It's Only Words. And Words are All I Have.

Have you noticed just how when someone dies, nothing that anyone else says to the family/friends/loved ones, no matter how well meaning, is of any use?

Most of the time I really want to say, "This sucks donkey balls and I hope you find the strength in you to get through this horrible mess of a time." But apparently, that's not allowed, so I end up saying something lame like, "I'm sorry for your loss."As if they've misplaced their favourite pair of socks or something.

Hallmark really needs to get some new writers.

I'm not loving my job in it's current avatar. I think I'll apply.

A New Middle

"To every beginning there is an end. 

Once you accept this, life is simple"

                                                    - Buddha    

Now, if only I can manage to live by this message, life would indeed be simpler (er). But wisdom such as this is much easier quoted rather than followed as I have learned over and over again. Still, having just laid down a wack load of money as a down payment for a new home, it seems like a good time to talk about new beginnings. 

As I look back at the posts I have written over the years, it seems that a great deal of them seem to be about new beginnings, starting anew, refocusing, trying a different path in life. On the one hand that may make it seem like I'm the sort of person who is forever trying new things with the aim to getting the most out of the life experience; on the other, it may just mean that I'm a "Jack of all trades and master of none" kinda gal. The former seems structured and purposeful and something to aspire to, the latter gives rise to thoughts about flighty and non directional behaviour. 

I'd LIKE to thing I keep bouncing around to doing new things because it is a desire to expand my horizons. However, the sad truth is that most often I am forced into new beginnings because of the twists and turns my life has taken and that fact that the path that I was on is either barred or no longer exists. So, I change tracks, adapt, move on, start again. It's not perfect, but it's the only way I know how to keep from getting mired down in the boggy mess that sometimes is my existence. 

If new beginnings are hard, endings are even worse and usually drain me emotionally. I often lose my heart to places and people. This of course makes it rather difficult when it comes the time to move away from said places and people, often with the gut wrenching knowledge that we may never meet again. Ever. Usually, this leads to months and months of post separation patch up where I try to live in the "what is now", but always seem to think of the "what has been". Essentially, I go through the emotional turmoil of a breakup every single time. And no, it does not get easier to deal with the more times it happens! 

Two weeks from now, I will pack up all my worldly goods and move into a new apartment here in the T Dot. MY apartment. And now that all the paperwork has finally been signed, I find that I am deathly afraid; more than when I was leaving for Scotland 2 years ago. But I suppose that's OK because after all, this is the most gown-up of adventures I have ever embarked upon. Also, because this is what is going to be necessary for me if I am ever to get over my love affair with G Town, and fall back into love with this city and continue to live (and thrive) in the now. 

I once heard that, "Beginnings are usually scary, endings are always sad, but the middle, the place where the adventure actually happens is usually quite nice." And right now, I'm looking forward to a whole new middle! 

Battered and Bruised

There’s a lot to be said about that “new car smell”. Just the words itself conjure up images of a sleek dashboard filled with shiny gadgets and gizmos; the upholstery, smooth and cool to the touch, free of any snags and rents; the door handles, gleaming to the touch, not a sticky fingerprint anywhere in sight. 

And although one cannot deny the appeal of objects shiny and new, there are some things whose appearance and appeal – I find – vastly improve with age. Books are at the top of that list.

It’s not just penny pinching that drives me repeatedly to the bosom of the second hand bookstore. Call it silly, but I actually enjoy reading a book more if it is an old battered copy rather than a pristine version from the shelves of a big soul-destroying chain store. To me, the old copy indicates readership; the many hands and hearts before me that have lapped up the words and lost themselves in the storyline. I am not a fan of notes scribbled in the margins, as I feel that one should be allowed to explore the story without outside influence or prejudice. I do however love picking up books that have a personal message or dedication on the front page; it makes me feel connected with the previous owner. Which is also why when I receive a book as a gift, I always ask the gifter to add in a wee personal message so that I will always have an association of the book with that person.

Some of the books I own are so battered that they are literally in need of medical aid as they are falling apart. When that happens, I hand them over to my mum who has been head nurse in charge of book care since I was a wee one. She has somehow managed to staunch the bleeding of the worst tears and has managed to rebuild most of badly cracked spines. Where book restoration is concerned, she is the Guru.

And, no matter how much the large chain stores will beckon, I will not be easily swayed. Clearly, I am not the only one. 

The End

I am writing this sitting in my bedroom in the T Dot. 

Everything around me is familiar and yet strange. Perhaps it is because my head is still reeling from the events of the past 4 days and my body is still fighting Eastern Standard Time. So much has happened that I hardly know where to begin. 

In between the bouts of jet lag, I feel anger. Rage. Sadness. Disbelief. Grief. And about a hundred other emotions that I cannot even fully comprehend right now. 

Sometime, soon I will have a story to tell. But for now I am too heartsick. Too homesick.

A Groovy Kind of Love

We are all familiar with the sequence. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy. There is an attraction, they date. And perhaps they live happily ever after or else they split up and the cycle begins all over again. After an appropriate interval where broken hearts/wounded feelings mended with the help of copious amounts of ice cream eating of course!

That is exactly how things started out with Wookie.

We met last December at one of the comedy nights where I managed to make a complete tit of myself. Shockingly, that didn’t put him right off and over the next few weeks there was more talking (mostly on my part) and subtle flirting continued. He finally made his move one night as we walked home post comedy which resulted in a most lovely snogging session. The lad didn’t have much chat, but it turns out he had a talented tongue regardless. We made plans to meet on New Year’s Eve after he was done work, but thanks to a longer than usual shift (him), a dead phone battery (me) and general New Year’s Eve madness, that didn’t pan out. Feeling guilty about the whole fiasco, he contacted me the next morning and we made plans to meet up after I was back from Berlin. He suggested going to the Stand, which was actually quite nice; we both liked comedy and I’d never been there before. It was a perfect evening. Lots of laughs thanks to the stellar line up, an equal amount of private jokes between us two; meeting up with fellow comedy lovers and heading out to a pub post show and of course, more of that talented tongue. So when he called to set up another date for that Sunday, of course, I was more than happy.

And that’s where it all went so very wrong.

For starters, he showed up more than 20 minutes late. There was no explanatory text/phone message to give me a heads up and no apology when he finally did get there. Fortunately, I had a book with me and so I didn’t really notice the passage of time. I did however notice a couple of sympathetic glances from the serving staff who, no doubt have seen their share of poor stood up folk. Seated at the table, he was far more interested in focusing on his phone rather on me. I got staccato responses to my questions and no eye contact. At one point I even stopped talking mid sentence and started counting silently to see how long it would take him to notice the silence: I got to 11. To add insult to injury, he mentioned that he intended to head over to his parents place that evening and had a train to catch in an hour. I took that as a not to subtle request to eat faster so that he could get out of there. Upset and rather frustrated by the total opposite of our previous date and the entire sham of an afternoon, I choked down my meal as quickly as possible. We parted at the street corner and I walked back to my flat in a rage.

Not even a half hour later, he pops up on Facebook chat; GoodNews! My parents are here, so I’m getting a lift down to their place. Wonderful, I responded. And then, because I had nothing to lose and I was still hopping mad I added, Let’s just hope you’re better company for them than you were for me today. Nothing for a while, then I got a Whatever do you mean? which, Reader, was JUST the opening I had been looking for. I spewed out all of my rage and frustrations on to that chat message, holding nothing back. For the next hour or so, we chatted back and forth furiously, both attacking and defending. He claimed he was nervous. I said I was too. He said I was forceful, I said he was confusing. He said I didn’t know anything about football, I said that wasn’t even a reasonable statement. And so it went on until we were both out of steam. Look, let’s just forget about the whole thing and move on with our lives, was my final comment. He agreed, we both signed off and I imagined that I would never hear from him again and perhaps see him only occasionally at comedy events where there were enough other people around for us not to have to converse.

How wrong I was!

We ended up chatting online the next day. And the day after, and the day after that as well. In fact, since that fateful “date” not a single day went by without us chatting online or trading a barrage of text messages. We met at comedy. We met outside of comedy. By then, I had started to plan the fundraiser night and he ended up helping me out in little ways; introducing me to his sister who agreed to come photograph the event, running errands to pick up raffle prizes from around the city and sometimes just listening to me rant about various things that were driving me insane. We talked about everything. With other people he was shy to the point of playing mute. Yet, with each other we were never at a loss for words. I told him about the entire fiasco with Beans and he told me about the girl he’d been crushing on for the past six months. We plotted over ways to get her to realise his existence. He declared that I’d gone long enough without football in my life, and I became Padwan to his Jedi Master. And that is how it has been for these past five months.

Sometimes, the memory of those kisses return. But there is no lingering on a “what if.” I know that this is the better way. Had we not had that disaster date, there may have been a few more meetings, a few more kisses, perhaps even sex. But that is where it would have ended. I am sure of it. I do not want a long term relationship right now and he is not ready for one either. A long term friendship however, we can both handle just fine. Our friends joke about us being a couple and yes, it does seem so; all the hallmarks of a relationship just minus the physical intimacy. And yes, there is love: a lot of it in fact. Somehow, Wookie has managed to make me open up again and trust in love again. Perhaps the next time, I will be ready to go that one step further. But for now, I am happy with this kind of love. And when alls said and done, he is so handy when it comes to the changing of the light bulbs!

On Mother's Day

Always on the look out to make a bit of extra cash, I picked up a couple of shifts working over the weekend at the Scottish Exhibition and Conference Centre (SECC) here in G Town. It wasn’t until I showed up for my first shift yesterday morning that I realised the event in question was the annual Girls Day Out weekend, Scotland’s biggest health, lifestyle, fashion and beauty event. Two things immediately came to mind; 1. Holy Hell, there’s going to be a LOT of oestrogen packed into this place and 2. Just how much of a crap girl am I that I didn’t even have the slightest inkling that something as big as this event was happening!

At this stage, Dear Reader, you should know that there is nothing even remotely “girly” about me. I don’t pay attention to clothes… or fashion in general; my idea of make up is a tube of chap stick and I’ve owned a hair straightener for about 3 years but still cannot really get my hair properly unwavy each time I use it. Mainly because I’m too afraid of burning my ears. But that’s a story for a whole other blog post. For now, just pop in the mental picture of a straight talking, no make up wearing, plain dressing girl suddenly surrounded by the largest number of women she has EVER seen together in one place at one time.

It was rather interesting watching the long lines stream past me. Women of all ages, shapes and sizes. Fashionable ones and fake tanned ones. Carefully coiffed ones and carelessly dressed ones. Moms with daughters, Sisters with Mothers and Grandmothers, Gaggles of Girl Friends…. all out for a day of fun together.

I found myself focusing on the more carefully put together women. For some, looking good seemed effortless. How did they know to match that top with those jeans? And how do they get their hair to fall in such bountiful curls? Even my colleagues were very well put together young ladies who had eyed me with blatant disbelief as I tumbled into the staff room, hot and sweaty from the 30 minute walk from home with windswept hair and sensible (read non cute) shoes.

For the most part, I am comfortable in my skin and very happy with being me. Still, every now and then I do feel a twinge of regret re the whole “girly-ness” issue. My mum is just as bad as I am, worse even and I’ve often wondered if I would have benefited from her teaching me how to do my hair, or wear makeup or properly wield hair straighteners.

But that regret usually lasts just moments. I usually shake out my unruly mane, stick my hands into my non fashionable jeans and focus instead on all the things that she DID teach me.

Honesty. Loyalty. Friendship. Love.

Just a few examples of her life lessons. I guess she wasn’t so focused on teaching me to be a good girl. Instead, she tried to teach me how to be a good person. So much better than being able to tie a French braid, don’t you think?

When Death Us Does Part

Four months ago, I sat curled up on the couch watching snowflakes swirl outside my window, turning the streets of G Town into a winter wonderland. Two days later, it hadn't stopped snowing and the wonderland had fast turned into a monster vale. The freezing rain hit after that, and thanks to the total lack of grit and salting, the entire city turned into one giant ice rink. It was one day soon after, as I gingerly made my way to work one morning, watching people all around me falling over like skittles, that I was keenly aware of just how easy it would be for me to fall over and badly injure myself. Especially since I was a major calamity on even regular roads. From falling over and getting hurt, my thoughts turned to more darker outcomes such as just one false step spelling disaster, and leading to my head being cracked open on the curb.

Lights Out. Curtains. The End. Without the possibility of an encore performance. THE BIG FINISH.

And although I found myself rather unperturbed by the entire concept of my life coming to a sudden (and tragic) halt, it was the idea of my send off that started to bother me even more.

Coming from a large family, I've been used to celebrating all manner of events from a very early age. Birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, christenings, graduations; they've all been attended with gusto. Funerals on the other hand have always been an alien event. My family tended to keep children away from funerals and death in general. And the one time I did attend one, I was too stressed out by the overwhelming atmosphere. The person in question had been a rather aged member of the family and had died after a good long life. Yet, there were people all around wailing and beating themselves with grief. Literally. Many years later, I found out that those women who had been weeping copious amounts of tears were what my dad referred to as "professional mourners." They regularly attended funerals of all and sundry and made sure that the overall atmosphere was rank with grief and despair. At the time, I did not know this, and I was scared and uncomfortable with the whole situation. And, as I often do in such times, I began talking and joking. Inappropriate sentences tumbled out of my mouth and I was powerless to stop myself. My grandmother and aunt who were the relatives closest to me promptly marched me out of the room and into the custody of a random cousin with instructions to take me home at once. Said cousin has often thanked me for getting him out of a claustrophobic room and uncomfortable suit. It was later decided that for the sake of the family, I was not to attend any more funerals; a decision I was more than happy to abide by.

But now, I was consumed with thoughts of my own sendoff. I knew what funerals are supposed to be and I also knew most certainly that I wanted mine to be nothing like a "regular" funeral at all. I didn't want sadness or grief or tears. Not unless they were going to be tears of laughter. Because, let's face it, when thinking about me, most of the time you're going to remember some sort of crackpot thing that I've said or done and that's just going to make you giggle.

And that's what I want. A room full of people who I love and who hopefully love me in return all sitting around sharing their personal stories about me. No one is to wear black, unless of course it is for the slimming effect and you have a LBD that you've been dying to wear. I would like folks to bring along their favourite picture of me. That way, everyone can see just how great my hair actually was!

I want music playing. Not some somber ponderous rendition of Amazing Grace either. But music that is reflective of me, of my life. Pink's Raise Your Glass comes to mind right now. So too Glee's Loser Like Me. Both terribly apt I'd say! These are the notes I want blasting through that room. And I DO mean blasting, so there's no way this is going to be in some stoggy funeral hall or prim and proper church. The party room of some pub would be a far more suitable venue.

If there is to be a eulogy, then I want it told by the three people who I know will do me justice. My cousin Scribbler, my big brother Beer Baron and the love of my life, Maestro. They know all the good stories spanning my childhood, my teenage years and in to adulthood. Also, by picking 3 writers, I'm increasing the odds of them being around after I've kicked it! I can count on these guys to leave off the flowery tributes and focus on the really and REAL stories instead. Even the ones that made me look like a complete tit. Especially those ones!

Please don't bother with flowers. Wreaths especially. Take that money you'd spend on lilies or carnations or whatever and instead put to towards some concrete way of remembering me. Plant a tree. Put a bench in park so that people can sit down and read on a fine summer's day. Donate it to a charity. Whatever. Just don't waste it on an ugly wreath that costs too much and will just wither away in a few days anyway. 

I guess what I'm saying is, don't treat as the end of my life, rather, a celebration of it. Make it a great big party and by golly, I want people to be hungover as hell the next morning!

And if you are going to play Amazing Grace, at least make it a damned good version!

Been There, Done That!

Almost 3 weeks later, and I'm still receiving birthday prezzies which, I have to add is totally awesome! My friend Penguin Pal is all about the "birthday month" and I'm rather liking the concept. A package just came in with all sorts of goodies from my besties in the T Dot. The accompanying card has a list of things that was titled "30 Things to do for 30". Here's a reproduction of the same. I am happy to report that I have been able to cross a fair few items off already!

Shop till you drop - HATE shopping with a passion, so this one might never get done.
Eat cookie dough
Quit your job
Buy some bling
Speed date - Was signed up for it once, then genuinely fell ill on the day so had to drop out.
Sing karaoke
Do the birthday dance - Not quite sure what this is, but am up for all/any kinds of dancing!
Streak - Am rather surprised that given my group of friends this hasn't already happened.
Wish for something outrageous
Party! Party! Party!
Eat Cake
Play spin the bottle
Take a hot air balloon ride - Actually want to do that here before I leave. Virgin sometimes does really good discount offers.
Bungee jump from a bridge - Was all set to do this in New Zealand, then my busted knee put a kibosh on those plans.
Date online -Probably another thing that will never get done. Can't seem to get into the zone for this kind of stuff.
Moon somebody
Pimp your ride - Have never owned my own car, but does glitter and stickers on your bicycle count?
Get shot out of a cannon - Um, NO. I am accident prone as it is! But, would like to try trapeeze swings at some point.
Kiss a stranger
Splurge on something frivilous
Go skinny dipping
Runaway and join the circus - So wanted to when I was little and reading about Mr. Galliano's circus!
Go crazy
Drop it like its hot - Again, not quite sure what is required of me here. Anyone reading this who speaks Snoop Dog?
Play strip poker
Write your memoir - This blog kinda counts, doesn't it?
Go skydiving - Dunno about solo, but a tandem dive seem like a piece of cake! (I say, with my feet planted on terra firma)
Call a party line - Again. No. Waste of money that I can spend on pints and chatting/flirting with someone in person.
Cry over lost youth
Live it up!

On Turning 30

As the clock struck midnight, there was the epic noise of a door slamming shut as I crossed over the threshold and landed firmly into the third decade of my life. My friends decided that making an announcement over the mic and getting the entire pub to sing for me would be appropriate. There was a rousing cheer of "Happy 30th" at the end of the song and hearing that out loud was a very odd feeling indeed. I knew this moment was coming. In fact, the entire evening I kept checking my watching thinking, Just 4 hours left in my 20s.... just 3..... and so on.

I am now about 8 hours into my 30s having just stumbled home after the comedy night at the pub which was followed by the post comedy night at another bar. And if these past few hours are any indication of how the rest of the decade will follow, then Mercy, this decade is going to be even more manic than the last!

To commemorate the awesomeness that has been my life thus far, I've put together a list of what I consider my top 30 moments of glory. Begging your indulgence with this little piece of self promotion, I give you (in no particular order):

30 Things I did before 30

1. Learned to tie my shoe laces and ride a bike all on the same day. Or so my mother says. 
2. Won a dance competition. Toronto Swing Dancing Championship, 2008. West Coast Swing Beginner Category - First Place! 
3. Saw wild elephants up close. A little too close actually.
4. Took part in almost every extra curricular activity my high school had on offer. Art, music, drama, sports, science fair - did it all. 
5. Completed the Tongararo Crossing; a 21 km alpine trek that climbs as high as 1900 mts. Ok, so I had to be carried down the last 1.5 kms by six German guys coz I'd fallen and twisted my knee. But it still counts. 
6. Been carried down a mountain by six German guys. Hey, how many other people can claim that? 
7. Sang the National Anthem at a major league sporting event.
8. Was bridesmaid at my Very Best Friend's wedding. 
9. Quit my job. Twice. 
10. Took a six month sabbatical and went travelling. Then carved a niche for myself in the new career path. 
11. Tried both skiing and ice skating. Both were epic FAILS. But hey, at least I tried. 
12. Moved to a new country and started from scratch. Twice. 
13. Led a successful boycott of my high school Christmas pageant in protest of exam dates clashing with production rehearsal times. Have I mentioned that I went to a catholic school run by Carmelite nuns? And that my aunt was a teacher at said school? It was my very own Norma Rae moment. 
14. Slept outdoors under the canopy of stars in the Australian Outback.
15. Skinny dipped in the ocean.
16. Watched the sun rise over sand dunes in the Thar desert. 
17. Posed nude for a charity shoot. No Photoshop was involved! 
18. Eaten at least 5 kinds of "mystery" meats. And lived to tell the tale. 
19. Was the youngest person ever to sit on her Parish Council. And boy did I shake things up during my tenure! 
20. Graduated debt free. Not even a library fine to worry about. 
21. Held my own for 4 years working as the only female in a department of 47 men in a testosterone dominated industry. Helped that I could drink most of those pansies under the table.
22. Fallen hopelessly, passionately and totally in love. Because no matter how it ended, it was an incredible feeling while it lasted. 
23. Dragged myself out of the cold bleak well of heartbreak and clawed my way back to the top. Three times. 
24. Presented at an international conference on youth leadership. Again, one of the youngest presenters there. 
25. Learned how to cook well enough to have friends around for dinner and cook yummy goodies for them. Hardly award worthy I know, but sometimes the company of good pals is worth more than a million dollar prize. 
26. Taken a chance. On life, on a job, on love. 
27. Nurtured and maintained several long lasting friendships that have stayed strong even through years and miles have separated us. 
28. Co-produced a book chronicling the lives of two of my personal heroes - my grandparents. 
29. Introduced a fair few people to the wonderful world of dancing as a Dance Instructor. 
30. Made a cameo in a Bollywood movie. It was for about 3 seconds and I am barely visible, but I know I'm there! 

 

A New Chapter

An eight hour train ride home is the perfect opportunity for me to take stock of the weeks gone by. There are many things that will forever be linked with my memories of life at summer camp. Some good, some not, but over all its been one helluva crazy roller coaster ride. Its only been a few hours, but already I'm missing the hustle and bustle of camp life. True, over the past two weeks our numbers had shrunk and a lot of the staff left last week, but even so, there were still enough people around. Its going to be very strange being on my own again. I wonder how I'm going to like it.


Looking out the window, I see mountains. We must have crossed the border into Scotland some time ago. Not too long to go before I'm home. I'm not at all sure what the next few weeks will bring me. I don't even know if I'll be calling Scotland home for much longer. What I do know is that I'm no longer the same person I was when I left here seven weeks ago. Being away from G Town and let's face it, being well out of the way of Beans has been a very good thing. The time away has helped me refocus on what's truly important - ME. In a few short weeks I have gone from being a sad and lonely dumpee to a happy, carefree and vibrant being who's even managed to have herself one hot  (HOT) summer fling!

Yes, I'm going back to a quiet home. Then again, after having to share a life with 400 odd other people anything will be quiet in comparison. But its not going be a lonely life. There are friends that I've missed over the summer and who I cannot wait to see again. Talk to, do some much needed catching up. There are job applications to send out; not the most pleasant task, but it has to be done! There are still so many places in and around G Town that I want to explore; the traveller in me will never rest.

Only another hour or so and the train will pull into Central Station. I will take my bags, step off the train and head off. It's time for me to write a new chapter, and I hope you'll come back and read along with me.

A Love Affair

It was supposed to be 3 weeks of a summer job. Plan activities for the kids; teach them some new skills; take them on walks, trips and excursions; keep them out of trouble; make some friends and hopefully have a good time in the process.

What I did not expect was to become a teacher, mentor, friend, counselor, mother, big sister, vengeance angel, hall monitor, centre administrator and general all round go-to girl.

Over the past two weeks, I have yelled at kids one moment, then comforted another lot the next. Dealt with every type of teenage aggro - smoking, drinking, fist fights, bullying and truancy to name just a few. Just when I want to take the entire lot and drown them in the harbour, they turn around and do something wonderful and caring and so I let them live another day.

There have been water fights, walks to the beach, football tournaments, cross dressing discos, X factor style talent contests, movie nights, moonlit walks, all nighters, heart-to-hearts, stomach aching laughter, some tears, one kiss and more hugs than I can remember.

My contract here has been extended until the end of the month. Perhaps for longer should the need arise. Oh sweet summer, how I am loving thee!

Walking on Sunshine

After the initial shock of getting that nasty email which led to a really sad sad evening, a night of next to no sleep and a day trip to Amsterdam that had to be cut short due to illness, I got back to Barbie's house and as soon as I could I got online and called my parents in Canada.

An hour or so later, I hung up and felt so much better.

I told them everything. All The Crap from the past 8 months culminating in the email from the day before. For the first time there was no dodging the facts or trying to shield them from the bare bones truth. A lot of it they already knew; had pieced together from the information that I had been giving them and inferred the rest. But it felt good to just get every single thing off my chest. And to cry. Without shame, without reserve.

At the end of it, I was exhausted and my eyes were so swollen they were almost shut. But my heart was light. That night, there was no tossing and turning. From the minute my head hit the pillow to the moment the alarm went off the next morning I had slept the sleep of the dead.

Barbie and I spent the last day of my vacation at the beach. She was scheduled to work that day and had asked the manager if I could tag along. He agreed on the condition that I make myself useful by taking pictures of the day's events. Which basically meant I got to hang around a beach on a beautiful sunny day and play with a fancy camera that I would otherwise get to use only in my dreams.

My flight got in pretty late and exhausted after the long day I tumbled right in to bed.

The alarm had been set for 8:30 am, but I was awake long before that. The sun was streaming in the window and even through my half shut groggy eyes I could tell that it was going to be a spectacular day. Just the perfect day to have an outdoor job. To take people around a fascinating city and tell them stories about amazing people, places and events. I felt like I was on top of the world. The tips were awesome.

Got back to G Town and headed over to meet some friends for a Comedy Night pub quiz. They commented on how I seemed to be on a high and that's exactly what it was. A high. All day long. I cannot stop smiling or laughing (a bit awkward when you're by yourself on the bus back home) and I was literally dancing, not walking down streets.

Logic told me that this was all wrong. That I was supposed to be sad and mopey. The email signified the finality to any hope of any long term relationship that I had hoped for with Beans. And yet, that email had somehow set me free.

It is just 1:00 am. And I should be dead tired after waking up at 7:00 am, going into E City, conducting a 3.5 hr walking tour, returning and going to a night out. But I'm not. I feel that I can do it all over again, right here, right now.

I don't know what's going on. All I know is that for some absurd, magical, wonderful reason I no longer care about Beans and all the mess of the last months. She can have him. He can have her. Ironically, I found out that her name is the same as mine. Bizarre eh? But, I digress. It seems like my brain no longer wants to care about being dumped, being humiliated, being used and abused. It has gone on some sort of vacation from those bad thoughts leaving me instead with the feeling that a wide and wonderful door has opened up beyond which there is a veritable plethora of endless possibilities. Am I mixing my metaphors? I don't care. Never professed to being a writer!

I'm not quite sure if I'm done loving him. I've been trying to wrap my head around my manic feelings for some time now, but with no answers. What I do know, is that finally, I love myself more.

Readers, I feel like I'm walking on sunshine. And DAMN does it feel so good!




**Disclaimer**
No, I am not and have not indulged in any sort of "treat" that Amsterdam is notorious for. Whatever high I'm on, its all self produced! Imagine if I could bottle this and mass produce!

Embracing my Inner Gleek

Last season's surprise hit TV show has gotten everyone talking about the age old high school rivalry. Supposedly, if you're in Glee Club (or a version of it) that automatically makes you uncool and the bottom feeders of the high school social hierarchy. Having never attended high school in North America, I don't know just how much of this is true. If it is, then I cannot express just how sad that would be as a reflection of American society.

Why is it that kids who decide to participate in school activities are termed "geeks"? If that is the case, well then, I was (and probably still am) the very biggest geek around. Drama, music, art, science, handicrafts, dance, band, squad, guides; I was part of all these clubs back in high school. And I loved it! I knew I sucked at sports, but that was ok. I was happy to play with my classmates during P.E class, but when it came to competitions I preferred to leave it to the experts. But other than that, I signed up for anything and everything that the school offered. It was the perfect excuse for a "get out of class free" pass!

And boy did the over enthusiastic participation work to my advantage! One time I was punished by the maths teacher as I hadn't completed my homework. The punishment was to stay in at recess and get it all done. Problem was, practice for drama class was scheduled during recess and we had a play to perform at the sectionals in a mere 2 weeks time. The teacher in charge of drama got me out of the punishment. 'Course, I had to promise to have the homework done by the next morning, but hey, I'd have done that anyway. No one was stupid enough to cross the math teacher twice!

I know for sure that I was nowhere near being cool when in school. Or in even later in university. For that matter, I'm still not allowed anywhere near the cool kid's table! What I do know is that being part of every one of those clubs gave me an education far better than any classroom lecture. And I say that with no disrespect to my wonderful teachers. Being part of those clubs may have been gleek like, but they are what form some of my best high school memories.

And really, what is so wrong about wanting to participate in these activities and win accolades for the school? If that's going to keep me at the bottom of the social ladder, well that's perfectly fine by me. In any case, I'm terrified of heights!!

Above: Grade 8 class picture with the Principal (centre), Vice Principal (left) and class teacher.

Can you spot the 12 year old me?

When it Rains, It Bloody Well Pours!

As if the high from the Paddy's day party wasn't enough, I woke up bright and early last Sunday morning in the mood for more thrills. I'd heard about a free walking tour in Edinburgh. T'was the same company as the one I had just done in Paris, and since the first one was so good, I thought I'd give this one a go. Post tour, I got chatting with the guide and he mentioned that the company was hiring guides for the summer. As luck would have it his manager was just finishing up with his own tour group near by and so I wrangled out an introduction. The manager was nice enough to tell me a lot about the company and what was available, then advised me to send in an application. I did, and he called back inviting me to an interview Tuesday next week.

Then, on Wednesday, I got an email from one of the girls I had worked with at the rugby gig. She worked with a recruitment firm in Paisley (just outside of G Town) and we'd gotten talking during the day. Again, not wanting to miss out on an opportunity, I sent off my CV to her. The email was to set up a meeting for Wednesday next week.

On Thursday, I got a call from a store near my flat where I had dropped off an application some days ago. They wanted to set up an interview for Monday.

And just when I thought it really wasn't going to get any better, yesterday, Ms. Oversized Glasses (finally) replied to my (two) email(s) and said that she'd passed on my information to one of her colleagues and gave me his name and phone number. Not wanting to waste any time, I gave him a ring and had a wee chat. He asked me to send along a CV and he'd look at it. No promises, but hey... at least it was a lead!

Looks like next week is going to be very busy. One can only hope that something good will come of it.

And if not. Well, square one and the drawing board both await!!

Lyrics for Life

Its been a long past 8 months. A whole lot of downs and not a whole lot of ups to counter balance that. My normally upbeat outlook has taken the worst thumping ever. There were so many dark days. Days when I would wonder what I was waking up for in the first place. I let everyone and everything else define me, and worse, I questioned my own beliefs to such an extent that soon I wasn't able to recognise me anymore.

Of course, you dear readers knew that. You were there on my mega downwards spiral, as I ranted and raged against Beans, life, the universe and everything in it. Damn, that must have made for some really bad reading!

I think I've had enough. In fact, I know I have.

I'm sick of the negativity. If you've known me at all, you know that its just not me. I love life way too much, love laughter way too much. Heck, I love beer way too much... let's face it, beer without laughter just doesn't taste as good!

And so, I'd like to borrow from the amazing Stephen Schwartz who's magical lyrics and music have inspired me to get out of this funk and get a damn life. Enough with the misery. It's time I found a new way.

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes, and leap!

It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you can't pull me down!

I'm through accepting limits
''cause someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But till I try, I'll never know!
Too long I've been afraid of
Losing love I guess I've lost
Well, if that's love
It comes at much too high a cost!

I'd sooner buy
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I'm defying gravity
And you can't pull me down

So if you care to find me
Look to the western sky!
As someone told me lately:
"Ev'ryone deserves the chance to fly!"
And if I'm flying solo
At least I'm flying free

To those who'd ground me
Take a message back from me
Tell them how I am
Defying gravity
I'm flying high
Defying gravity
And soon I'll match them in renown

And nobody in all of Oz
No Wizard that there is or was
Is ever gonna bring me down!

**Disclaimer**
There will probably have more bad days ahead; I'm sure that it will take a while before I'm back to pre sucky status. But I do promise to try not to dwell on the bad things. I do promise to at least TRY and find the awesome in everyday. And dear reader, thank YOU for being the awesome that has been there for me this entire time. I *heart* you v much!

Whos That Girl?

Rain Man's previous comment on my girliness - or thereby lack of - was weighing heavily on my mind. Normally, I would have shrugged off the remark, stuck my tongue out at him and moved on back to the couch in my PJs and fav sweatshirt.

But something made me pause. In a mere week I was about to descend on the fashion capital of the world, Paris. There was no way I was going to make my entrance into mainland Europe looking like something even the cat wouldn't drag in.

And so, I have tentatively stepped upon the road to transformation. In heels of course!
Update: I had suffered through DQ's birthday party in these heels, but thanks to my week's regime of stretching them out with fluffy socks they were super comfy (ok, more like moderately bearable) for Saturday night's festivities. *heel click in glee*

Happy to Me!!!

Things had been so very hectic in the run up to the fundraising event that I had been thinking of nothing else other than volunteer lists, prizes for the silent auction and all manner of other prep points that I quite neglected the fact that a momentous occasion was almost upon us.... my birthday!

When I finally set aside the notes and invoices from the ball, and began to think about the birthday, I knew one thing was for sure; no way was I going to spend the day cooped up at the office... or even at home. That would be just too sad, even for someone who has sunk as low as I have!

A quick scan on the interwebulator told me that Stirling Castle was having a bunch of special exhibitions and my handy-dandy yearly subscription to the Scottish Historic Society was not only going to get me into the castle for free, but also into all of the exhibitions at no extra cost! With that sweet a deal on the table, how could I not go???

And off I went. And what a glorious day for a trip to a medieval castle. Not because it was a clear and sunny wintry morning, but rather a cold and clammy day with the mists swirling low down on the hills and all around the castle; perfect for a visit into history.
Things warmed up a great deal later that evening when I met Beans, VBF and her husband for dinner at a Brazilian restaurant in the city centre. Glorious food, great laughs and the company of good friends; all ingredients for a very special birthday celebration.
The evening was particularly enjoyable since earlier on I'd received a phone call from the elusive Boss Man. Apologising profusely for not getting back to me earlier, he explained that although he had indeed dissolved the company and the partnership at Easterhouse, he was starting up a new company under a different banner and that far from being unemployed, my services would be very much needed to get things going and done correctly from the get go. Suffice to say, there was a huge sigh of relief at my end of the line! He was getting things sorted out for a new office location this week and would get back to me with information on starting next Monday. Same arrangement as before, same rates... just different location.

I went off to dinner feeling much MUCH better and ready to celebrate for more reasons than one! The pals did not disappoint and it was a simply lovely evening out. And the celebrations will continue this weekend with drinks at a local hot spot and then next week..... PARIS!

29 has begun well. I pray that it will continue as such. Dammit, I need a good year!

A Senseless Situation

Month two of this new year, and life here goes on. A little bit better now that I have a job. But if you've been reading the blog, then you know that the job is nothing to write home about. I was so convinced that if I stuck around long enough to find a job - any job - that things would get better. My life would magically repair. That, I'm finding is not the case. I do however love working for the cancer charity. Passionate about it is more like it. People wonder why I put so much of my energies and efforts into something that doesn't pay me a penny. Its not about the money. Its about not letting that bastard disease win.

My Papa has cancer. In the esophagus, colon and liver. And God knows where else. In a way, its a blessing that it is so far progressed. There is no question of treatment, just a wait-and-watch game that we are all playing. The medical term, I believe is palliative care.

For the first time since Nana died, I understood just how lucky she was. Her death, although sudden was quick. Painless. She didn't have time to think about her mortality and ponder the question of the great what comes after. The whole thing was simple. In reality more painful to us, the ones she left behind.

Papa isn't going to be as lucky.

This is a senseless situation. And I find myself wishing for the unthinkable. Like for death to come quickly to him. For him not to have to go through months of torture to die in agony. If only wishes were horses, he would be safe now. And they would be together again.

Tired Mind, Aching Heart

The month in India was over all too soon. Before I knew it, I was rushing around the house trying to locate all of my clothes and random belongings to shove into bags that were crammed packed. so crammed packed that I needed to go buy a new carry on bag. Red. Very Snazzy. Me Likey!

In spite of my flippant attitude to leaving, the heart was heavy indeed. The biopsy results came back on the 4th. The dreaded C word was confirmed. A chill crept around everyone's hearts, but we tried to stay positive. Find out more, the docs said. So, the day before I left, Papa was taken in for a PET scan. Again, there was the drama of calling for a cardiac ambulance, telling him about going in for more tests, fasting before the tests, calming him, reassuring him. Stressful for everyone.

Leaving was so very hard. But I had come to make my peace, say goodbye. And so I did. One last kiss, one last hug, one last look. All burned into my memory. They now need to last a lifetime.

All I Want for Christmas

Anyone who knows me, even a wee bit, will attest to the fact that I am a truly Christmas person. I love the sparkly look everywhere as shop windows and streets are lit up with fairy lights. I love planning my mum and her sisters and sis-in-law all do to make sure that the family is (very) well fed at Christmas dinner. I love the thrill of finding *just* that right present for that certain someone you've been agonising over!

But even for a Christmasaholic like myself, I cannot get over how every year the season seems to begin earlier and earlier. There have been days when I've seen stores and malls all decked out for Halloween on October 31st and then *boom* on November 1st that has magically changed into a Winter Wonderland ready to usher in the Season of Shopping!

This year too, it was no different. The "official" lights of the city of Glasgow were lit last Sunday. Christmas music is blaring over the store loudspeakers and tinsel is just everywhere.

Every year, I bitch and moan about the bastardisation of my favourite time of year. About how its increased commercialisation has ruined most of what I hold dear about the season. About how presentings and spendings are the values that are worshiped in lieu of love and truth and kindness. I usually get so caught up in trying to sidetrack the gory parts, that I almost miss out on the rest. The actual good stuff, that I love.

This year, I'm trying something different. If I cannot beat the commercialisation, then I'm going to join in. And love it. Dammit, I'm not letting those cash-grabbing-soul-killing-Christmas-stealing grinches get the better of me this time.

And so, dear readers. I present.... my wish list!

• One pair of fuzzy, warm bedroom slippers
• One bathrobe. Preferably also of warm(ish) material
• One bandaid for a sad and broken heart
• One (just one) sign that things will get better for me
  
• One last chance to see my Papa again and give him the biggest hug

Santa, St. Nick, Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny. Yoda. Whoever you are out there granting these wishes. I can assure you that I've been a good girl this year. At least, I've tired my very best to be. I ask that you please grant me my Christmas wishes.