the pearls on the frame dulled in the evening light
wiping the edge with her fingertip,
she flicked the particles
and they danced as they fell.
swirling and falling like she used to
in that dress she bought
a pretty penny
that’s what it cost.
stuck in the snow globe house
as fragile as the glass that held the frame
slowly going insane
ripping at the walls
like the crazy woman in that short story.
what was it called?
O brave new world that has such people in it!
Why must your people suck so much? A couple weekends ago I ventured out with two girlfriends on the weekend after New Year’s Eve. Needless to say most people were home, still recuperating after the previous week’s festivities. So there were slim pickins at the bar for my single friend who was extremely ready to mingle.
Do you ever get that feeling where you don’t belong somewhere? That’s literally how I feel whenever I enter a bar. Or a social scene. Or whenever I leave my house. Joking. But I do feel that way when I’m in a bar and forced to talk to men that are forcing themselves to talk to my friends and I. It’s such a strange social norm. Like, as men you’re expected to think of something to say to a semi attractive woman/group of women that will flatter them, make them laugh, or perhaps intrigue them. And as women we just have to sit there and wait for a dude/group of dudes to come up to us and start talking about something stupid and we literally have to sit there and entertain whatever BS they’re saying. It’s all so archaic, dont’cha think?
In an ideal world, women could cut to the chase and say some kind of regretful Simon Cowell-esque “sorry I’m not sorry” decline. It would save so much time. I hate that when women act disinterested, they come off as bitchy. Maybe she’s doing the man a favor by saving him time and energy he would’ve otherwise wasted trying to impress her. Just a thought.
I know I might sound harsh, but a couple of men sat with us at one point during the night and I think I would’ve been happier removing all my nails one by one, the way Joe Pesci threatens to do to Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. I literally did not get along with them at all. I was pleasant, but was dying a slow death inside.
At the next bar, a nice couple of guys came up to us. One could not stop telling stories about locking his fiancee on his patio in the dead of a Toronto winter for 7 hours. Husband material? The other one and I had some deep conversations about whether Heaven is for real (brought on by the mention of the movie), more movie talk, music, and entertainment. These were easy and fun topics for me to discuss. He was somewhat alarmed when I approached a guy wearing a jean jacket with nothing underneath buttoned up to his navel, paired with ripped jeans, vans, and greasy tousled hair. I told this man that I “really loved his look.” My friends were embarrassed of me as per usual and the guys we were talking to were puzzled. As I explained my simple actions, one of the bros commented, “You’re kind of a bitch.”
Perhaps. But that might just be my character. And in turn, that might just be me being me. So am I really? Or am I just kind of opinionated about movies and unashamed of handing out compliments to people with awesome style and aware of the time wasted talking to people I’ll never see again in my short existence. Maybe that makes me a bitch. Maybe I’m a little bit sharper around the edges than you soft, people-loving, easy going, talk-to-absolutely-anyone, sweet little Canadians. And that’s okay.
Isn’t it bizarre-o that it’s now 2015? I was talking with a friend of mine whose child was born five measly days ago and how their baby is literally a child of the future. They will never know what it’s like to be without internet and smart phones. Information at their fingertips. Being able to literally get whatever they want delivered to their front door, be it clothes, books, or something to eat. What a weird existence.
Carl Sagan once said, “The cosmos are within us.” I feel like that has never been truer. I look up at the night sky far more often than I used to, marveling at our small earthly home and the vast sky above us. How much longer is can our planet support us? How much longer until we become stars ourselves?
February 19th marks the start of the Chinese New Year, the year of the Sheep. Are any of you born in the year of the sheep/goat? Let’s hope we aren’t fooled by wolves in sheep’s clothing this year. I might celebrate my sheepish side by purchasing a shearling coat and eating some tripe. JK that’s disgusting.
Anyway, let’s be happy that we made it through to see another calendar year. What are some things that made your year special?
I see the moon and the moon sees me and the moon sees somebody I want to see.
Lately I’ve become entranced with the moon. I love how it lights up the night and how it morphs into different shapes yet still remains the same. Waxing and waning. Crescent and gibbous. The sun is always the same. It gives us light, life, and even energy. The moon is different though. It doesn’t require attention. It’s just there. Sometimes it comes out even when it’s not supposed to. Have you ever looked up on a clear day and seen the moon faintly making an appearance? Like it’s always watching over us.
The moon kind of reminds me of the Underworld in Greek mythology. Everyone thinks of Hades and the Underworld as evil or interchangeable with hell. But I don’t really think that was the case. The Underworld was simply where people went when they died. Everyone went there. No exclusions. It wasn’t a bad place at all. But since the myth was painted with a dark undertone, people translate it as a dark place. Because the sun is always associated with light and good it makes sense that the moon would be paired with darkness and even a wicked vibe. But I think the moon gets a bad rap sometimes.
Even though our moon can’t make flowers grow or supply us with a source of vitamins, it has other, equally impressive powers. For example, old Luna can control the ocean’s tide. Whenever I spend a week at the beach with my mom she always asks the life guard what time high tide is. It’s different every day because the moon goes through a different phase each day. 
The moon can also control our personality. The word lunatic gets it’s root from our nightlight. My parents both used to work in a mental health facility and they said that anytime the patients started acting a little bit over the top, they would look out the window and see a full moon staring back at them.
We can even walk on the moon if our heart so desires. And if you have millions of dollars combined with the permission of NASA. For those of us without those means, we can just moon walk down the aisles of the grocery store (the best place to practice). The sun never provides us with dance moves or a place to travel.
Have you ever read the book Goodnight Moon? It’s not a very challenging read, but it’s a classic. The little boy I used to babysit liked to read that one with me. I think the moon is a comfort. It’s always there to tuck us in at night. And everyone sees the same moon. No one really says that about the sun. You can’t look straight into the sun. But the moon will just calmly hang in the sky.
There was a rare ‘blood moon’ eclipse the other night. Did you see it?
A couple weeks ago I was thinking about how weird it is that we, as humans, are born to parents (some good, some bad, some in between, I suppose) who all have interests, and in turn, we become interested or end up knowing a lot about their interests because they’re in our lives and we’re kind of surrounded by them. Granted, this isn’t always the case. But it typically is. Even if you aren’t particularly interested in your parents lives or hobbies or whatnot, you still end up hearing a lot about their favorite subjects, and then begrudgingly become somewhat knowledgeable about said subjects.
If I wasn’t born to my parents, I doubt that I would care about analyzing why people act a certain way or how a person’s childhood can effect how they grow emotionally. I doubt that I would like to write or even read. Create or decorate. Would I like to sing or listen to the bands I like now? Would I know that TCM stands for Turner Classic Movies and that there is not one Thin Man movie, but like, 6 or 7?! Would I like to dance and laugh at people trying to be serious? Could I spot a “good cut” in a movie scene? Would I make collages of all my favorite things and then admire them over and over? Would I still like animals more than people?
Perhaps. But probably not. I would be different because my parents would be different–have different jobs, hobbies, senses of humor, religions, struggles, incomes, etc. I like all the things that make up me. I’d like to think that we can see the best in our parents and the things that they like, we take and make them our own.
Or maybe not. Just a thought.
Also, don’t get all nature vs. nurture on me.
quinoa salad mixed in bowls
dry ass chicken
avocados
instagram take your pics
tag me
hashtag
#route66
oprah’s chai tea latte
great
extension chords
moving upstate
dakota fanning
looks like hell
j’adore dior
super jell
hmm
yeah
sure
oh well.
In this vast world of blogging splendor, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. There’s not enough time in the days, hours, minutes, for me to even contemplate ideas or have creative thoughts. I long for soaking up books, movies, plays, music, pop culture, history, news, reality, knowledge, etc, etc, etc. And I feel like I’m eternally chasing all of this stuff and the world keeps speeding up and producing more stuff and it’s just a never-ending production line of crap with some gems mixed in. 
I love when I find a gem. Like a favorite movie or TV show or painting or article of clothing or photograph–something that speaks to my soul. I can feel it. You can feel it. You just know, ya know? I feel like, as humans, we spend so much time wading through the crap to get to the jewels. Or sometimes we think that the crap is worth more than it is.
I went to a movie tonight called Begin Again (bad title) and I expected it to be bad because it starred Adam Levine and Keira Knightley’s teeth, but then I started digging it and then I was disgusted in myself. I started thinking, do I really like this? Or have I lost my superior (and obnoxious) sense of what’s critically considered “good” and “bad” and now I’m just a regular Joe enjoying an unrealistic rom-com. Maybe I was just in the mood for something light. But I don’t want to be that person. I want to be the person who watches foreign films on Wednesdays and knows the newest bands before the university radio stations. I want to have an opinion on the careers of models that people haven’t even heard of. Do I want to be a hipster? I don’t know. I liked myself when I was in-the-know. But now I’m out of the loop and I can’t catch up. One can never catch up on what they missed. You can’t study up on life.
I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. Peace out. *drops mic*
You may or may not remember that I was having computer problems last time I posted on here. I continued to have them for a while afterward and was in the early stages of having a mental breakdown because of it. I spent a lot of time complaining to my husband how necessary it is to have a laptop for writing blog posts (among other things) and he gave me this big spiel about how no one will use laptops in a couple of years so I should just calm down. Well, until that technologically savvy year comes I refuse to believe that anything of worth will be written by using an iPad keyboard. Autocorrect can suck it.
But really, friends, foes, how are you? I’ve missed being present in the blogosphere. I’ve been a bad blogger and commentor and just bad in general. I need to redeem myself a bit.
I’m on vacay right now so I have time to take a moment for myself to type and eat Nantucket cookies and Pirouettes. Pepperidge Farm doesn’t mess around. They know what’s up. However, my enjoyment has ceased a bit because I decided to get sunburned in the worst possible place. My butt. Whenever I sit down, wear underwear that scratches, or try to ride my bike, I’m met with a somewhat painful sensation. Wouldn’t suggest it. I will be looking hella tan back there in a week though.
Anyway, that’s about it. Not much of an update but I suppose it will do. I’ll post my vacation mix if I get enough interest in that. I’m still a fan of making mix cds even though apparently cds will be a thing of the past 5 minutes ago.
I’ve had a strange attachment to the grocery store Safeway ever since I moved to Canada. I think it’s because my home grocery store of choice was part of the Safeway chain, but it went under the name of Dominick’s. Dominick’s was a 2 minute drive from my house and, frankly, my happy place.
That grocery store gave me so much comfort. When my husband was visiting my hometown I took him inside and he said, “Oh it’s a Safeway” to which I replied, “Um no it’s Dominick’s.” But he was right, I just didn’t know it.
When I moved to Victoria, I found a Safeway close by and when I walked in, I almost cried. It was almost an exact replica of Dominick’s except for the fact that it was smaller and more Canadian. But still, it gave me a great feeling of comfort and familiarity. Any time I felt homesick, I could just enter those sliding glass doors and pretend I was in Dominick’s.
Recently the Safeway chain was taken over by a different company. When my mom told me that the Dominick’s by our house was closing down I had to have a moment of silence. That place had been such a staple in my youth. And then the harsh reality hit me–the Safeway in Victoria would soon close down as well. And it did.
My security blanket is gone. But it’s okay because I don’t need it anymore. I will survive without it because now my little corner of Canada is familiar to me. The whole town is my comfort. However, there will always be a place in my heart for Safeway.
Now I can totally relate to that saying, “If you love something, let it go.”
You know those cutesy little framed quotes meant to hang in your kitchen that say “Stressed is just desserts backwards!” Yeah, I hate that. It’s like, okayyy so if I eat a brownie my stresses are just supposed to flutter away? If anything, I think that would add to the feeling of being overwhelmed. Oh great, now I can’t eat dinner because I had a stupid brownie because this sign in my kitchen basically told me to.
I’m really just overreacting. I started nannying full time-ish and I’ve found that I have no time for myself, no time to clean, and no time to workout. I just want to sleep forever. How do people have kids and read books? Or have kids and write blog posts? Or have kids and vacuum? I honestly don’t understand. I don’t even have children of my own and I’m finding it hard to fit everything I want to do into one day.
Me, after work.
I do like the whole earning money aspect though. And sometimes, okay a lot of the time, the kids are pretty cute. And I’ve gotten an avalanche of compliments on my gold sparkly TOMS after hanging around playgrounds so much. They’ve been referred to as “princess shoes,” jus’ sayin’.
So no, it’s not all bad. One of the terrifying things though, is when the parents of other children on the playground think I’m one of them. “NO!” I want to scream. I’m going to look wayyyy more ragged and tired when I have kids. The fact that I could already pass as a parent scares me to no end. Also, I would hope that my future children would somewhat resemble me. How can people look at these kids with huge brown eyes and thick hair and assume I’m their mom? Does not compute.
I digress. If you haven’t seen me around the blogosphere lately, this is the reason. But I’ll try to pop my head in every so often to see what’s up. Is anything stressing you out lately?
Lily In Canada 