Land of Confusion

Oh Genesis... you have always hit the nail on the head.

Past 48 hours? Not much. Have mooched off frosh immensely, but its all good. Met Trouble's little brother, whom I already adore almost as much as I adore Trouble himself... especially after he asked if I was dating Trouble. Ah the naive little frosh.

Speaking of: Appartment Boy and his frosh. Wow, last night I was consumed by jealousy as I watched 6 froshies surround him. As Nunj put it nicely tonight: He isn't super cute, but he has that mysterious aloof character that makes him very, very sexy, so so sexy. Oh man. I cannot fathom how I came to adore him so much, but I really really do... yes okay, I went by Russian History Boyfriend's house tonight, but that was purely about sex... he and I don't click.

I adore Appartment Boy, I just have no concept of adoration returned. Frankly he gives me these amazing hugs every time we see each other (and that has been randomly a lot). I refuse to call him, as much as I just want him to come over and sleep in my bed... its not even about the sex anymore, I adore him. Utterly adore... oh I'm such an addict. I have told myself that I will ring him Tuesday after work, because then he will be done frosh and perhaps have time. Nunj knows, I am way too much of a control freak and I wish I were wearing the pants.

Since Russian History BF didn't pick up his phone, I'm off to bed myself... nothing to do tomorrow except try to take Joy up on her offer. Working at Joy Toyz would be a dream come true... heeehee, or a dream cum true!

Where did SHE come from?

Back from hiatus! Yay!

Ah Montreal, city of hedonism and drunken stupidity... although I have been pretty good. Spent my last two days getting everything in order (although its been difficult, my phone just this second got connected) (Yes I know its 5am) (Yeas I'm an insomniac).

This morning Apartment Boy came over. At first I wondered if there was anything going on, but it did feel slightly off platonic. Go figure, I ended up with the best hug of my entire life, and some other stuff that maybe I shouldn't get in to. I still can't get a read though, rang him about halfway through my evening and didn't get a warm response... I will leave him be. Tomorrow is the first day of frosh and I have to find Ra-Gel and get my bracelet :)

Tonight I hit OAP with Jess... ostensibly we were there to see Jonah's band perform, but really, we were there to get drunk and do it as cheaply as possible. Adam and... whoever that cute blonde girl was are our gods. We paid $10 for a 5 punch ticket, got 8 beers on the first ticket and 6 so far on the second. Needless to say it was dirty. Silly silly silly. Apart from the dancing. I am a whole new person... hehe.

I have Blonde Boy's phone number... that was random. Just sortof asked for it... I can't remember how we met now, but he knows me because there was smiling and then small talk preceding my casual inquiry about a telephone number. Maybe he was drunk... but whatever the reasons, I managed to pin up his number after I stumbled home and made grilled cheese sandwiches, and now it is staring at me from my bulletin board. I wonder if I should call him? Will he even remember me? I don't actually know if he knows my name. Ah this is something to go over with Jess at a more reasonable hour. Frankly she was as shocked as I was, if not moreso. I blame her for all the randomness that followed that moment... shit... that was my eighth beer of the night, its no wonder I can't remember how I got home after I left that guy I was chatting with on the corner of University. I do recall thinking how funny it was that he felt it necessary to warn me that he had a girlfriend. I am also in possession of passes to 281... now that's random. Who was that guy? Again, ask Jess, she knows everybody. Anyways, where was I? Oh yes, the eighth beer. Jess found us a frosh leader and free beer, not that we needed it. I think I objected until it was in my hand, at which point it would have been alcohol abuse if I hadn't drank it. Poor beer. Right, then blonde boy showed up. Wow, what a crazy night. Apparently we are doing it again when they play next week. Sheesh.

I should try sleep again, although CBC is showing Olympic coverage that I could entertain myself with... or make another grilled cheese. Mmmmm.

Sacrifice your life...

Today it rained. Great sheets of water falling from the sky. I was happy to have a proper storm before I left. The rain here is beautiful.

I drove across the Lions Gate Bridge, the treetops wreathed in cloud and the rain pounding on the hood of my 2001 Jetta. It was sheer beauty and poetry and song. I couldn't stare out at the grey without my car veering off the bridge. As much as I would love to 'go' that way, careening off the road and through the green supports, floating on the wet air down into Burrard Inlet and my doom, I decided to watch the road.

I went for coffee with a friend of my father's. Despite some strange revelations, I heard what I knew to be true. If I want to be here, I need to sacrifice things.

I've known this from day one. Vancouver is expensive, snotty and it is hard to find work here. Frankly, I don't care. It would take a lot for me to refuse a life here. I am willing to spend exorbitant amounts for a home, willing to work in a job that maybe doesn't quite fit. This city is my home, and it is the best place on earth. Every time I leave, I return more convinced than ever.

Last night, Katie and I sat on the beach overlooking downtown and the north shore. I could never live anywhere else, because this is home.

There are actually people like this... I know, I live with one of them

Today I rushed around half as much as I will tomorrow, getting things done that I shouldn't have left to the last minute. A few hours of that time was spent in the company of my brother and a friend of his... neither of them are too much to handle on their own (although this depends on how charitable my brother is feeling), but oh man, together I swear I wanted to jump out of the car just to make it stop.

You see, they are 'wiggers'. They think they are 'African-American' and act accordingly. Driving around Vancouver to accomplish my various errands with poor-quality rap blasting out of the car's poor-quality speakers... it was a nightmare. Add to this their inane conversations about how 'gangsta' things like guns, money laundering and general criminalism is, throwing in disparaging comments about minorities (yeah I know, that's ironic) and women, and don't forget a generous amount of profanity for good measure. It helps to emphasize things.

Needless to say, I felt like my mind was melting out my ears. I also realised that what little I knew about his female friends was totally overwhelmed by the fact that they put up with this on a regular basis. Frankly, this would either make them too stupid to realize how cruel and disparaging this behaviour is, too weak to stand up for themselves and risk (gasp!) losing these guys as their friends or, worst of all, so vapid that they actually believe that they deserve to be spoken to as objects and have no problem at all with their male friends propagating that sort of thing. Frankly it is women who are responsible for 50% of the sexist attitudes that our society upholds. If we aren't willing to stand up for ourselves and insist that we be treated with respect, how can we expect to induce change in a society that we claim is keeping us down?

Bridget Jones?

Weight: 138 lbs (stupid oreo addiction)
Alcohol Units: 2, but I'm hoping for more
Other illegal substances: 2 joints at Tower Beach last night while the polynesian fishers looked on... so so trippy
Introspection: Over the top

Last night was way too wierd... being called upon at 3:30am to walk dogs and be attempted... not my idea of fun. I am tired and cranky.

Today I went with Kelly to pick up a friend of hers at the airport... she'd gone on a handful of hiking trips with him while she was in England, and offered to escort him up to UBC to start his year here on exchange.

It was super exciting to find ourselves in this position to totally introduce someone to our city, and so we did. It is so strange to see things through his eyes and wonder what it must be like, opening the curtains of your 12th floor room to see the North Shore spread out before you. Kelly and I screamed like 14 year-olds.

Not much else to say right now really, life is chugging along and I am throwing my photos onto album pages in preparation for my return to French Canada. I can't wait to see everyone again and fall back into that student lifestyle.

Prepared for the 48-hour whirlwind, I'm off to find my bed.

Douglas Coupland's Vancouver

My Vancouver.

A few days ago I wandered into the Book Warehouse looking for cards, and walked out with a piece of home. Doug Coupland has followed up his Souvenirs of Canada with a sequel and a similar book about home. My home, and his home. Never have my own sentiments been so eloquently echoed in writing, and frankly I can imagine him laughing his ass off as the money rolls in. I could have sat down to write this book and finished in a day, he probably did the same. It is stunning and beautiful and true. I cannot express this in words, which is why, I suppose, he is the author and I am not.

The past two days have been spent feverishly reading his A-Z of my city. Yesterday on the bus, I was so close to tears that I had to stop. Today on the bus this happened again. He writes Vancouver the way we see it from the inside, and there is no pretension, the good is with the bad (but its a given that there is not much bad around).

Please go out and read it, proper Vancouverites will be moved to tears. Here is one of my favourite passages:

"I want you to imagine you are driving north, across the Lions Gate Bridge, and the sky is steely grey and the sugar-dusted mountains loom blackly in the distance. Imagine what lies behind those mountains - realize that there are only more mountains - mountains until the North Pole, mountains until the end of the world, mountains taller than a thousands me's, mountains taller than a thousand you's.
Here is where civilization ends; here is where time ends and where eternity begins. Here is what Lions Gate Bridge is: one last grand gesture of beauty, of charm, and of grace before we enter the hinterlands, before the air becomes too brittle and too cold to breathe, before we enter that place where life becomes harsh, where we must become animals in order to survive."

Thanks Doug.

'Off'

As of today I'm 'off'.

Apparently, going 'off' will help me to take it 'off' and then I can reclaim some of my slightly tighter fitting trousers. *sigh* I spent so long being skinny, what happened? My biggest fears will hopefully be asuaged and everything will melt away and I'll just sit and throw on those khakis and laugh at the world.

I'd almost be more reassured to find out I was knocked up, at least then I'd know why 15 lbs mysteriously attached themselves to me. As things are going, I'm still putting it on despite working out and eating well... so as a last resort I'm going 'off' and sitting tight with that. I'm about 5 lbs away from forcefully developing an eating disorder... or dropping carbs... frankly I think that the former would be more pleasant than the latter. What good is food if I can't eat bread?

Right now I'm looking at my stomach and wondering what the fuck happened. How can I still be gaining? Dammit maybe I am knocked up... although its been a bit too long for that to have happened... I know! Immaculate conception... son of god and all that...

Oh man, I've officially dropped off the deep end... okay this post needs to end, the side of me that spends time whining about my weight is not the best side of me.

Amendment to yesterday's post

Jerkdom is way too much fun. To quote the evening's conversation, "That guy was a train wreck."

Heh.

Its restaurant review time!

This weekend I was shopping downtown with Katie when the conversation turned to restaurants. Without a doubt, one of my ultimate favourite restaurants of all time is a little place in Vancouver called The Naam. The Naam serves delicious food at all hours of the night and day, and it is always packed around mealtimes. Its deliciously crunchy in a Vancouvie sort of way, full of hippies, yuppies and everything in between. PLUS everything on the menu is meat-free, but so tasty that even carnivores love it (although I still couldn't convince my ex to go there, because he had a stigma against veggie cuisine). Every time I return home, no matter how short my stay, I have to go there for at least one meal (although I try to do a breakfast and a dinner). Back to my story. As I was gushing to Katie about the amazing chapati I'd had, she exclaimed "Yeah, I've always wanted to go there!"

I was shocked! To me, this restaurant embodies some of the greatest things that Vancouver represents! Its a staple of my 'city' lifestyle, and having recently gone veggie myself, it is so nice to be able to choose anything on the menu. So tonight we are going, and you should too. So throw off your anti-veggie food stigmas! Look for the green awning on 4th just east of MacDonald, you won't be disappointed!

Oh man, I can taste that miso gravy now...

I would probably fuck Buddy too...

One of these days I'm going to manage to stop being such a jerk.

Let me qualify that somewhat: I'm going to give up ever being a jerk. EVER.

For now, I will be accepting of myself and my own shortcomings: namely that I am a jerk sometimes, and aren't we all?

So what prompted this resolution? Well about a week ago I went out with a very old friend from high school that I hadn't seen in three years. After the usual catching up conversation, we fell into reminiscing about the past: namely the year-or-so beginning in the spring of my tenth grade until he graduated. We had some good times, we had lots of laughs, and we had a habit of being jerks. Not big jerks, not malicious, cruel, heartbreaking, souless jerks like the kind on tv. We were small-time jerks. You know us, we liked to laugh, and if we could make something funny, my god we would. Even if it was a tad bit... jerky.

We had a 'friend', who shall remain nameless except for the pseudonym we created for him, 'Spoon'. Spoon was so-called because he was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. In fact, he was so far from sharp that some spoons were sharper than him. Also, we located a spoon that we felt resembled him. So, dubbed Spoon, we proceeded to have a good jerky laugh at his expense.

Spoon had an equally moronic dog, who was named, moronically 'Buddy'. Spoon insisted that Buddy was smart, but we weren't buying it for a second. We once went up to his cabin and spent an evening trying to trick Spoon into saying that he would like to engage in intercourse with his dog (to the layman: fuck Buddy). Finally, we began playing a game called 'Would you Rather'. For the uninitiated, this game involves providing someone with a pair of scenarios and forcing them to choose between the two. The scenarios are necessarily appalling. Our trick was to always make the second option 'Buddy-fucking'.

"Hey Spoon, would you rather be covered in a million paper cuts and dropped in a bucket of acid until all your skin melted off or fuck Buddy?"

To which he would always reply "Uh, fuck Buddy."

And we would laugh. It didn't get old. Four years later it is still funny. And we are still jerks. And I realized that maybe its getting to that time when I should give it up.

But I am weak, and tonight I'm sure we will sit down over coffee and reminisce about old times... and laugh about the jerky things we did, which will still be funny.

But come to think of it, I'd probably fuck Buddy too, given the choice between that or acid...

Soundtrack of our lives...

Every weekday morning for the past three weeks I've walked the eight blocks through downtown to my office. The weather has been consistently beautiful, but this early the heat of the day hasn't set in, and the sunshine has that early-morning freshness that never fails to inspire, regardless of how tired I am. This walk is the best part of my day. I am alone, I'm awake, my feet don't hurt and the city is beautiful.

Its thanks to the music. A soundtrack of my summer that has sat on my mp3 player for two months, unchanged out of laziness, and the fact that I really like what is on there right now. Each song now evokes within me a memory of England. I listen to Matchbox 20 and see the Scottish countryside peeling away from the train, flashing past me in punctuated blurs of green. I hear the opening chords of Champagne High and recall the streets of Bath at 6am as I walked to catch the first train of the day, that early morning smell hanging in the air.

Its also what those songs were chosen for in the first place, more than enjoyment, more than being 'good songs', they all mean something. They have a common thread of strength, a message of moving on, of growing up and leaving love behind. Of saying goodbye to the past and moving towards the unknown with head held high. I have tried to emulate them.

Only time will tell if I've succeeded. It is only a matter of weeks now before I will see him again and truly be tested. I can listen to the songs and feel strong, but how strong will I be when he is hugging me hello, when I can see his smile, hear his voice? I know I still love him. I want to know, I need to have this test, but I am so afraid of what will happen. Ultimately, for me, not knowing how I will react is most difficult of all. I cannot prepare for this.

For now, there is nothing I can do, and worrying about things never helps.

Stranger in a familiar land...

Hmm... hmmmmmmm.... Where am I?

This city is new, old and smells faintly of memory. I came back not knowing what to expect, now I am here expecting not to know.

Last night I saw tens of old people who left my mind when I left three years ago, and although we have changed, we all expect others to remain the same. I see them looking at my familiar face and anticipating familiar words and actions, projecting their image of a teenaged girl onto my twenty-something self. It is even more disconcerting to see myself pandering to this anticipation, watching my body contort itself to fit to their idea of me, and my voice spouting the things they expect to hear.

I cannot help but change when I am gone, and when I return I cannot help but stay the same.

Rachel said that to her now, the city is a different one. Which made me think about space, and 'mapping' (thanks to the infamous christian for that one) and frankly about how a million of us inhabit this space and all live in a different place. We take different routes in our cars, we have associations with corners, stores, the beach and the mountains. I look at the lions and tears spring into my eyes. I see the Japanese Gardens and am reminded of nights spent playing hide and seek in the dark, I remember my own life through this city, and each of us sees it differently. Strange. I told her that I hoped the city would change for me as well, because I couldn't bear to come back and be forced to remain seventeen years old for the rest of my life.