Birthday on Thursday

So that's it, I'm turning twenty-four and there's no stopping it. I wish, however, that there is some way of stopping the trip to Boston that I'll be on as of 7:30am tomorrow morn.... Lucky for me though, I'm feeling pretty twenty-four. Nothing says Welcome to Your Mid-Twenties! like a cold and an eye infection. Green goop coming out of my nose AND my eye! Am I going to be the most popular kid on the bus tomorrow, or what? Silver lining: Unlike two years ago, when I spent my actual birthDAY on the coach driving through New York state for eleven hours, this year my birthday will include exciting activities like a Duck Tour, a band performance, Harvard Art Museums and Harvard Square, and lining up at the Boston Conservatory for tickets to a percussion show. Happy 2-4 to me indeed.

My lovely Annia took me out for an early birthday present before I left for my tours and it was one of the best birthday presents ever. She's either caught onto my penchant for The Gifts of Time and Experiences or she's a smart gal who likes the same things (I have no doubt that she is both). We went for a nice, classy dinner (think ...neo-Indian with a funky twist? and wine!) and then to the Symphony for their New Creations Festival! It was a smashing evening, I must say. As I was sitting in Roy Thompson Hall listening to Turangalila, I thought to myself, "I've enjoyed every minute of tonight and will continue to do so because I fully appreciate her thinking of me and treating me to something like this..." Slightly condensed and re-worded and total cheezo-beezo, I know, but it's true.

My birthday present to myself this year? One of only two things I really wanted: A haircut (the other being a man). I've had three haircuts in the last eight years - December 1999, May 2003, March 2006. I grow it long, cut it short, lather rinse repeat. I can't remember the last time I had style. So, in the spirit of Something Dramatic and Different, I lopped off 12 inches for donation again (for the last time in what is to be a long while), put on my Daring Pants, and got ready for an exciting, bold change. The results? An asymmetrical cut. Admittedly, I didn't know what that was when the stylist asked if I would like one. "Sure!" I said. *pause* "What is that?" I was pretty much sold when she said "asymmetrical". Heck, she could have said "bob" and I would have gone for it. I trusted her and what I got in the end was much, much more than just a bob.

From a few different angles to show off the asymmetrical-ness (and complete sasstastic-ness) of it all:



That shade of hooker-red lipstick? Isn't a daily thing, I swear.
The shine on my face? From the hair spritz the stylist used because she didn't bother to cover my face before she sprayed it everywhere.
The pout? I think I'm trying to look as chic as my new do.
And PS: I'm still wearing clothes; it's just a tube top.

The cut is awesome because I feel like I stepped out of a magazine and it's so different than anything I've ever had (except the time my dad cut my hair when I was seven and, though it didn't look this good, it was definitely asymmetrical). This'll be great for when I go out dancing and get all dressed up and fancy, so I'm excited about that. I'm also feeling fancy because look who came up when I Googled "asymmetrical haircut" when I got home, none other than Rihanna herself. I haven't had a celebrity hairdo since The Rachel was big back in the 90s.

I've got my hesitations though... this asymmetry is a bit on the trendy side and way too cool for my lifestyle. I wake up in the mornings, give my hair a quick brush-through and I'm out the door. I'm ultra-low maintenance and don't own a hairdryer. I work on the road with bus loads of kids and wear oogly, loose, baggy uniform shirts with a dorky backpack and a BlackBerry on a bright orange lanyard around my neck most of the time. I have little to no doubt that this uber-stylish look will fall into utter disarray quite quickly. I give it about a month. So, before it grows out and I have to tie it back into a short nubbin pony-tail, someone take me out on the town so I can show off, mmmkay?
11:32 am

Monday, April 28, 2008

Bad Luck In Boston

I don't want to whine about work. I won't whine about work.

I will, however, say that I really, REALLY miss my very first tour of the season, the NYC tour from last week. It's not just the cute underage boys either, nor the boy who snuck his email address into my roll of cash tip, it's ...everything. The wacky road-rage driver who knew NYC like he had lived there all his life. The ultra-cool, laid back, funny teachers. The KIDS. My god, the kids. They loved me and I loved them back. They wanted to hang out with me, to talk to me, to tell me stories of what they did during free time.

This week? Let's just say it's been ...different. The group was pre-determined to not get very close to me, and love the driver more than me, despite the fact that he didn't do his job - honestly, who shows up having not read the itinerary, without any maps or prep work at all? He does, apparently. Then I have to spend my nights looking up directions to and from every destination and write them down on sticky notes for him because he never bothered to do it for himself. JAY-SUS. No, they didn't know all that because I faithfully handed him directions every morning and led him through Boston and Salem without saying a peep about my building resentment. I've learned that I can keep my smiley face on more than I thought. Because, on top of that, we ran into bus troubles. I'll keep the whinage to a minimum and will say that it wasn't like the last time I was in Boston and got stuck under a bridge (BEWARE JAMES STORROW DRIVE), but this time, the teachers lost their ever loving minds on me. And my company. And the bus company. Clearly, all anger should be taken out on me (and not the driver) because I was totally present for all the decision making that made them angry in the first place. NOT. Where was I when all those anger-inducing decisions were made? I was doing my job as a tour leader AND getting you a surprise tour of the New England Conservatory of Music even though it wasn't on the itin. THAT'S what I was doing.

*grabs a paper bag*

So! I'm back to Boston on Wednesday morning and I hope to dear goodness that I don't have bad luck like I've been having the last two times I went there.

I'll also be spending my birthday there (again) so keep your fingers crossed for me, will ya?

7:49 pm

Monday, April 21, 2008

Blogging From A Bus

I never thought it would happen. I'm on the internet while ON A BUS. I'm en route to home after a successful trip to NYC and I thought my driver was joking when he told me there was wireless internet on the coach. Oh yeah right, I said. But lo and behold, there is wireless indeed and here I am, on the internet. While driving on a bus. I KNOW.

So The Big Apple was as snazzy as I remember it. The trip went off without too many a hitch and I had an awesome time with the kids. As usual. The students typically become my favourite part of all the tours I do. Every now and then I get a little uneasy though... I mean, is it wrong to think that 15 year old boys are totally cute? Not in that gross I'm-a-cradle-robber way, but in that man, you've-got-POTENTIAL way. Some of these boys are going to grow up to be HAND-SOME. Give me a call in about seven years, yeah?

The inappropriate thinking-people-are-cute thing seems to go both ways. The group was generous enough to give me a tip. So a couple students came up and when one of the Student Council girls handed me a big wad of cash, I noticed there was a little slip of white paper folded up in it. There's a student's email address on it. A male student's email address.

I'm not totally sure how I feel about that yet. I mean, I'm flattered, of course. But I'm positive that this is crossing some sort of professional line somewhere.

5:12 pm

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Naked In New York

Correction: It's a KING sized bed, not a queen. I can sleep on this thing sideways and there's still extra room (me being five foot nothing may have something to do with that...). And I have five pillows. Six, plus the extra one in the drawer. The bathroom is still big enough for a dance party.

I am currently in bed with my lappy, naked.

Today was beautiful - sunny, hot weather, a band performance in the morning, an afternoon outdoors, browsing theatres, in Central Park, at the MoMA... But these 7am to 11pm days really take it out of me - I'm totally wiped at the end of the day. And my ankles will never forgive me. Again, the kids make it worth it. And the perks, oh my gosh, the perks. Did I mention I'm seeing Phantom of the Opera tomorrow night? For free? And that I'm naked and on the internet, right now? I know that's probably a daily event for a lot of people, but being naked is special to me, okay?

I still have a cold, but I'm hanging onto my voice. Just barely. I'm downing two multi-vitamins and four echinacea pills a day, and drinking loads of Vitamin Water - I got 400% of my daily intake of vitamin C today! w00t!

So, I'm post-bath and all relaxed (not to mention already exhausted from my day) so I'm going to bed now (the king sized one with five pillows) naked.

Did I mention I'm naked?

12:56 am

Friday, April 18, 2008

Hate/Love My Job (But Mostly Love)

What's worse than being sick and getting two and a half hours of sleep, getting up at 4:30 in the morning, spending ten hours on a bus driving to NYC, being late getting into the city and having to frantically make last minute phone calls, entertaining and educating 47 kids and 4 teachers, and finally going to bed at midnight?

Absolutely nothing.

What makes all of it worth it at the end of a very, very long day?

Walking into a posh and plush hotel room (a couch! for me! a queen sized bed! for me! a bathroom so big it could host a dance party! FOR ME!). But moreover: asking your kids at the end of the night what their favourite part of the day was and they answer, "Meeting you!"

Totally worth it.

12:51 am

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

On Our Own

I've been back home with my family for not even twenty-four hours and already, I want to be back in my own place. There's something unsettling about moving back with the fam after years and years of living on your own. It makes me lazy, really, and it's bad news.

Take, for example, this morning. I'm sick and I woke up freezing cold under my covers, so I go downstairs to try to procure a nice, warm breakfast. Except the problem is that I had forgotten that I had stepped back into an Asian household, so instead of being able to find eggs and bread to make myself a sunny-side-up-toast-dip, I found all sorts of weird meats and soups and vegetables in the fridge and a cassava cake on the counter. I couldn't even have cereal because there's only soy milk. I considered having cheese and crackers, but I couldn't do it because there was only processed cheese (Kraft Singles? ick) and No Name brand soda crackers in the cupboard. I popped a Ritz S'mores sandwich into my mouth. Oh no, no no no, not doing that again. So I was at a loss; I know you're supposed to starve a cold and all, but come on, a girl has got to eat. I was this close to having a bag of instant noodles, but you'll be proud to know that I didn't sink so low. I had a pizza pop instead.

Now, it wasn't exactly a pizza pop, it was a Hot Stuff, but I wasn't sure if saying that would have the same dramatic effect. Either way, it was a mixture of meatballs, cheese, and tomato sauce wrapped in some form of herb-y dough that I microwaved on high for one minute and forty-five seconds on a plate lined with paper towel (couldn't find any, used a tissue instead) and then let stand for two minutes before devouring. Mm, there's nothing like a nutritious breakfast to start the day, especially when I'm sick and leaving on tour tomorrow! Don't worry, I packed an arsenal of multivatimins and echinacea for that nice placebo effect, cough drops and throat lozenges so I can still talk to my kids, and packs of Neo Citran to zonk me out at nights. I take far, far better care of myself when I'm living on my own, I swear. You should see the meals I make, my roomie and I eat like Queens.

My brother, on the other hand, is about to embark on his very first living-on-your-own experience. He's being shipped to California for work and though he's only going to be there for six weeks, my parents are freaked out of their minds about how he's going to fare. I trust that he'll be just fine; of course, there's little to no doubt that he'll be living off frozen pizza, cans of soup and Kraft Dinner, but six weeks of that stuff won't kill him - it might make him grossly malnutritioned, but it won't kill him. I've been instructed to send him recipes. I think I'll just send reminders to eat some fresh fruits and vegetables. I've gotta start the kid out on this stuff slowly, one step at a time.

Take for example, the other night, when he and his girlfriend were going to make themselves and nice dinner. They bought some pork tenderloin and in her kitchen, she instructed him to just give it a rinse under the tap. He did as much, and then stood there, holding it in his hand and asked, "Now what?" She replied, "Well, you dry it." So he proceeds to wring it out. He tried to wring out a pork tenderloin LIKE A TOWEL.

This, ladies and gents, is my unfortunate brother who will be living on his own in Cali for six weeks. Send him recipes, my mother says? I think not. My emails will be more like: "Why don't you try eating an apple today? Or maybe buy some veggies that aren't pre-cut and frozen in a plastic bag?" Granted, I, his older sister who's been on her own for the past five years, just ate a Hot Stuff for breakfast.

I have nothing to say in defence of either of us.

12:38 pm

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Don't Ask, It's Safer Not To

Speaking of patterns I can't seem to escape, I also have a bad habit of throwing myself at emotionally unavailable guys. That has really got to stop. The other night, with a complete lack of grace, I walked out of an apartment that I grew too comfortable in, too fond of - rather: I made a mess of myself and crazily flew out of an apartment that I never belonged in in the first place.

And now? I can't think straight and can hardly function. I haven't slept well in over a week and I think I actually made myself ill with anxiety (bad news for a tour guide who's leaving on trips for ten days without a break). All I have to say is that this is not a very pleasant state of being.

Whoever said, "She's a great girl to date, just don't break up with her," was right. Too bad that'll only happen maybe once my entire life.

You know what I liked? I liked it when I had a boyfriend and was in love. That was nice.

11:41 pm

Not A Heart, Not Even A Clock, But A Testimonial

"How about my heart?" asked the Tin Woodsman.

The Wizard first explains to the Tin Woodsman the advantages of being heartless.

Answered Oz, "As for you, my galvanized friend, you want a heart. Why, as for that, I think you are wrong to want a heart. You don't know how lucky you are not to have one. It makes most people unhappy. Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable. If you only knew it, you are in luck not to have a heart."

"But I still want one," said the Tin Woodsman. "That must be a matter of opinion. For my part, I will bear all the unhappiness without a murmur, if you will give me the heart."

Said Oz: "Back where I come from, there are men who do nothing all day but good deeds. They are called phila-, er, er, philanth-er, yes, er, good-deed doers, and their hearts are no bigger than yours. But they have one thing you haven't got - a testimonial."

But since the Tin Woodsman still desires a heart, he is given some additional therapeutic, home-spun wisdom from the Wizard and then presented with a testimonial: a clock award - a large red, heart-shaped watch made of metal that hangs from the end of a golden chain. A loudly-ticking clock is in the center of the heart.

"Therefore, in consideration of your kindness, I take pleasure at this time in presenting you with a small token of our esteem and affection. And remember, my sentimental friend, that a heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others."

6:53 pm

Friday, April 11, 2008

Post-Show Pizza And Beer

Last night I realized two things:

1. I don't know when this started happening, but, for reasons unbeknownst to me, I have developed a penchant for crushing on boys who:
- have facial hair
- used to teach English in Korea
- have porn star names

2. I am disturbed by this pattern.

4:38 pm

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Friday, December 21st, 2007

I sat in silence in the passenger seat, willing myself to calm my heartbeats, to seem as cool and collected as I possibly could. A few moments passed. Eternity. I took a breath. "I think I'm going to go in now," I said.

My dad turned to look at me from his place behind the wheel. "Are you sure? We can wait out here a little longer. I'll stay with you." I smiled at him. I'm not used to him being mushy and supportive, but I guess death will do that to people. "It's okay daddy, I can go in. I can do this myself."

Admittedly, I felt a little ridiculous sitting in a car parked right outside the front doors; people invariably looked through the windshield to see who was inside, if it was anyone they knew, and that was the last thing I wanted: recognition. I got out of the car and walked into the funeral home, the same chain as the one that my grandmother is with, and immediately saw a crowd of teachers and acquaintances from high school in the lobby. All my hopes of doing this visitation thing in as much anonymity as possible were dashed. I hesitatingly walked up to them and flashed my usual smile, exchanged hellos and hugs, chuckled at old stories, and nodded at the familiar faces. I wished that I could have run into them at some other time, in any other way.

When I was alone again, I took a breath and slowly ascended the stairs with one of J's best friends. I can do this, I assured myself. I can do this and not cry, I will do this and not cry. I turned the corner.

And then I saw his father.

He was right by the door and when he saw me, immediately came over. Hello, hello. It's been a long time. Yes. It's nice to see you. How are you? I'm so sorry. Yes yes. How are you? I'm well. Thank you. Hope you're well. Yes, yes. Thank you. It's been a long time. Come by the house sometime. It'd be nice to see you. We held each others' hands tightly and looked right into each others' eyes when we spoke our halting words, muddled with emotion. When he hugged me, I cracked.

I cracked right down the middle of my left side, down through my heart, and split open into a giant pool of tears right there in front of J's friend. Between short, gasping breaths I managed to tell him that I'd be r-ri-right b-b-ack, that I just nee-nee-needed a mo-gulp-ment. I'm so sor-sorry gasp I'd be right back.

Eyes to my shoes, I bolted out the door, around the corner, and went into an empty meeting room. I sought out a box of tissues and covered my mouth with a handful of them so that when I let out that wracking sob that had been choking me from deep down ever since I found out, it wouldn't be so alarming. I held onto the table and chairs for support because my knees felt weak. I took deliberately slow, deep breaths. I don't know how long I was in there for. I remember pacing back and forth, trying to hold everything in, hold everything together, just so I could get through this and then leave. I grabbed more tissues. I tried walking out the door and promptly turned back in. I can't do this, I can't do this, but I have to, I have to. Towards the door, and back. And so it went. Eventually I went to the bathroom, avoiding the looks of others, blew my nose and splashed some cold water on my face.

I did make it back into the visitation room, finally. I saw J's sisters (my, the little one has grown up so much - how heartbreaking to think that they're going to keep growing up without their mother), his aunt and uncles, his baby cousins who weren't babies anymore, but I could hardly bring myself to say anything to them. I saw J himself, but hardly had anything to say to him either. I made my way to the back of the room and stood by the casket for a really, really long time. She looked different, yet familiar.

When I left, I looked at his father one last time. Oddly, it wasn't seeing J that wrecked me that night, it was seeing his father that blasted my heart to bits. Having him hold my hands and hug me. Tell me it was nice to see me (Really?). And though I'll probably never end up at that house again, I wonder if he'll ever know how much his invitation to visit meant, and still means, to me.

12:11 pm

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Did And To Do

This morning I hoovered my breakfast so quickly that a BOY found it disturbing and then called me a gourmand aka a GLUTTON. I admit it, I love my sunny-side-up eggs, sausage, brown toast and potatoes that much. Plus, I was hungry as of 2am (thanks, beer) so by the time 9am rolled around I was SO hungry that I slept all of an hour because thoughts of dipping my toast into runny yolks just wouldn't get out of my head. I'm also just gross. BUT - I'm also classy enough to inhale a meal in a frilly, low cut halter top, nice slacks, cute tweed peep-toe pumps, and a killer jacket-scarf-sunglass combo. I span the breadth of Class to Ass well.

A week from today, around this exact time, I will be all packed up and moving out. I am not ready to leave this house, nor this city. How could I, given that the rest of my day consisted of taking a nap, going out to lunch with a friend, taking a walk, and then riding my bike around the park in the beautiful weather we're having? I also love moving around a big kitchen with the radio on, while making an excellent spicy meat sauce for pasta.

Things To Do Before I Leave Town:
-eat pupusas
-ride my bike more
-go to my new favourite park in the spot and hang out by a babbling brook
-pack
-remember that I'll probably be back in August (conditional on me getting my license! eep!)
-patent the phrase "street-level-drug-(ab)usage"

7:45 pm

Thursday, April 03, 2008

Grand Plans

At a little party I went to a few weeks ago, I stood awkwardly in the kitchen with a lovable, yet awkward, boy who had just moved here and had no real idea as to what to do with his life. He lamented the fact that he had no plans and I could fully understand where he was coming from. There I was, on the brink of graduation and moving out in a matter of weeks, with no real plans either. But I had let go of my compulsive need to plan for the future a long time ago. At any given point in the last couple of years, I only knew my what my life was to be a few months at a time. So I said to him, "Screw the long term planning. Things will change. Let's just decide what we are going to do right now." And we decided to go out into the living room and eat deviled eggs and life was going to be grand.

And it is. I've been a lucky ass biatch for some time now and things haven't changed much (thank goodness). I'm officially done school on Monday and for the next two weeks while I'm still in town, I don't have any obligations other than to perform in my play, go out afterwards with friends (and maybe finish that 1.14L bottle of rum I picked up on the way home from NYC), and veg. I finish my stint at the theatre on the 12th, move on the 14th, and head to New York on my first tour of the season on the 17th. Tours will employ my time until the end of June, then I head to Quebec the first week of July to be immersed in French for five weeks until August. I spend a few days at home, then move back HERE for training for a new job with the university that will take me until the middle of November.

And just like that I have plans for the next seven months. Bam!

But for now, I get my naked ass out of this bed, perhaps clean off the milk I spilled on the comforter a little more, head to work for an exit interview and goodbye luncheon, and then who knows? Grocery shopping? Rehearse lines for opening night? Make butternutsquash-sweetpotato-coconutcurry soup?

Whatever it is, life will be grand.

11:37 am