Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Day 330: conversations with my cursor (part 4)

Cursor: Blink. Blink.
Me:  Hi.
Cursor: Blink. Blink.
Me: How have you been, you know, since yesterday?
Cursor: Blink. Blink.
              Blink Blink.
Me: Ahh, the silent treatment again. 
Cursor: Blink. Blink.
Me: You know, I’ve taken 330 days of you just looking at me. 
        We’re old friends now, don’t you think?
Cursor: Blink. Blink.
Me: And friends communicate. Friends express themselves.
        Friends share.  Friends help. 
        Friends do not blink at you when you need them to say something.
Cursor: Blink. Blink.
Me: C’mon! I’m in a pickle.
Cursor: Blink. Blink.
  I need some new material, pronto. I have thirty five more days of posts!
         Can you believe it?!
 Thirty five left!
         People are expecting me to pull out the big guns.
         And, well, I’m not sure I have access to them.
Cursor:  Blink. Blink.
Me:  I hate guns. 
Cursor: Blink. Blink.
Me:  Well, I kind of like water pistols. And cowboy hats.
Cursor:  Blink. Blink.
Me: But I’m not a good cowgirl. Horses and I have a bad track record. 
        And I'd probably shoot myself in the foot. Again. I’ve done that before.
        You must have some guns? Let's see your gunshow!
I’ll give you all the credit.
Cursor: Blink. Blink.
              Blink. Blink.
Me:  Ugh! Fine. Stay silent.
          I will win you over, Cursor. It will happen. 
         One day, you and I will have a wonderful ongoing conversation. 
         We’ll say meaningful things. We’ll stay up late just to finish talking.
Cursor: Blink. Blink.
Me: You’ll see.
Cursor: Blink. Blink. 
Me: Hey! I saw that!! 

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Day 329: Beauty and Grace

Just like Carroll Baker declared with her indignant southern twang in Kazan's 1956 film Baby Doll“I’m a magazine reader!” 
Forget the pretty pictures on the interweb machine, I like me some glossy paper.  
I’m sitting on my living room floor, right now, in my bath robe with a heaping bowl of Banana Nut Cheerios and the September issue of Vogue. 
A blissful feast.
Every crisp and silky page I turn has a photo I want to look at for at least ten seconds.
Or run my hands across.
The September issue is a whopping 800 pages.
(I’ll let you do the math, I’m an artsy fartsy).

But it’s the best one.
And it’s not because I want to stay on trend.

It’s because the photos are absolutely amazing.
Some are breathtaking.
I know Anna Wintour gets all the final say, and all the glitz and glory, but the best spreads in Vogue are because of Grace’s unparalleled vision.
I’m a huge fan of Grace Coddington, Vogue’s Creative Director.
Her m
ise-en-scène and sharp eye for colour and beauty have fostered in me a love for fashion from a very early age. 
I loved her work as a teenager, and didn’t even know it, until I was old enough to recognize her style.
It was never the skinny, retouched women, wearing the clothes …but the iconic images she created that brought the clothes to life for me.
That made me want to touch them.
That made me want to play dress up in them.
Later in life, I got to work for such major fashion houses as Valentino and Prada.
And working in fashion will rob you of your love for fashion.
But the magazines, they still give me a little buzz.
A little pick-me-up.

I know I’m supposed to be a feminist and reject the way women are unhealthily portrayed and objectified in these types of fashion books… 
But I am a lady who likes to admire pretty things.
Sue me.

And I still think the Fall issue of Vogue is incredibly lovely to look at. 
It is a celebration of femininity.
Of beauty in all forms.
Of sex appeal.
Of elegance.
Of class.
Of fashion.

And, don't tell Anna, but it is Grace’s living masterpiece.

**see my favourite Grace Coddington clip here.**


Monday, August 29, 2011

Day 328: rite de passage

In the lessons Life teaches us we are, at best, attentive pupils.
Always searching for reasons.
Always looking for signs.
And Faith becomes a wishing well of sorts.
A place to rest and drink, when we remember we’re thirsty.
After our thirst is quenched, and our day is done, we return to home base.
We settle comfortably in our living rooms, and try to live.
We discuss our day without ever seeing each other.
We don't need to.
Because where there was only one white elephant in the room, 
Ganesha himself has arrived to replace it.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Day 327: Rainy day, please stay.

It is storming, storming, storming.
Seems like there is nothing a grey cloud can’t blow away when it wants to blow.
And there she blows!
The Present and the Future… it’s all knee deep in water.
Trying to stay dry.
Holding on to tree trunks.
Eyes closed tight, praying into their wet sleeves.
But the Past is not concerned.
Oars in hand, she is looking for a raft.
And she walks down the rain-drenched streets, determined to sail away.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Day 326: Written

What if I were to tell you that you are my favourite book?
And even though my eyes are tired, I don’t want to put you down.
A first edition, your beauty is bound with a thick weave. 
Even lovelier when you are tattered.
Even lovelier as you age.
And every other page has a corner I have turned.
To find my way back to your story.
And to find my place in it.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Day 325: The Great Disconnect

Don't you see?
The tangible becomes the mystical.
And the dream becomes a ghost.
Trudge ahead or fall behind.
This road has changed course faster than the memory can manage.
But it manages time.
It manages power.
It manages expectations and throws them there in the concrete.
Walk one foot in front of the other.
Find your stepping stones and toss them at glass houses.
Lose control.
Win a heart.
Conquer a demon.
Befriend one.
Possess a thought until it possesses you.
Hold on to the stranger who reminds you of Perfect.
And who shares their pocket mirror.
That’s the key, kid.
That’s how to find Tomorrow.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Day 324: Goggles.

It is quite extraordinary, really.
I can see you.
But my eyes can’t focus.
The shape of you is so distorted.
So dissimilar.

So out of reach.
That I sense I was mistaken.
And yet I feel something.
Inside me.
But my thoughts don't converge.
And my feelings have reshuffled.
That I can’t seem to name them.
I can’t seem to claim them.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Day 323: Opt to travel light.

The problem
with carrying around
is that one day,
when you check in,
you pay a hefty price
for all the excess baggage.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Day 322: Arms. Cross. Horns. Flag.

In the distance between No and Yes, there’s a lot of ground we’ve not yet covered.
And every question that brings us to either answer, casts shadows.
Or illuminates them.
Each one an uphill climb.
Or a downward spiral.
A corner to turn or avoid altogether.
And endurance is carefully managed.
To stand guard on this goal that must or must not be met.
To give it the space it deserves.
Or the time it has earned.
But a showdown looms overhead.
Promising rain on a cloudless day.
Anticipation and Fear call for swift Judgement.
And we find that Maybe fits rather comfortably.
Like a glove that keeps us from getting our hands dirty.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Day 321: the greenhouse effect

Summer, come back.
I’m not done with your heat.
Take this new chill in the air, and shut the door to it.
I don’t want a blanket on my skin.
Just you.
Come over here.
Kiss me, until the sweat runs down my back.
Blow a hot breeze across my shoulders.
I know it’s almost time for it all to change.
But you stopped when the going was good.
And I’m not done with your heat.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Day 320:" ****ing in the rain?"

Many of us have this romantic notion about the rain.
Particularly thunderstorms.
I blame the movies, of course.
You know the scene: lightning fills the sky while a couple argues in the street, thunder crackles and rain starts pouring down on them. They’re shouting, and then she turns to leave and walks past him. He grabs her arm, pulls her towards him and the next thing you know he has her up against a brick wall and they are passionately making out in the rain. Their clothes and hair dripping, as they hungrily kiss and touch each other.
All very sultry and steamy, right?

Here to discuss the reality of the situation is Christina (who shared an umbrella and a very unromantic walk with me as we got completely drenched by a crazy rainstorm on the way back to the car from the theater). We had just watched the latest Woody Allen romantic comedy, Midnight in Paris, where the main character (Owen Wilson) is a nostalgic romantic who loves to walk in the rain at night. Our conversation went a little like this:
365: Man, I love rainstorms.
Christina: I love the rain, too. I’m hesitant about the make-out bit in the rain. I’m not sure it works.

365: Really? God, I think it would be so hot. Except, I’m not really a fan of this much water in my shoes. It’s a major pet peeve, actually. All I can think about is my wet feet.

Christina: Don’t get me wrong, I like watching it in a movie. It’s damn hot. But in real life? I think the logistics of it would just lead to more anxiety than romance. It’s like taking a bath with someone. It sounds really romantic, but then when it comes down to it, the tub is too small, the water is too dirty, and your skin gets too shriveled.
365: It's like a taking a communal shower with someone you’re really sexually attracted to in a facility that forgot to pay its hot water bill. There's no lukewarm rain, it's fucking cold! And you have to be one of those people who looks good wet at any given moment. Your mascara can’t be running down your face, your hair can’t get knotty and crumpled, and your bra has to be really nice and lacy peeking out underneath your wet cotton t-shirt. Not that sports bra shit. It’s all about the visual with the rain make-out.

Christina: It’s not for everyone. Unless you enjoy feeling like a wet dog. It’s one of those things that needs to be kept preserved on celluloid and not translated into real life. Sexy is being stuck in the car when it’s storming outside. The soft sound of the rain, the steamy windows, the innuendos...'OK I’m taking my top off.'

(later online)
365: Can I tell you, I just got home and had to wrestle my wet skinny jeans off because they were glued to my skin. It ain’t easy to finagle clothing removal when you’re soaking wet. Your skin is damp, cold and your clothes smell a mixture of rain and humidity. God forbid you're wearing wool... what a stench wet wool is! That does not a sexy scene make.

Christina: Oh yeah, wet skinny jeans... that’s a foreplay nightmare. I think walking in the light rain, in Paris, with a lover and a baguette is the way to go. Now that’s romance.
365: Yeah, I guess. And hopefully the baguette is in a plastic bag. Who the hell wants wet bread?

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Day 319: The Ace Is In Your Pocket

We all belong to something.
We have our parents, our siblings, our friends, our partners, our colleagues...
And as we blend, converse and grow we pick up things from them.
Our language and mannerisms become influenced, as do our tastes, and decisions.
We can't help it, we become products of our chosen and unchosen environments.
And our personalities reflect that.
But there comes a time in every life when you have a moment of:
"who am I outside of all of this?"
Trying to figure out what parts of you work.
And what parts are holding you back.
It's a scary question to ask.
That's the tricky thing about this journey of self-awareness, going your own way is a very hard thing to do.
It means asking the difficult questions.
So many of us don't.
We move past that and rally for answers that come from not questioning anything.
We rarely filter out everyone or anyone else and make a choice or decision based on gut feeling.
Based on intuition.
The hardest person to get approval from is yourself.
And yet we look for it from other people all the time.
We are the ones who decide what 'hurts' to move on from.
We are the ones who decide when to move on from them, too.
We hold all our own cards.
But hide the winning hand from sight.
And we bluff through so many situations because that's what we think is expected.
Or maybe we think that the pot can't be ours any other way.
Or with any other player.
We can't keep playing with implied odds.
Expecting to win what isn't exactly on the table.
And we should not let other people make bets on our own happiness.
Even if we trust them.
Even if we admire their estimated guess.
We need to start belonging to ourselves if this game is ever to have a winning streak.

Friday, August 19, 2011

Day 318: Providence

I would love for you to materialize right there.
Right before me.
Without any questions.
Without any explanations.
Without any plans.
Without any baggage.
Just you and your hand out to me.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Day 317: Two Times.

We’re such funny creatures.
Double dipping our toes in the water even though we just checked, and it was too cold.
Or too hot.
We double dip because we want to make sure.
And because we like to feel the shock of temperature on our skin, let’s be honest.
We could learn from the first go around.
Cold is cold.
Hot is hot.
But a second time really drives the point home.
And it seems a good amount of us want to learn our lessons twice.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Day 316: tuning in, adjusting frequencies to respond...

It’s official.
My body hates me.
Or at least it is very, very mad at me.
I don’t know what I ever did to piss it off and have it play such mean spirited trickery on me, but it is angry and sneaky and making me look bananas.
Test results are coming back normal, so these acute one sided episodes that take over like they do, have left me quite tired and so very confused.
I’m not the only befuddled one; my neurologist is trying to figure it out, too.
She ordered a 24 hour EEG to further test, but isn't sure that will help us conclude why, four years later, these symptoms have returned on my left side.
An eenie weenie lesion on the brain is still present since then, but does not seem to have altered in any way that could cause these 'episodes'.
So... I'm baffled.
Is this anxiety?
A strange anxiety that only takes over the left side of me?
Or is my Body pissed off and trying to get my Spirit’s attention?
Is this a languageless form of communicating something I desperately need to learn right now?
But what?!
I did the automatic health stuff: stopped coffee, stopped alcohol, tried to remove unnecessary stress… and still these symptoms seem to be affecting my day to day.
So what, Body, do I need to do?
What do ol' Spirit and I need to change?
What am I ignoring?
I’m ready to hear you, but you have to meet me half way.
I will self-help-hippy-dippy-new-age the shit out of all this if it helps us talk to each other more coherently.
You ready?

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Monday, August 15, 2011

Day 314: Honor and Health.

I have this idea that books and albums come to you when you need them most. When they can teach you something or inspire you.  When you can process what it is that they have to offer.  It’s happened to me many times over my lifetime. One example is Joni Mitchell’s ‘Blue’ album. I bought it when I was nineteen because I heard that it was incredible - and I hated it. I thought she was too shrill and chirpy. Cut to seven years later, someone leaves it at my house; I listen and am so completely moved by it.  I wasn’t evolved enough to understand what she wrote about when I was nineteen. But in my mid-twenties, ‘A Case of You’ felt like it was written straight from my heart. It still does.

The same type of thing just happened again. In the last three years I have heard the name Caroline Myss come up several times. Different people telling me I should read her books for various reasons.  At one point, I had even typed “Myss” in the NOTES section of my iPhone because I thought her take on archetypes sounded interesting enough to look into, but… I never checked it out.  A friend subsequently downloaded the audio books for me and put them on a CD to listen to and I never even pressed play. I thought it sounded too ‘new agey’.  Cut to last week, and my sister buys me a CD of a radio program featuring Myss called “Healing with the Spirit”.  I laughed.  I guess there was something I needed to hear from this lady.

I listened to it in the car on my way to work today. (Driving these days requires courage and crossed fingers that I won’t have another of what the doctors are calling “focal sensory seizures”.  So I listened to Myss very intently to distract myself from the tingling symptoms and just get to work without pulling over to the side of the road once or twice).  Before I knew it, I was completely enthralled in what she was saying. She speaks about how our emotional state can influence our cells; or her term: “biography becomes biology”.  How our thoughts present negative or positive reactions to our state of health.  And how our surroundings contribute to our physical and 'spiritual anatomy'. She finds that society is in decline and that honor is not as prevalent as it used to be and with her intuitive studies she has observed just how important a factor that aspect is for the ‘maintenance of health in the healing body’.

*Quote: “Honor – I mean integrity. I mean the capacity to give your word and keep it…what I recognize, when I look around, is that there must have been a time when we were more honorable but we’ve become a society that simply manages each other’s dishonor. What that means is that we no longer honor the sacred, there is no ritual that holds us, and there is no vow that we don’t care if we break…”

Those words hit me like a pillow to the head because I really feel that. I feel somewhat lost in the world I live in. I sense the change in me, and in the people around me, the people I newly meet or the men I try to date. The value of honor, the value of a promise, the value of a handshake, and the value of your word… it has lost its resonance.  We say it. We think it. But we don’t really give it the merit we used to. When did it become OK to live in the shadows of ourselves? What good can grow there, in the dark? If I am not in line with my own individual honor code, if I haven’t established one in this new societal order that we've created, how can my body be in line with health, happiness or well being? How can yours? How can we as a people help each other grow or heal  if we do not stand up and admit that we turned a blind eye one too many times and let it slip away to yonder year? And maybe we shouldn't have.

I want more from my world, from my life, and from my health.  And I guess I will have to start by working on myself and hope the rest falls in line with that. Thank you, Caroline Myss. And thank you, Universe, for sending her words to me at exactly the right time. 

*excerpt taken from Caroline Myss with Michael Toms "Healing with the Spirit".
 Caroline Myss

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Day 313: "Crazy, Stupid, Love."

I just came back from watching the romantic comedy: Crazy, Stupid, Love.
I really liked it.
It left me smiling.
And not just because Ryan Gosling was lighting up the screen with an effervescence that’s hard to match, but it was the plot line that got me.
Hook, line and sinker.
Every time.
Sue me.
I miss romance.
I miss being naïve enough to remember what that kind of falling in love felt like.
I miss believing in Soul Mates.
I miss laughing with a boyfriend so hard my insides hurt.
I miss it.
And I know it’s just the movies.
And I know it’s not really how life works.
All those small or grand romantic gestures…
But there’s a part of me that lights up every time I think about it.
Every time I think about ‘meant to be’.
I hate that all I remember is how crazy a love declaration can make you look when the person doesn’t love you back.
And how monumentally stupid that makes you feel.
Being an adult sucks sometimes.
Not everything is better spoken aloud, I tell myself on a regular basis.
But my heart has a lot to say.
And I miss saying what is in my heart to someone who really wants to hear it.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Day 312: hit or miss (love is a moving target)

In a world of Now or Never, will you do it?
Will you say it, so that it does not go unsaid?
Do you reach out and live it?

Or do you just miss it?

Friday, August 12, 2011

Day 311: When you put it that way...

My niece seems rather pre-occupied about my marital status.
Or lack thereof.
My sister presented me with three inscribed crystal new-agey stones that my niece picked out for my birthday. "There were literally hundreds of different words for her to choose from and these were her three choices for you," she explained.
I look in the little sachet. Inside were: 'Health', 'Magic', and (wait for it) 'Sex'.
Ummm… 'Sex'?
She’s six!
So when I saw her tonight, I asked her what the word 'sex' means.
She said, "Sex, you know, like your sex is female and my brother’s sex is male. So maybe you will meet someone from the opposite sex."

And then when it was time to blow out my birthday candles tonight, she yelled, "Wish for a boyfriend!!"
I let the kids blow out the candles for me, and then I had to ask. 

Me:  OK, why do you think I need a boyfriend so bad?
Her:  Because you need to get married and have children or you’re going to end up a nun.
(Studio audience laughter)
Me:  No I’m not.
Her:  Yes. That’s why girls get married, Zia.
Me:  Alright, smarty pants. How do you think I should meet a guy?
Her:  Well. I think you walk down the street, and you find a cute and charming man, and you smile at him.
Me: Oh, really?
Her: Yeah, and then he smiles at you and you fall in love and get married. It's so easy.

At that point, you have to let the six year old kid win her argument.
And tell her you’ll give it a try.
But better keep those stones handy.. know what I'm sayin'?

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Day 310: Thursday’s Child Has Far To Go.

I was born on a Thursday, much like this one, thirty four years ago today.
According to that childrens rhyme, I still have a long way ahead.
After the last three weeks I’ve had, I’d say that’s really good to know.
Maybe it should be this year's mantra.
Because I have discovered that even though times get hard, people will hold you up.
People will push you forward.
People will support you.
Cheer for you.
And, today, more than other birthdays before, I am most grateful for the people in my life.
Who share their lives without question.
Who share their strength without hesitation.
Who share their love without pride.
Who share their encouragement without jealousy.
They make me want to ‘keep on keeping on'.
Until I am the very best version of myself.
And they are the ones that make this a happy birthday.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Day 309: That's why my head's in the clouds.

I was thinking tonight about some clouds I flew through in June.
It was on that scary, teeny-tiny plane ride taking me from Nassau to Eleuthera.
Somewhere in between that very turbulent flight we hit a smooth spot.
Tense flyer that I was, I relaxed enough to open my eyes and look out the window.
And then I saw the clouds.
Millions of pure white, swollen clouds.
Shaped like fluffy white ridges.
Ice capped cloud mountains floating above crystallized blue water.
Slowly morphing and moving.
Following us.
Enveloping us.
Part of us.
It was the most magical scene I have ever witnessed.
This Grand Canyon of the sky.
And there I was flying right in the middle of it.
Realizing then, that a bumpy ride can take you to a place of unimaginable beauty.
Of calm.
Of peace.
If you just take a deep breath, and open your eyes.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Day 308: On the brain.

I have a lot on my mind.
How can it be that the same organ that is causing weird symptoms in my body is the same organ that transmits the fear and worrying related to such symptoms?
What a busy little bee my brain is.
Today I had an EEG done to see if the left-sided episodes I’m experiencing are some type of focal seizure.
On the slow walk home from the hospital, I started to let my mind wander to a place of fear.
I even allowed myself to Google my symptoms on my iPhone.
(Something I had not allowed until today).
Big mistake, of course.
A blanket of panic began to wrap itself around me.
I got home, lay down and turned the TV on.
Someone was talking about Multiple Sclerosis on Oprah.
Then I, against my own better judgment, thought it was a good idea to get off the couch and Google symptoms of Multiple Sclerosis.
Then I gasped.
Then I called my sister and got choked up.
Then I got mad at myself for getting emotional.
Then I did what I always do when I can’t control my fears: clean like crazy.
I started with the vacuum.
Then I washed my floors.
Then I got out the wood polish and started to polish anything wood in my apartment.
I did this until I completely exhausted myself, sweat pouring down my forehead.
House clean and less of an emotional mess.
Do I feel something is wrong? Yes.
Can I diagnose it myself? No.
Am I scared? Yes.
Is panicking going to help my cause at this juncture? No.
Am I whispering to every angel I can summon to memory? Yes.
Do I feel like a hypocrite for praying only when I need something? Yes.
Do I want to let myself be overcome by panic and fear? Absolutely not.
I don’t want that.
I really don’t.
I’m made of so much more strength than that.
And besides, the left side of my body contains my heart.
Where my love comes from.
Where my hope comes from.
And in case you haven't noticed yet, 308 days in, my heart wins over my head every time.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Day 307: Write it like a note.

I just got a call from my six year old niece.
She was calling to see how I was feeling.
(My sister, no doubt, put her up to it).
I told her I wasn’t feeling so great.
Then I asked her to help me write my blog because I was tired and didn’t have too many ideas.

Her: Can’t you tell your teacher you don’t feel good today?
Me: I’m my own teacher these days, sweetie. What would you write if you had a blog?
Her: Let me think for a few seconds… (quiet)… Umm, are you feeling a little down today?
Me: Only when I don’t feel well.
Her: Well, are you happy or sad? Are you good or not good? Just say how you were feeling today.
Me: I don’t really want to talk about today. It wasn’t so good.
Her: If I would be doing what you were doing now, I would write it like a note. Like for example, I would write, “Hi Sally, I am sorry I cannot play with you in the school yard, but I do not feel well. And I cannot go to school until I feel better.”
Me (smiling): You’re so smart. Thank you.
Her: That’s just what I would say. OK, I have to go to bed now. Maybe you’ll get more ideas. You just have to think really hard.
Me: Right. Good night!
Her: Bye!

After I hung up, for the first time today, I felt some wind in my sails.
Pushing this little tugboat along.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Day 306: You don't send me flowers anymore.

My friend called me the other day.
I was at a show and couldn’t answer the phone.
As soon as I could, I listened to her voicemail.
She’s not a phone person, she doesn’t call, but that night she did to see if I was doing OK.
I see this friend every other day and we email/chat/text all the time.
But the fact that she called rang an alarm.
The next day, at work, I emailed her a thank you and explained my surprise.
She replied, “Wow, when did a phonecall become the equivalent to sending flowers?”
It’s so true.
Social media, the world-wide internet… keep us connected intangibly.
Calling someone, using your voice, has become a boundary crosser.
Reserved for older family members, bad news, emergencies…
More people, myself included, will send an email or a facebook message to catch up with someone.
I used to spend hours with boyfriends or friends on the phone.
And now I communicate through a screen.
I keep up with them faster, and more conveniently, but something gets left out.
And I wonder if the telephone will one day soon become obsolete?
Is it going to be like a vinyl record, sitting there, so much more authentically, next to an iPod?
Will it be a decorative statement?
Will the telephone portion of the iPhone soon be an app you could upload?
I'm embarrassed to say that I never noticed myself falling into these new habits.
Voices, as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, carry the essence of the person.
Why would any of us settle for less than the real thing?
Why would any of us want plastic flowers when the peonies and begonias smell so lovely this time of year?

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Day 305: Just call me Bubble Girl (my friends do)

It’s very important to wear matching bra and undies.
Sometimes a girl realizes this when she is being rushed to the hospital by ambulance.
Because sometimes ambulance drivers can be very good looking.
And they sometimes need to open your blouse and do an EKG on the spot.
They also need to put sticky pads on your legs for this test (thank God I shaved).
Then they stick oxygen under your nose while taking your blood pressure every 5 minutes.
And they talk to you about your job, ask questions…
You smile, and relax a little.
Until you realize you don’t look so cute with your blouse half open and oxygen stuck up your nostrils.
And you’re on a stretcher, in an ambulance, and not at a café chatting up this lovely man who is being so careful and nice with you.
Who is making you feel well again.

Yesterday afternoon was pretty horrible.
The left side of my throat and chest closed up and I was gasping to breathe.
But these two wonderful (gorgeous) men took good care of me.
Until everything was OK again.
And by the time I got to the hospital, I was back to my old self.
Ahh, my 'old' self.
Why has it forsaken me and let some stranger move in and take over whenever she feels like it?
Doctors saying “nothing we can do in the meantime” or "more tests" teaches you to be grateful for every minute  that is OK.
And there is a lot of OK, don’t get me wrong.
(And don't worry).
There's just a lot of confusion in the mix.
But I’m going to continue business as usual until the answers come.
And I’m going to be OK.
But I'll wear all my nicest bras and undies.
You know, in case.

Friday, August 5, 2011

Day 304: something wild and unruly

Plant something.
Water it as best you can.
Whenever you can.
Watch it grow.
Watch it fill your heart in ways unexpected.
Watch it blossom.
And watch it outgrow you.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Day 303: Giving Chicken Little a run for his money.

I think a hard hat has finally beaten out the hipster fedora.
These are precarious times in Montreal.
Pieces of highway crumbling and falling down like large cement-block hail.
Potholes the size of moon craters trapping city buses and fire trucks.
Cranes tipping over in the neighbourhood mid-afternoon.
And that was just since Saturday!
What’s next, a meteor shower?
If only it were natural disasters!
Only the man made kind.
The badly made kind.
And you'd think it was being taken care of...
Everywhere construction and detours and construction.
And detours!
Orange cones as far as the eye can see.
The glow of red brake lights in traffic reminding just how late you really are.
It’s bananas.
I love my city.
I really do.
But it needs a fast fix.
Some Botox and filler, perhaps.
Someone to properly organize major re-constructive surgery.
I’m pretty sure we have already been billed for it.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Day 302: out of your hands

You are quite the scene.
You have enraptured this misfit with your persuasiveness.
All the while hiding behind curtains with smoke, bells and whistles.
Master at decorating black lies with white paint.
Pretending the yellow brick road leads to somewhere new.
Sitting in your hot air balloon, hovering just above the truth.
But you never take flight.
And you never ask me to join you.
Because you never learned to fly.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Day 301: (light) a match

When you are physically attracted to someone straight away, does that equate a bad relationship match?
Is the love relationship sabotaged when lust comes first?
Physical attraction is so primal.
For these reasons, should the physical aspect be the last deciding factor so that love can blossom intellectually or sentimentally?
But then, we can all fall in love with someone so easily on paper.
Words are a subtle seduction method, don’t underestimate them.
And when all the other ducks are lined in a row, and the damn butterflies make a clean sweep for the exit just as he walks into the room, what then?!
You think he's super, sweet and loving but you don’t want to rip his clothes off with reckless abandon.
Can the mind trump over matter, in sexual matters?
Or will love suffer to lust?
Couples out there, which are you sacrificing, really?
And why does a magical and perfect blend of the two seem to be a riding on the back of a unicorn somewhere?

Monday, August 1, 2011

Day 300: The One (carefully casted, of course)

Oh dear. What kind of friends and family allow you to be part of a show like The Bachelor/Bachelorette? The kind that hate you, that’s who. Tired of seeing you get your heart broken in private or via social network, they encourage you to get your body fit, a tan sprayed on, and super hot bikini purchased so that you can cavort in hot tubs on TV with about 30 men simultaneously until you whittle it down to THE ONE. “It works like a charm every time!” say the producers and no one else that isn’t affiliated with ABC.  Now, contrary to what my description of the show might portray, it is not hardcore porn. It is, however; Monday night 8pm on ABC prime time porn that the whole family can watch together.

Bachelorette: I feel so close to you right now on this secluded hotel rooftop.
Prospective Life Mate (hands up her skirt): It must be because I’m in love with you.
Bachelorette: We should make out in the hot tub. That’s how I find out if I really love someone.
(Cut to onscreen interview shot): I really think Ben could give me a happy ending.

Hmmm, even Nana can read through that subliminal subtext.

But besides all the rampant sexual innuendo, the best part, for me, is the complete emotional breakdown that happens every episode. All that ugly crying on camera. The unfiltered thoughts from being sequestered in a mansion for so long with too many hot available guys to choose from can really bring a girl down. Ya know?  (Yeah, I don’t either.  But I digress…)

Another reason your friends and family want you to get on the show is the hope that they’ll get a free vacation to a remote location in the South Pacific to interview the last two potential life mates (aka 3 month fiancé until the press dies down) to help you choose who should/will propose to you.  (Take a second to figure that little twist on marriage).  It’s all very 'An Affair to Remember’ meets ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest’, my point being: fictional.

Hey, I’m the first to say it’s tough out there. It’s hard to meet guys who reach or surpass every pedestal we single ladies hold high in our hearts. But, one thing is for sure, true love ain’t gonna happen on contrived dates in front of a bevy of cameras.
Your mom knows this, but then...she really likes Fiji too.