass by. Whistles, hollers, all of it. We're used to it because we have no choice. And, for the most part, they are harmless. But not all of them. I have enough personal stories to make even a honk give me a moment's pause. I'll bet the women reading this do too.

So, to those who may laugh and say we're being silly when we feel a bit apprehensive or afraid, please don't. Because we have our reasons for it. And they are very, very real.

Friday, September 7, 2012

Burns Like A Red Coal Carpet, Mad Bull Lost Its Way

Everyone always says they're music lovers.

It's rare to hear that someone dislikes music in general. (And if they do, you should probably avoid them because they're obviously an evil cyborg, sent to destroy you and steal your Archie comics.)

I'm like everyone else. And for me, it's a strange love.

Beyond a normal obsession, music as a whole has the power to break me down and build me up. Transport me to past times, or keep me hyper-aware of my present.

To be blunt, it is just fucking amazing.

There was a long period of time where I had to avoid all my favourite songs and artists because everything brought me to a bad place. It took awhile before I was ready to consume and obsess like I used to.

But I do again. This year, it came back with a fury that I so desperately needed.

I am now constantly immersed and surrounded. Old favourites, new loves, and the presence of talented musicians have me in awe a bit. In a way, it's bittersweet - I wish I had the discipline and talent to learn every instrument available to me.

But since I don't, at least not at the moment, I am happily taking in the ability to be a fly on the wall to those who are musically blessed.

Who have the passion that I understand, with the ability to do something with it.

I'm lucky to know so many of these people. And lucky to have the kind of obsession that is considered a positive one. My tastes are both very specific, yet very eclectic - and somehow that's welcomed.

And, hey... maybe one day I'll master a few instruments and subject your ears my own brand of noise.

But til then? I'm happy to dance around and sing along to yours.

So, to all the music-making people, everywhere and anywhere - thanks. We dig what you do.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Season Ticket On A One-Way Ride

Long weekends are often no different than any other weekends when you're self-employed.

People go off to their cottages. I work.

But this past long weekend I did manage to get home to St. Catharines to celebrate the 60th Birthday/ Retirement/ General Awesomeness of my mum.

Mama Rambler decided to celebrate on the water while my uncle's band played, just as we do every year. The family that rocks and/or rolls together, stays together. Or somethin' like that.

A blue moon came out for a beer or two.

Blue moons do that.

Please note the beads on everyone's necks. According to my aunt, if you weren't wearing beads you weren't part of the party. (And no, I did not flash my aunt. Perv.)

What, your family parties don't involve Mardi Gras beads? Pshhh...

This little girl was supercute.

She danced with all the ladies, and was very confused about Daisy's nipples. "She has bumps!"

Band in a tent.

And here is a reason why my grandma is cooler than all of you.

This is a photo of her dancing to the encore, which was AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell'. That's her jam.

Surely, you'd expect nothing less in my family.

Saturday looked like this.

Dogs. Tunes. Backyard. Rye. Slight sunburn.

Pretty much my favourite.

And look...

They aren't trying to kill each other!

No doggie blood was shed over the few days I was there. Thank Jebus.

I stand by the fact that I wish I could trade lives with one of those bitches.


Whose got the voodoo that can make this happen? I'll give you (what's left of) my black soul.

Back to Toronto, back to reality.

And for the rest of you, back to school and back to work.


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