So About My Raging Libido....

-me says:
Hey
Are you in town?

col - says:
ya wasup

-me says:
I'm bored out of my shitting mind

col - says:
sucka!
i just walked in

-me says:
From?

col - says:
mississauga

-me says:
Why did you come back in the middle of the week?

col - says:
i left some stuff up here and carolyn is workin and doing shit the next couple days anyway

-me says:
So you're just going to be here, in town, by yourself, rotting away, alone?

col - says:
yes sir
thats what your doing isnt it

-me says:
lol - shut up
And yes, yes I am


As previously mentioned, Reading Week has hit. In years past, Reading Week found me deservedly relaxing at home after midterms, bumming around in Boston, having a blast in Spain. This year, Reading Week finds me all by my lonesome, alone alone, rotting away by myself. In a more positive light, I could say that I finally have some spare moments after a particularly busy month and a half. But given that the light is dimmed somewhat by the fact that my roommate is at home for the week, the universities are closed, and no one else is in town because they're all on trips and whatnot, I'm going to not be so positive about it all. Unlike my fellows, I'm not really a student anymore so I can't holiday anywhere because work, unlike school, does not give me a Reading Week and neither does my play. That's one thing Mr. David was good for - keeping me busy when no one else was around and I otherwise would have been lonely and depressed all by myself for the holidays. Too bad he's not kicking around this week (well, I'm sure he is somewhere, just not with me).

Speaking of debilitating self-pity, I just watched the first episode of The Tudors - the uncut version. I have the whole Season One DVD box set because my director lent it to me to study the English accents. I've heard rave reviews which include: "He's so hot" in reference to the man who plays Henry; "So many boobies" in reference to all the boobies that are apparently part of the show, and "The last episode has the hottest sex scene I have ever seen in my life" in reference to... you get the picture. I've only just sat through the first episode, and I can agree with the fact that Henry is indeed hot (and so is his friend Charles *fans self*), and yes, there are indeed lots of boobies, but I have to stop watching it because it is downright PAINFUL to see so many delicious looking men on the same screen and even more painful to watch the super-hot-and-heavy sex scenes when I'm absolutely dyyyying alone over here.

It's just not fair. I'm gritting my teeth during the aforementioned super-hot-and-heavy sex scenes when a normal person would just enjoy them because all I can think about is how I'm just so absolutely... frustrated! that I could burst. Oh, and lucky me, I was also subject to Boogie Nights the other day because it's one of Alex's favourite films and guess what it's about? Porn. So, I've unfortunately SEEN a lot of sex on screen lately - too bad I'm not HAVING any.

And since we're already talking about general uncomfort 'down there', I did moksha yoga aka hot yoga the other day for the first time. Apparently, doing yoga in a forty degree room aka a sauna makes sense because it detoxes you moreso than yoga in a regular temperature room. It relaxes your muscles, and makes you more limber - or so you think at the time. Despite the fact that I have not practiced yoga regularly for a few years, and only do a few positions after a session at the gym, I found I was pretty bendy in that hot little room. I was contorting myself into all sorts of positions because I felt that flexible. "Wow! This is great!" I thought. "I can totally do hot yoga!" Until the next morning when I woke up, and my muscles had contracted to their normal level of bendiness (which is not all that bendy at all) and were very, very... pain. ful. I felt flexible when in fact, I'm not actually that flexible. I seem to have pulled every single muscle in my groinal region which makes simple, every day activities like walking a literal pain in the ass and a pain in the va- you know what I mean. I don't know how I did it, I really don't. So how does this relate at all to my raging libido? I'll tell you how. When people see that I'm walking funny, and that I can't cross my legs without wincing, they think that I had a 'busy' weekend, or "a good weekend with the boyfriend" as one cast member put it during rehearsal. No, no, not at all actually. That's not the reason at all. I WISH the reason that I can't walk is that I spent my weekend having copious amounts of sex, but no no, I just did yoga. Poorly.

Okay, so it's time to think about other things. I'm going to read my book on Ch'an Buddhism now. That, or take a cold shower.
6:56 pm

Sunday, February 17, 2008

A List Of Totally Fabulous (Old And New) Movies I've Watched Lately That You Should Watch Too

Juno
Across the Universe
Millions
The Motorcycle Diaries
The Diving Bell and The Butterfly
Little Miss Sunshine
Persepolis

On my To See list:
The Kite Runner
Up The Yangtze
Atonement
Caramel
How To Cook Your Life

It's Reading Week in town, which means both universities are empty and there's no one around for me to hang out with. My work-mate is off on a romantic getaway with her boyfriend *jealous grumble* and my roommate is going home for the entirrre week. I'm going home for a few days myself to enjoy some real, live, 3-D company before I'm stuck here for a week with nothing to entertain me but an array of 2-D characters on a screen. That, and winter sales at the mall. Any other ideas to keep me from getting cabin fever by myself? Send 'em on over!

12:39 am

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Happy ...Day.

My favourite times of day are when the sun isn't quite all the way up yet, or not quite all the way down. Somewhere between sunrise and dawn; right in between dusk and sunset. The light is the perfect ...lightness, shadows are slanted just-so and the air smells that much nicer. This morning was one of those mornings and I left my front porch feeling genuinely in love with the world.

"Hey, you know what tomorrow is? Nirvana Day."
"As in the band, or the state of bliss?"

Conversations like this are what keep work interesting. My workmate and I are getting along fabulously today - not that it's a rare occurance. I'm feeling particularly chatty today and we've had a lot of laughs, mainly because we spent a hunk of time watching funny e-cards from Hallmark, inlcuding, but not limited to: The Anti-Valentine Teddy (he says: "It's not like love lasts, or anything.") and the Screaming Banshee Goes on a Date! She pretty much screams the entire time and I nearly peed myself.

Here's a list of other "Holidays" I'm convinced were invented by the greeting card industry:
Tax Day
Administrative Professionals Day
Friendship Day
Sisters Day
Grandparents Day
National Boss Day
...and my favourite: Sweetest Day. It's October 18th, I kid you not.

I know I'm growing up when I've paid off my student loans and have officially removed them from my list of online bill payments - w00t! Growing up also means getting old(er) and my university, for some reason, feels the need to remind me of this fact by cancelling my email server because no other students (except the oldies who STILL HAVEN'T GRADUATED) are using it anymore. They're all on some fancy new server that I had to get moved to because the school outgrew the one I used. Bah.

A few weeks ago, I realized that I was really cutting it close to not graduating on time, again. An accounting course I took last term ended up replacing an old accounting course I took during my second year, completely unbeknownst to me. This little detail, that no one bothered to inform me of, actually rendered me a half-credit short of being eligible to graduate. Thank goodness I decided to register in an extra class this term and finish my minor, otherwise, I'd be stuck here for another term and that thought to me is a complete nightmare right now because I'm SO OVER being at this school.

Last night, I lost my student ID card for the first time. I've had that card since July of 2003, two months before I even started classes at uni. To think, I lose it now, six weeks before I'm done school forever! Argh, and now I have to pay $20 to get a new one and just for six weeks. Humbug.

Speaking of school, here is a list of Words My Education Taught Me To Love:
- context
- relevance
- reconciliation
- interconnectedness
- engage
- (dis)associate
- correlation

And still speaking of school, I have noticed with great consistency that boys in Environmental Studies and Geography are very good looking! Why the hell didn't I major in these departments instead? There's never any boys in my Soc classes. Wah.

To finish off my random thoughts for today, here is a list of things I Am Not Above:
- taking the bus
- waitressing
- using the men's bathroom when the women's is occupied
- being a cheap drunk
- make up
- admitting that I like learning
- admitting that I like my Water class that much more because there's lots of cute boys

12:40 pm

Monday, February 11, 2008

I Want To Fall In Love, Like, Right Now

This is my third post today. To the naked eye, I suppose that it appears like I have a lot to say, but having a lot to say isn't unusual for me at all. I'm verbose to the point of fault, which is why I have such a hard time writing papers; I can never get to the point before I get frustrated with how long it's taking me.

What's different about today is, though I have a lot to say like I do everyday, I've noticed with particular clarity that I don't have anyone to say anything to. My co-worker, though I adore her, doesn't know me well enough for me just to ...talk to, shoot the shit, just like that. Our personalities and senses of humour have yet to completely mesh. My roommate I only saw for twenty minutes this evening, ...and those are the two people I've interacted with all day. It's currently about 7:30pm. No wonder I feel like I'm about to burst.

I'm not whining about being lonely, I'm NOT, I just wish I had someone to share stuff with. Nothing special even, just ...stuff. Everyday stuff. What I did at work stuff (nothing, blogged), what I did at home stuff (practiced lines, made more cannelloni, watched Little Miss Sunshine again), what I'm doing tonight (meeting, gym, movie at the indie theatre). It'd be great to be able to meet up with someone after I get off work, to sit on the bus with, to share cannelloni with, to laugh out loud with during a movie.

Tonight, after I get out of the gym, I don't want to bus or walk to the theatre alone and buy my ticket alone and sit and watch The Diving Bell and The Butterfly alone. I like Me and Me Time, trust me, I really, really do. But tonight, every night, I want to walk up with a smile in my eyes to the one I love. I want to hug him and kiss him. I want to hold his hand and tell him stories and giggle and skip alongside him. I want to snuggle in the movie theatre. I want to walk home with him afterwards, brush our teeth together, fall asleep with our warm bodies entangled and my nose against his neck.

7:25 pm

Free Time

My schedule for the day has been thrown out of whack. I just discovered that I am free of commitments between 1:30 and 6pm today. I thought I had office hours on campus from 2:30 to 4, but I don't!

Yipee! Free time! for four and a half whole hours! Now, what do I do with myself?

Sigh. I wish I had someone to hang out with.

12:49 pm

A New Year's Promise

I made a point to go home this weekend and spend it with my family to celebrate the New Year. I was in Spain last year and, much to my dismay, I missed it. When I called home to say hello to everyone and wish them well, I found that the entire family, save me, had all just gone out for dim sum and were just spending the afternoon at some festival with lots of general fun being had. The cell phone got passed around to everyone, and hearing how much of a good time they were all having together brought immediate tears to my eyes. It was that day that I felt any homesickness at all during my entire six-month absence.

The weekend wasn't anything particularly spectacular like last year - we went out for a couple meals, ran some errands, lazed around the house reorganizing photos, ate a lot of New Year treats. I didn't really do anything other than enjoy my family's company and that in itself was entirely fabulous. As I grow up, and with the increasing amount of time that I spend away from home, I realize more and more how important my family is to me, how much I really do cherish their presence in my life. This is a far, far cry from my feelings for them just a handful of years ago. I used to think of us as nothing more than a group of strangers who lived under the same roof. And though I still complain about them sometimes, I really do miss my parents and want to call them, I look forward to going home, I get excited when my brother emails me. And it feels very nice.

Spending time at home also means that I get to reconnect with a part of myself that lies fairly dormant while I'm at school in the Loo. The Asian part. I instantly start to speak in Cantonese, I crave the foods I grew up with, I want to go to the over-crowded Pacific Mall, to the smelly, yucky Chinese grocery stores because, even though they still gross me out a little bit, they feel very familiar and comforting.

There were a couple articles in the local paper over the weekend that spoke of the New Year and how difficult it is for Asian newcomers to celebrate like they do back home. People have to work on day of Chinese New Year and don't get to spend as much time with their families. There isn't enough time to prepare the special foods for the big family dinners. Lucky pockets aren't as common as they used to be. Traditional lion dances and firecrackers are hard to find. Despite the fact that I live in an area where the population is over one-third Asian, suburban life doesn't really lead to the kind of community atmosphere needed for a celebration like the Lunar New Year. I was lucky enough to grow up and spend New Years in Toronto for the first years of my life and I still remember standing on the crowded sidewalks of Chinatown feeling the drum and cymbal beats pound through my body, watching the lion dancers skillfully climb up the sides of buildings to get a lucky pocket, rip a head of lettuce to shreds and scatter it through the crowd.

I don't see that stuff anymore. And I can't imagine that children in the suburbs see it either. I went to a Chinese New Year festival a few weekends ago in the Loo and it was just... blah. There was no music, no noise, just expensive food and the hawking of kitschy Asian wares. But it was the only thing I could find. I want to go back to Chinatown in Toronto for New Years. I want to be in China, or in Vietnam with my relatives. I don't want to forget what it can be like.

That's the other thing the article in the paper mentioned, the thing I've been struggling with for a number of years now - am I going to know anything about my culture when I'm an adult? I can't read or write Chinese. I can only speak it, and it's colloquial and mispronounced at best. I don't know how to make any traditional Chinese dishes. Am I going to buy New Year cakes from the grocery stores like most people do now? Will I even shop at Chinese grocery stores? Will I take my kids to the temple? I said to my mum that I wanted her to teach me how to make New Year cakes. I want to cook like her. I want to be able to lay out the spread to honour and pray to my ancestors. I said to my mum that I wanted to go to the temple this year (we did go and the incense has never smelled sweeter). I've been looking into Chinese language classes lately. I will speak to my kids in Cantonese and take them to Chinese school. They will go to the temple and light incense and ring the big bell three times.

I promise I won't forget.

11:50 am

Thursday, February 07, 2008

Here's To My 24th Year

Happy Chinese New Year everyone. It's the year of the Rat, the sign under which I was proudly born just about twenty-four years ago now. I was twelve the last time the Rat came around and I hardly remember it - the next time, I'll be thirty-six and that freaks the crap out of me. I figure I should go ahead and make this year a good one, while I'm still relatively young and able. (Dear Goodness, please let me be young and able at thirty-six too.)

Seeing as it is 'my' year, I'm going to assume and/or hope that this means that things will be looking up for me. Because honestly? it's about damn time. The last twelve years of my life have been tumultuous, but appropriately so. I went through the latter half of childhood (and the end of childhood is never a good thing - age seven, I miss you!), then through my pre-teen years (during which I looked like a man), then through teenagedom aka hormonal hell, and then I finally passed into my twenties in a drunken stupor. I got pimples, had braces, got glasses, got my heart broken, fell in love for the first time, broke a few hearts myself, got an education, figured out my alcohol tolerance, travelled a lot, found best friends for life, sorted myself out a little more, and finally, grew up. I'm looking forward to the next twelve years if only because it means that I get to do more stuff. I'm going to be finding someone I want to marry, I'm going to get married(!), I'm going to have kids, have a family, a home, a job - all that stuff that most people do before they're thirty-six. It sounds all status-quo and boring and 'normal' and what-have-you, but dagnabbit if I'm not excited about it all. The next twelve years are going to be big. And it's going to be good.

The only thing, albeit a superstitious thing, that makes me wary is that the number 24 is quite a hunk of bad luck in Chinese/Cantonese culture. The number '4' can be superstitiously translated to mean "death" and with the '2' tacked on in front it basically means "easy death" or "you are sure to die" or "bad things will happen to you so run for your life NOW!" Good thing I'm not really superstitious. But the Cantonese in me has a way of turning around and ganging up with cosmic forces to bitch-slap me in the face. But I won't think about that. Twenty-four is going to be good, dammit, GOOD.

So far, I'm enjoying the fact that this is going to be My Year. Now to contend with the idea that I'm going to be turning twenty-four in a few months... I soo do not want to talk about it.

1:19 pm

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Busy Bee

I walked home from class just about an hour and a half ago and it felt like I hadn't done it in forever. The last two weeks have been filled with so much theatre stuff that I haven't felt like a student at all. I had company in from out of town over the weekend and just wrapped up my show on Saturday night. Photos and stories from the stage will hopefully be posted here sometime in the near future. The shows all went well, even though opening night wasn't all that great, and I had a handful of peeps in the audience every night. My kitchen table is filled with the most beautiful lilies, campanulas, and white roses and a small pile of cards sits on my desk. Thanks to all who came to see and support me - it means the world to me.

In between finishing that show and school work for my distance ed course, I've managed to squeeze in a shift serving breakfasts and remember how hard it is on my feet when I work in a restaurant. Maybe my tips will help buy me a new left ankle. Or maybe I can cultivate my energy with Falun Gong and my feet will repair themselves.

I was back at work in the office Monday morning and back at office hours on campus later that day, back in class today, back to discovering new artists (Sia! listen to her!) and buying concert tickets, will be back to rehearsal tonight, and kayaking tomorrow.

I'm also back to being a twenty-something single housewife. With the free time (finally!) I had yesterday evening, I took a nice walk to the library, borrowed some DVDs, and then spent a full hour in the grocery store buying ingredients for the super-italiano dinner I had planned. When Nik finally came home, I had prepped a Caesar salad, fresh bruschetta, and the most humongous and delicious homemade canneloni ever. When she saw what I had done, all she could say was, "You are so cool." And no, there was no sarcasm in her voice. I really am that cool.

I'm also back to realizing that I suck at being single. Because as much as I loved doing all that for me, for my roommate, or for no reason, there's something in me that just really, REALLY wants to share that with the man of my dreams. Except that he's not here. Yet.

5:41 pm

Sunday, February 03, 2008

The Third Ticket

Ashley and I had met a few English girls when we were travelling in Morocco. They were on holidays and we all got along quite well, so we decided to take a train together from Rabat to Meknes. Ash and I strode up to the ticket counter at the train station, and I mentally prepped to use my broken French once again. It was a busy morning and the man behind the counter was either particularly stressed or just wasn't in the mood to deal with tourists who had terrible accents. I thought my French had been extra-rusty and had led to some miscommunication because, for some reason, despite the fact that I asked only for two train tickets, he shoved three slips of paper at me under the little pane of glass that separated us. "No, deux billets, s'il vous plait, seulement deux." He kept shoving them towards me and waved us off nonchalantly. Ash and I examined the little slips. Maybe the extra one is a receipt, we thought. No, it was definitely another train ticket, even though we only paid for two fares. Oh well, there's no point in fussing over it now, we figured, so we shoved them into our pockets and boarded the train.

I grabbed my journal and a pen. "I'm going to go sit by the door," I said to the girls as I got out of my seat. I never did like the air conditioning in the cars and much preferred the winds rushing around me as we sped through the country. The winds were strong that day. I couldn't even write because the pages were flapping everywhere and my hair kept blowing into my eyes. So I just sat there, half of me hanging out the door, and enjoyed the moment; being by myself on a train in Morocco - until a man came and told me I couldn't have the door open and sit on the floor like that, to go back to my seat. He was also checking tickets, and requested that I hand mine over. I reached into my pockets only to find that they were empty. I fished around some more, flipped through my journal, and the realization hit me that the strong winds might have actually blown the ticket right out of my pocket as I hung out there. The pants were loose and flappy, and the pockets certainly shallow enough for something small and papery to fly right out of them. Crap, I thought. I took a breath, and told the man to follow me, that my friend had my ticket.

"Ash, where's that third ticket?" I whispered urgently. "What? Why?" she asked. "I need it, mine's gone - where is it?" She took it out of her pack, handed it to me and I promptly handed it to the man who punched a tiny little hole in it, validating my journey across the country. I sank into my chair with a huge sigh of relief. "What happened?" the English girls asked. I told them that the wind had blown my ticket out of my pocket as I was sitting by the door, and that I freaked out until I remembered that we actually had an extra ticket because the man at the station gave us three - for no apparent reason, until now.

"You know what that is? That's God looking after you," one of the girls said. I smiled at her. "Yeah. It is, isn't it?"

11:38 pm