Doug's rants, raves & observations on life...

The Beach

2009-11-03T00:26:00.001-05:00

It's a long, desolate stretch of road between Campeche and Champotón, punctuated by occasional shacks perched precariously against the sea and lone vendors of coconuts. It's not a place most tourists see as they zoom down the new highway some miles from the coast, but it's a place that grabbed me, instantly taking me back to similar, desolate stretches of roadway along Nova Scotia's Atlantic Shore. Being close to the ocean is something that I have frequently taken for granted, but when I'm in the moment, it's something awe-inspiring. Christel and I used to walk along the malecón in Campeche at night, staring out at the vast blackness of the sea spread before us. So dark, yet beyond the pale, cities like Veracruz, Houston and New Orleans unfold. In Nova Scotia, it was the opposite; across the ocean was Africa, someplace unimaginable.

The beach at Champotón was rather unmemorable. My classmates and I made our marks, stretching out in the fleeting sun and taking occasional dips into the briny water.

The beach was marked with the occasional oil-motor bottle, and near the road, a large dead turtle splayed out across a wooden plank. It had died in netting and washed up on shore, left as a grim reminder of the shortness of life in the deep ocean. It was disturbing, yet at the same time, utterly fascinating. How could something so magnificent could be felled by a simple net? In the battle between the sustenance of the people and the life of animals, the latter seemed to have little chance of winning.

We didn't have a particular reason for going to Champotón but to relax, so that's what we did. I was having a particularly hard time adjusting to life in Southern Mexico, so the day-trip was a release. I was living by myself, although I had, nominally, a host-mother. A money-grubber she, I was put up in a house on the edge of the city, an hour bus-ride from the university. As if that weren't bad enough, I didn't have a fridge, a stove, or even electricity. Over the weeks I had been living there, I became completely cut off from the world outside of my daily university classes. At night, I would return home to a dark house, dodging the tarantulas on the street that had crawled up from the jungle below. I entered the baking house and laid down on my sweaty bed, listening intently to a small radio, catching the occasional radio transmission from Texas at night, but mostly just static. I eventually went to the local Chedraui and bought myself laundry detergent and a rope so I could at least wash my clothes. And every few days I would do just that, sitting on the floor of the bathroom, scrubbing my clothes in an old cement bucket to rid them of that smell and hanging them out back, praying that it wouldn't rain so that I would have something to wear the next day. I count the month that I lived in that house as one of the toughest & loneliest of my life.

After a few hours spent lazing around the beach, the wind had turned cool and the sky morbidly dark. In the distance, waterspouts flirted with the shoreline, prompting us to make a retreat to a safer area. Suddenly, we were summoned to a sandy knoll by a few people from the university in Campeche. Our purpose at the beach was to be realized: with tired hands, they dug into the sand — searching, pulling. What emerged was beautiful: tiny turtles. Our mission was to give them a chance at survival.

In handfuls, we carefully picked up the clawing, reptilian beasts. The nibbled and scratched, at once both irritating and entirely endearing. We were given strict instructions to take them to the shoreline, place them on the sand, and do no more. If they didn’t walk towards the water, we were not to move them because it could interfere with their inborn sense of direction. The turtles knew what to do, we just had to get them to the water.

With several in hand, I walked to the water, overwhelmed by the experience. I placed one down on the sand, and slowly, it stumbled towards the water. And the second, and the third, and the fourth. Instinctively, they swam forth to destinations unknown, doing just as generations before them had. Seagulls circled overhead, looking for a tasty snack, but the dark conditions greatly inhibited their hunting capabilities.

I had just one turtle left, but as I was about to lower him into his sandy escape, I noticed that his shell was deformed. I asked one of the university students if that would hurt him and, bluntly, they admitted that it would: he was one of the ones unlikely to grow into adulthood. At that moment, I considered putting him into my pocket and going home, giving him a chance to live, but decided that there was no other fate but the one stretched out before the both of us. I lowered him onto the sand, stepped back, and watched nervously as he made his way towards the water. At he reached the edge, he stalled, then turned back, seemingly confused. As much as I wanted to turn him around and point him in the right direction, I couldn’t — it was sink or swim, so to speak.

We later asked the students from the university why they protected the turtles as they did, and that explained that this particular species was on the brink of extinction. In the wild, they would have a 1 in 1000 chance of survival, but their incubation and release technique doubled those odds. Off all of the turtles we released, only one would return to the same beach to produce the next generation. The rest would meet grisly fates — they would drown, or be eaten.

At the shoreline, the turtle with the deformed shell took his first steps into the water, seconds before a wave washed him away. As the remaining rays of sunlight danced on the surface, the sea was awash in black specks swimming furiously to destinations unknown, fighting to be the one to return.

Later that night, as I scrubbed my clothes in the old cement bucket, my thoughts kept returning to that turtle.. Was he still alive? Would he be the one to return? Would he meet the same fate as the fascinatingly grotesque turtle on the wooden plank? He stayed in my thoughts even as I went to bed, the static of the radio slowly lulling me to sleep.

29 years ago at this very minute...

2009-09-07T02:10:00.000-04:00

You know the drill. Me, hateful, mother, lady parts. See 2006 for details of that.

The sea separated, and I came walking out.

Since I've elected not to have any more birthdays for the rest of my life, I shall enjoy today. I want ice cream and balloons. And glitter. There can never be enough glitter.

So who's throwing the party?

Taking back control

2009-08-26T02:00:00.003-04:00

While Loralee is over there talking about health care and getting the attention of the President, I'm sorta just trying to keep my head above water. No, I'm not depressed or anything, but kind of apathetic. You ever have the feeling where there are so many things that you want to change about your life, and you know exactly what they are, but you have absolutely no motivation to do so? Me, check. Like, for the past two years.

Relationships are great, but they tend to make one comfortable. I love Marco incredibly, but I'm in that "comfortable" position - more like a rut. And no, Marco, it has nothing to do with you, it's just me, and my need to shake things up a bit. You don't need shaking up. Well, maybe when you're snoring.

And with the start of the new year*, there couldn't be a better time to jolt myself.

So, here's my list of things. I know it's not for great reading, so skip by if you'd like. Me putting this out in public makes me more accountable. Well, probably not, but me pacing across the living room talking to myself really isn't cutting it anymore.

Be more physically active. OSU has a fantastic gym, so why don't I use it more? Because I'd rather be at home, shoving chocolate into my face, that's why. Do this 4x per week, right after I finish teaching at 8:30 a.m. Speaking of which....
Try to become less hateful in the morning. Yes, the 8:30 a.m. teaching assignment ranks right up there cleaning behind the fridge with things I actually want to to, but it's only 10 weeks. 10 long, hateful weeks.
Eat chocolate at 8:25 a.m.
Be more responsible with money. My income is fixed at $1325/mth, so really, this can't be that hard. Usually, if I have some left at the end of the month, it's cause for celebration. The alcohol takes care of the money-overflow.
Take left-over money and send back to Canada. Pay off credit cards. Like, really.
Speaking of which, WTF is up with Bank of Montreal upping my credit limit to $11,000? I would call them and tell them that I barely make that much in a year if I didn't think a credit limit of 11k was so entirely cool.
Cook on Sundays, eat throughout the week. This is key. I throw away too much food because we eat out, and I really feel guilty for all of the kids in Africa who have no food to throw out at all.
Note: Mail week-old tomatoes to Nigeria.
Simply phone numbers. Right now, there's a Skype number, a vonage number, and a cell number. And Marco's phone. Reduce, reuse, recycle. Except for the last two.
Be a better friend. Get over persistant "they probably don't want to talk to me anyway" syndrome. Because really, I'm feeling cut-off.
Stop buying useless things. Like Diet Coke. Yes, the DC has to go.

I shall be held accountable for all of this, most of which is self-contradictory and pointless. Let's see how this goes....

* For academics, the "New Year" = September. The real people "New Year" = time to crawl into a hole for a month and ignore everything you're supposed to be doing. But aren't.

The cucumber runneth dry

2009-08-06T01:37:00.002-04:00

It's 1:37 a.m. and I'm starving. Marco took the last of the pasta to work with him, so now I'm stuck eating Weight Watcher's ice cream. It's actually pretty good, if only the FUCKING STICK WOULD STAY STUCK IN THE DAMNED ICE CREAM. This time it didn't, so I'm scooping the rapidly melting ice cream out of the wrapper with a fork. Yes, a fork, just because.

I'm also eating cucumber. Cucumber which I cut up 3 days ago, and is already very dry. Like "oh- my-god, I-didn't-know-that-cucumber-could-get-stuck-in-my-throat" dry. And now I've decided to return to blogger.

I know that there's nobody left out there who reads me, but I've been stuck for a long time trying to figure out what this blog should be. I *think* that some of my students found this, so no more nitty-gritty personal details! Or maybe yes, depending on how I feel, or how angry the FUCKING DRY cucumber is making me.

There are several possibility for this blog. I shall list them, for your viewing dis/pleasure:

A weight loss journal. When I originally started this blog, I was a tad bulimic and anorexic, and became thin! But because I ruined my metabolism (which felt so good at the time), the weight came all back. I haven't gained any weight in a year, and I'm not some kind of jelly-blob, but it's time to start taking it off again. Hence eating FUCKING DRY cucumber. I'm minus 6.5 pounds at the moment.
A journal of funny links I find on the internet. But hey, that's been done before.
A celebutard blog. I shall call myself Clisted. You know, like Dlisted, but more geared towards the grade I'm going to finish my degree with unless I get my ass in gear.
Did I mention that the cucumber is dry?
A recipe blog! Probably not.
A academic revue-type journal. However, given that I'm barely interested in academia as it is...

What to do? All of the above? Maybe. Check back for more once I return from buying vegetables that aren't completely rancid. That goes for you too, celery.

Some to come

2009-07-20T02:32:00.000-04:00

It's time to resurrect this sucker.

Now this is a catfight!

2008-11-22T03:44:00.005-05:00

I'm seriously sorry about not writing recently. School hasn't been overwhelming, and all of my free time is split between Marco and Peggle, so what can I say? But I was weeding through my Bookmarks and came across this gem that somebody linked on a forum once. I've never seen this "Generations" show, but WOW! And I thought Dynasty was bad-ass.

P.S. - I do have a substantial post that just needs editing. I WILL get to it this week. And all of the blogs I have been missing. I'm keeping up on Reader, I swear.

Saturday Night Live

2008-10-07T02:16:00.001-04:00

Mary Poppins is a slut. Perfection.

Frustrations from 43201

2008-10-07T01:57:00.004-04:00

Now that Marco and I have been in the 43201 for two months, it's time for the bitching to begin. Bitchfest 2008, as it will be called from this moment onwards. And what would a Bitchfest be without actual bitching?

Where shall I start? Marco and I were willing to give Columbus the benefit of the doubt for the first month we were here, but then things start to sour. For me, it came right around the time I was WITHOUT POWER FOR 5 DAYS due to a FUCKING 2 HOUR WINDSTORM that American Electrical Power called UNPRECEDENTED! UNPRECEDENTED! Like the end of the world! Aren't there fucking tornadoes in this state? Hey, AEP, I'm from Nova Scotia. Wind is a way of life for me. I thrive on wind, especially the bitterly cold North Atlantic winds that only February can bring. The remnants of a hurricane don't faze me in the least. So why did they faze you? Anyway....

It's Sunday. Marco and I want to do something. We've already ventured to German Village. What else is there to do in Columbus? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. The city is completely dead on Sundays. For a metropolitan area of 1.7 million people, it's rather shocking. So instead, we go to Wal-Mart. Along with 1.7 million other people. And after picking through the remains of the vegetable and fight off some old bag for the last pair of 99 cent socks, we go home. And do more of nothing.
The 43201 is filled, and I mean chalked full, or ugly, screaming people. Neither Marco nor i have been able to discern what they're screaming about, but all we know if that they do it all the time, every single day. If they're not doing that, they're peeing on the corner store across the street. How do I know this? Well, during that blackout, besides throwing out expensive food and boring myself to sleep by listening to CNN on Sirius out in the car, I sat on my front porch and read novels by the street light. In clear view of the corner store. And yet, people would still pee on it.
Wal-Mart has one aisle of vegetables, but five of chips and other assorted candies. not that it matters - fruits and vegetable are so expensive here that nobody bothers to eat them anyway. $2.49 a pound for apples at the Kro-ghetto? Are you fucking kidding me?
On a related note, I think I am developing rickets.
It's utterly impossible to get anywhere in Columbus without a car. And even with a car, things are so spread out and far apart that it's pointless ot bother. Interesting factoid - London, a city I once so loathed, a city of just 340,000 people, has more sky-scrappers than Columbus - by a large margin. Thanks skyscrapper.com!
Lighting ones house on fire seems to be all the rage here in the 43201 as fire-trucks zoom past our apartment every five minutes.
The cost of living, outside of $1.99 orange peppers (no, not by the pound), is pretty good. Electricity rates are outrageous, though.
The Buckeyes? WTF is a Buckeye? I still have no idea, but I do know that fans of whatever this is take up all of the parking on our street every second Saturday.
Land of big hair and fat asses. Enough said.

But on the upshot, I've only got 47 more months here!

Witness the following: (via Ugly Betty)

Willhemina: I love that dress, girlfriend!
Betty: No you don't. You hate it.
Willhemina: You're right. It's hideous, like driving through Ohio.

And there you have it. Ugly Betty perfectly sums up our Ohio experience thus far. There must be some good points, right?

Next time, something positive, I swear!

Delayed from 43201

2008-09-17T12:08:00.002-04:00

Marco's gone for the week, there's no school until the 23rd and I have a car. It was supposed to be the perfect week. Lots of cleaning, organizing, blog posting and calling friends.

The Hurricane Ike happened. Or whatever was left of Hurricane Ike by the time it passed over 43201.

So now I have no electricity. I've had no electricity since Sunday. So no blog posts. No phone calls, no refrigerated food, no organizing and certainly no cleaning. Just lots of gentle sobbing in the dark corners of my house.

Well, not quite. So pity me if you must, but pity the people in Texas more. Or better yet, make a donation to a relief fund. Because as much as it sucks to have to throw out three pounds of chicken breast that I just bought on Saturday, at least I still have a roof over my head.

Live from 43201

2008-09-12T00:10:00.003-04:00

So it's very early on a Friday morning and I now have two cursors on my screen. Trippy. Did I mention my growing antipathy towards Windows in general? Quiet, Jess.

I'm sitting here, hungry and bored. Bored because Marco is already asleep and for some reason I decided to take a nap when I came home from school this afternoon. Silly me, I thought he'd wake me up when he got home, which is usually around 5:30. But he did not. So now I'm hungry because, instead of waking me up, he ate dinner by himself and took my nap time as his relax time. Am I really that much of a chore? I'd rather not have answers on that one.

I don't even really know what to eat because all I hate is shitty Aldi bread that costs 79 cents a loaf. Aldi, the store that proclaims itself as the place where you can do "90% of your grocery shopping." Really, Aldi? It's more like 40% on a good week because all you carry for spices are black pepper and garlic salt. Whatever shall I do without cinnamon for my bath?

Damn, I keep finding black specks in this Aldi bread. Should I take it back? I'll just eat around them.

Anyway, it's been several weeks since I posted, so I wanted to give an update of what C-bus is like. But that's really boring, and I know you all only care what kind of slum I've pigeon-holed myself into this time, so here it goes.

The outside (courtesy of Google Street View):

Yes, the random guy crossing the street comes included. In fact, there was a random guy in a wheelchair screaming at random passing people just yesterday.

Get out of my neighbourhood, whitey!

Quite literally. So much neighbourhood flavour! But besides the insessant noise, the drag racing down the main street and what I'm pretty sure are crackhouses on nearly all sides of us, I like it!

As for the rest of it, the pictures are not uploading, so I shall leave you in suspense until tomorrow.

So yes, I am alive. And yes, I have been busy. And yes, I'll return to blogging. And yes, I will have another shitty Aldi bread sandwich and probably get the diarreah. The third main ingredient is HFCS! In bread?

Obesity, here I come.

Miscellany from a hammock

2008-08-16T19:59:00.004-04:00

It will come as no surprise to those who know me that one of my favorite summertime pass times is sleeping. There's nothing I enjoy like a good, long nap to sleep away those dreary summer afternoons. Well, dreary if you're in Nova Scotia, because all it does here is RAIN.

My second favorite summertime pass time is, as it has been since I bought it in Mexico in 2002, napping in the hammock outside. But during those times of lucidity, in between dozing off for the tenth time, dodging the variable showers and reading the Globe and Mail, I like to think. About random things. So here it is:

Marco and I are officially DINKS! Yes, we were DINKS before, but in giving up half of my yearly income to take on the punishment of the Ph.D., I never thought that things would actually get better for us. But boy, was I wrong. Thanks to Marco securing a nice job in Columbus, we shall never struggle for money again. Thank God. I was so tired of shopping for off-labels.
I've been struggling with a cold, likely brought on by visiting Chantal and her 20,000 cats. Well, it's probably closer to two than 20,000, but seeing as how I hate them so, it certainly felt more like 20,000. Although it was really two.
Congrats to Team Canada on finally winning a medal. We're no longer tied for 83rd! Instead, we're in the 20s, tied with Turkey, Georgia (who, yes, is currently at war), Spain and Austria, the birthplace of Hitler. We're still behind Zimbabwe, what with their trillion percent inflation, Indonesia, who had to pull their athletes away from the Nike factories and North Korea. North Korea?!?!?! Maybe Canada should engineer a famine to get the team going...
I have developed a fondness for cookies. The scale groans.
CTV is currently rerunning "Murder In The Hamptons." I've seen this movie at least 7 times. Sigh.
I was dreading not having internet at home, but so some reason, I was able to pick up wireless from one of the neighbours. I was cruising reader one day and noticed that Loralee's latest post was written by "von Loralee." Strange, I thought. Loralee never mentioned taking on the title of a German Princess. Suddenly, Jess was "von Jess." "von Kristopher." "von Katherine." Had the world gone mad? Was everybody taking German royal titles? Is there even a German royal family? Then I discovered that every internet variable was in German. It seems that the internet I'm stealing is indeed in German. I don't even know the logistics of this, and so long as I continue to get free internet, I don't really care.
Following the trajectory of her life, my sister has run away with the circus. For real. Or what passes for the circus around here, anyway. Yes, my sister is now a carny. Jerry Springer should do an on-location with my family.
I love fresh plums. Especially those from the tree in our backyard.
Columbus is pretty nice. I'm going to take some pics of our fantastic apartment when I get back.
Want your computer to look like a Mac even though you're too cheap to buy an actual Mac? Try RocketDoc!
The blogging hiatus is nearly over. One I get back to Columbus, look for old hell to break loose on the blogging front. Or at least minor heck.

Things to appreciate...

2008-07-22T00:45:00.005-04:00

Hiatus, I know, but whatever.

Finally shaving my head, because then I will appreciate having hair once again.
The smell of skunk lessening (one sprayed my window Saturday night), because then the smell of non-skunk is so much more refreshing.
Having the heartbreak of psoriasis on my elbows, because it's finally migrated away from my head.
Finding lip-balm under the coach, because then my lips don't burn like the fires of hades.
Finishing the latest bottle of Diet Coke, because I know there's another one in the fridge.
Somebodies sink backing up into my bathtub, because I will later know what it's like not to have to scrub it everyday.
Ripping off my toe nails (odd habit, I know, so don't lecture), because they will later grow back and I can do it all over again.
Roger's charging me for an extra month of cable (it's in the CONTRACT!), because then I will no longer have to deal with them. Ever again.
The rain, which washes away the aforementioned smell of skunk.
The heat and humidity, for winter shall be so much sweeter.
Being away from home, so I actually like my family when I visit them.
Having Marco be away for a week-and-a-half, for the reunion shall be much sweeter.
Still being 27, which means I'm not yet 28.
Having $500 more in my savings account than I anticipated.
And finally, having wonderful readers who still track me even though, like clockwork, I go off the deep end every single summer.

And to hiatus again...

Hiatus

2008-07-13T23:04:00.003-04:00

In case you haven't already guessed, Doug's Rants, Raves & Observations on Life is officially on hiatus. There are a few reasons for this, primarily that I really don't have any more stories that I want to tell. Well, for now, at least. That's not to say that I don't have stories, but blogging about them involves turning on my computer, logging into my account, typing, clicking "publish post" ... and by then I've usually dozed off.

Blogging can be very exciting, but it's also very draining and right now I'd rather put those energies into my creative writing that I've ignored for far too long. As well, Marco is coming tomorrow (yay!) and I move to Ohio in two weeks, so it's going to be a very long haul over the next two months. But I will survive, and by then, perhaps I will have more stories to tell.

Thank you all for reading! I do keep up with your blogs (I have about 20 in Reader), even though I may not comment. I'll do my best to keep on keeping on in the blogging world, but there are no guarantees, as it goes without saying.

Have a great summer!

Who am I?

2008-07-01T03:06:00.004-04:00

Of late (and in between thinking up new ideas for Things Cheap People Like - new post this week, I swear!), I've come to wonder exactely who I am. I know that in the grand scheme of things it doesn't mean much - I'm multi-generational Canadian and that's pretty much that. Ancestry for me wasn't something that I ever actively thought about, but with the emergence of my father in recent months, I've started to wonder.

Tracking down ancestry, especially when your family has been in a country for about 200 years, isn't an easy thing to do. And that's doubly true when you have no idea who the other half of your family is, and all you have to go on is a name and some anecdotes your aunt told you.

A few years ago, the father of my aunt, before he died, became absolutely obsessed with family trees and tracked ours down to the first people who came off the boat from Germany, so I'm fairly positive regarding my mother's side.

Family names: Bush, Corkum, Baker.

All German and/or Dutch. Bush is one of those that could be either German or English, but the vast majority of the population of my home county, Lunenburg, is of German ancestry. The foreign protestants came to Nova Scotia in the 1750s to work for the British, but soon broke away and formed their own settlement down the shore. Work your way forward a few hundred years and here I am. Being a German Bush also alleviates me of the remote possibility of that other famous family, which is a soothing thought. Mix in a bit of Mi'qmaq for good measure, and there you have my mother's side of the family.

My father's side is a bit murkier, and all I really have is their surname: Bolivar. It always sounded German to me, so I never though too much about it until I came across Simon Bolivar, the 19th Century liberator of South America. Not that I'm related to him, but all of my internet research has only brought me to one conclusion: I'm part Spanish as Bolivar is not associated with any other country that I've read about. My aunt, who is the only person I'm close to on that side of the family, often refered to her mother as "the indian," so I can only assume that she was Mi'qmaq. Full or partial, who knows. And I'm not about to find out.

As I said, not that it really matters, but all of this research has left me more confused than ever. Can we ever figure out who we are if we have no idea where we came from? Damn those Europeans...

Spanish Lesson

2008-06-23T23:32:00.004-04:00

So I'm sitting around rocking out to Madonna's new album, which, coincidently, I LOVE, grooving and surfing the net (yes folks, that's about as cool as I get, unless I happen to be cleaning out the freezer), when I suddenly realize that something is wrong. So very wrong. More specifically, the lyrics to the song Spanish Lesson, a snappy little number that will probably never see the light of the singles chart (although it did appear in the sappy finale of Ugly Betty).

Now, I really like Madonna's music, but I have never looked to her for inspiring lyrics. If anybody has, they seriously need to be slapped around. Need I remind you of these gems?

From Impressive Instant:

I like to singy-singy-singy,
Like a bird on a wingy-wingy-wingy.
I like to somba-somba-somba
Let's do a romba-romba-romba

From I Love New York:

I don't like cities,
But I like New York.
Other places make me feel like a dork.

And finally, from the Bjork-written Bedtime Stories:

Words are useless, especially sentences.

Does she mean the word sentences is useless, or is she refering to actual groupings of words? The mind wonders...

Then along comes Spanish Lesson. Now, as you all know, my primary concern is for the children, be they big or small., hairy or tall. A small-one may accidently pick up this CD and confuse it with Berlitz, so I must take it upon myself to clear up all confusion right here and now. Because Madonna, frankly, although you have written children's books and have several children yourself, you are not to be trusted with their education.

Yo te quiero means I love you
-- A decent start. Gramatically correct. 1 gold star.

Mucho gusto means I’m welcome to you
-- And suddenly, it all turns to shit. Mucho gusto actually means much pleasure, so I don't know where the hell you get I'm welcome to you. What does that even mean?

Callate means close your mouth
-- Close... It's more like shut-up, so I'll give you a pass.

Bésame means give me love
-- Dame amor, Madonna, dame amor. Really, were you even trying?

Dígame means tell me baby
-- Yes, yes! Well, except for the baby part.

Yo soy loco means you drive me crazy
-- Yo soy loco means I AM crazy, not you drive me crazy. God, it's no wonder GWB thought that no Child Left Behind a necessity what with your innane lyrics passing off as Spanish lessons.

Entiendo means I get it
-- More like I understand, but close enough.

Siempre means that I won’t forget it
-- Actually, it means always, not I won't forget it. Is there any wonder people think that Spanish is a breeze to learn what with you infecting their brains with thoughts of one Spanish word summing up an entire English sentence? I can see hapless North American tourists in Cancun right now - a hot local passes reads her number aloud and the dufus white guy reponds with Siempre. Is this really what you want Madonna? Really? And if not for the dufus white guy, please Madonna, think of the children! Remember - you have several of them!

You cannot be so irresponsible with your lyrics and expect everybody to give you a pass. Watch out, because from this point forward I'm the person who won't give you a pass. The children and their education are simply too important.

The weekend, and other stuff. No, just the weekend.

2008-06-18T23:43:00.004-04:00

Last weekend was jam-packed for me, and it was nice. For once, I actually did something on the weekend beside lay on the coach, watch downloaded movies, stumble to the laundromat and sob the minutes away. Wait, did I just write that out loud? Yes, yes, I did.

On Friday night I picked up a car and drove up to Guelph to see Naomi for the first time in a year, which was fantastic. I was more than a little nervous to drive again, but I quickly got over that and headed off. I did get lost in Kitchener along the way (a hugely confusing city that barely qualifies as a city), and arrived in Guelph just in time to go out and get drunk. And although I don't remember a whole lot of it (beer and marginally illegal substances will do that to folk), the headache I woke up with the next morning assures me that much fun was had. It was wonderful to see Naomi and Malcolm again and it was really just like no time had passed at all. After going so long without seeing somebody, one worries that a bond will be lost. But it wasn't like that at all, which was very reassuring. And since Naomi has a undefined amount of time left in Scotland (we don't talk about that, really), I know I'll be seeing more of her in the future. and I would love to get in a trip to Scotland in the meantime, but it's just not in the cards at the moment, unfortunately. Sigh.

Oh, the pic!

Why do I come out looking like a fat axe-murderer in all of my pics? Seriously, I'm so cute in the mirror, which I constantly stare into. This is why I don't take random pics of myself. Everything must be carefully orchestrated.

Since I had the car, and since Marco and I seem to have found a really nice apartment in Columbus, he convinced me to drive down there on Sunday to take a gander at the place. So I went to bed at 9pm on Saturday, awoke at 3am on Sunday morn and took off. After driving for 7 hours, I had a two-hour meeting with the landlord, decided to take the place and then turned around a came home. So yes, on Sunday I drove for almost 14 hours just to see an apartment. But I liked it, so I guess it was all worth it. And as an added bonues, my calf muscles completely seized up on me for the next two days. Yay!

It's odd though, how street names always have something to do with my life. For instance, right now I live on Kent Street, which is very close to the name of the ex who shall not be named. Last December, Marco moved to Ohio St in San Diego, back when OSU was the "joke" application (how little did we know...). And next up is Indianola St. Interestingly enough, when I was driving though Columbus in March, I saw Indianola St and thought that it would be the last place I would want to live. Why? Simple word association. Indianola, Indiana, Granola. Yuck. But now it's set in stone. After Marco and I finally move to Indiana in a few years (because this is obviously going to happy), I'm damned well living on Hawaii St. If we accidently end up on Detroit Rd. or Compton Ave, I may just cry.

All in all, it was a good weekend, if not very hectic. This weekend I have three days off. Let the gentle sobbing begin!

My Secret Workplace Shame

2008-06-18T20:02:00.003-04:00

If they only knew...

Through the Looking Glass

2008-06-10T21:19:00.003-04:00

Time and circumstances both change, but other things remain the same. Skin sags, lips droop and hair greys, but eyes remain the same. The constant in our lives, even as our body changes and transforms into something that would have been a complete stranger just a few years ago, they retain their luster -- that spark, the life. Or one would hope so. As I stand in front of the mirror, just as I did several years ago, I am taken aback as just how much life has changed.

Change is the only constant in life, and change itself it something that never changes. I sit back in awe, reflecting upon all of the changes in my life over the past several years, wondering how I got to where I am and how I became the person I stare at today.

Back in the year 2000, I was a lonely 20-year-old living with my best friend, deeply unhappy with my life and wishing nothing more than to break out and become something entirely different.

In 2001, I did just that, moving to Mexico and broadening my horizons.

In 2002, I refocused my energy into school, convinced that if I should do well there, I could go anywhere in life.

In 2003, I continued upon the same path, racking up academic achievements and settling into a somewhat satisfying life.

In 2004, I moved to London and began an entirely new path, and in the process transforming myself into the person I had always wanted to be.

In 2005, I had my first boyfriend and my second, living with a crazy cunt who nearly drove me insane and delving more deeply into school.

In 2006, I had a complete breakdown, became sucidical and anorexic as I tried to transition from school to work. Ironically enough, I look back at it as the best year of my life.

In 2007, I threw off the shackles of everyday worklife and moved to California, shacking up with Marco and living for the moment.

In 2008, I moved back to London and back into that mundane, ho-hum life that I had lived so many years before, silently waiting to break out once again.

Life goes in cycles. For me, 2008 is turning out to be a lot like 2000, with the exception of Marco. But that's an important exception.

As I stare in the mirror, carefully watching those eyes that have trotted North America, from Montreal to Halifax to Mexico to London to San Diego and back again, I wonder where I'll be in 8 years. How fast will those years go? As fast as the last 8? And what will I be doing? In 2005, I had no idea what 2006 would have in store for me. Will a dramatic change in life happen again?

Sometimes I think back to the day I left Nova Scotia in July, 2007, and remember my Grandmother grabbing my hand before I left for California. I stared at them, so dry, patchy, and old. It's was the first time that my Grandmother's age actually hit me, and it made me wonder how fast life has gone by for her. Was 27 just like yesterday, even though it was 50 years ago?

For me, it's one of the great wonders of life. A second is a second is a second, but there are times in life when a second flies by so much fast than others.

I overanalyze, yes, but so is much nature. Always wondering and imaging, dreaming about what may lie on the other side of the looking glass.

How do we protect them?

2008-06-06T00:12:00.002-04:00

My Grandmother is a very independent person; even though she's going to turn 78-years-old this year, she still lives alone, doing everything for herself. Piling her own wood, washing her own dishes, mowing her large lawn, taking care of the property, and everything else that being a homeowner entails. And even though the last year has been a rough one health-wise (breaking her shoulder, falling again in the mall, the infamous bulluos penphigoid and needing a blood transfusion because the steriods destroyed her potassium levels), she's come through it with flying colours. Although she's still on the steriods, her shoulder is fine, the BP is clearing up and her potassium levels are back to normal. So no, I don't worry too much about her health. She's tough, just like the rest of her family.

But alas, just when we thought everything was fine, along comes the latest scare.

For the last few months, my Grandmother has been convinced that people have been on her property at night. Why? Well, she heard noises, found cigarette butts around and just "felt" their presence. Nonsense, we all thought. It's Bridgewater, come on. So I worried not.

But over the past few weeks, things have become ever more strange. Somebody has been tampering with the lock on her mailbox (one of the group standalones like you find in rural areas). I figured it was the hellian kids in the neighbourhood, as there are many, many of those. So I worried not.

Then suddenly, last night comes along. Around 12 a.m., my Grandmother got a phonecall, which was very odd because really, who calls at that hour? It was the police, letting her know that they had caught some kids on her property and that they had stolen some solar lights. The police officer (Cunningham, as he is known as locally) called and said that he'd be by in a few minutes to give them back, so she should be on the lookout. My Grandmother, paranoid as she has been recently, decided that she was not going to answer the door and ended up sitting in the kitchen in the dark for two hours while the officer knocked at her front door.

Something seemed off about the whole situation, so this morning my Grandmother decided to call the police. As it turns out, Cunningham was not working last night and there were no reports of thefts in the area. Why my Grandmother did not call the police while those people were at her front door, I'll never know.

As it goes without saying, this scared the shit out of me and it still does. But unlike her health, where we can all band together and help her heal, there's nothing we can do. Absolutely nothing.

Who did it? Who knows, but I have a very sinking feeling that it was none other than my sister. Yes, my dear, sweet sister. She has been desperate for money lately (seeing as how she's 18 and just does feel like she should have to work) and called my Grandmother last night, demanding food because she was "starving" (she had asked for money for lunch the other day. My Grandmother asked how much. $50. Yeah, sure). My Grandmother turned her down. Although I do feel somewhat for my sister, after she left her boyfriend in February, she was living in a shelter where she was getting meals and a roof over her head. But because she must make the absolute worst possible choices for herself, last week she decided to shack up with some loser who lives just down the street from my Grandmother. 21 and no job, he's just my sister's type.
I have no proof, but if I ever get any, watch out little girl because hell hath no fury.

So how do we protect them? The answer? I simply don't know.

10 Things I Love About You

2008-06-01T02:20:00.003-04:00

Where "you" = London.

Where to start? Over the past two years I've given London a lot of flack, in almost every post. Even the positive things I've managed to turn into negatives, just because I'm that kind of person. But now it's time for a change; it's time to praise London like I should. Don't blink or you'll miss it, because I'm never likely to do it again.

10 Things I Love About London

10. The smell of freshly made Rice Krispies that sometimes floats over downtown from the Kellog's factory in the east end. Or maybe it's the smell of the mysterious steam that constantly comes from the sewer grates; I've never been able to figure that one out.

9. That the people who built this city decided that it would be wise to have busy two rail-lines run smack through the middle of downtown, but only three streets with over/under passes.

8. The odd little neighbourhoods that encircle downtown. The beautiful, stately homes on Queens Avenue (my former haunt) that have their asses nestled up against the crack dens of east Dundas.

7. That one is never more than 5 minutes away from a Dollarama. Or 3 minutes from a Tim Horton's.

6. That it's close to Toronto.

5. That the bad area of downtown literally (and ironically) starts on the other side of the railroad tracks.

4. That the east-end of the city is like a trip back to 1983, mullets and all.

3. Victoria Park, smack dab in the middle of downtown. Nothing snarky to add about this one because I actually love it, and don't feel like I'm going to be stabbed when I'm alone at night there, unlike Halifax's Public Commons.

2. The wildlife. I've never seen a city with so much wildlife. Hedgehogs, rabbits, skunks, racoons, crabs falling from the crotches of prostitues... And the chipmunks. Oh, those crazy little fuckers. If one were to take a picture outside anywhere in the city, it would likely include at least 5 chipmunks because they are literally everywhere. And they stare. It makes me rather uncomfortable.

And the thing I love the most about London?

1. The insane people who live here and the perverse enjoyment that they bring me. From the cracked-out barking, yelling, touching crazies that infest downtown to the Paris Hilton wanna-bes with their Ugg boots and unnecessarily big sunglasses that infest the malls, London is a cornicopa of interesting, if odd people. And without them, the city would have no character at all.

So here's to London, and the 69 glorious days I have left here! Cheers!

Two years on...

2008-06-01T02:10:00.002-04:00

Well, today marks two years to the day that I started this blog. I'm not really sure if noting "to the day" was necessary, but I'm leaving it because the delete key is all the way at the top of the keyboard and my stubby fingers don't stretch that far. I could move my arm, yes, but.... eh.

Two years ago I started this blog to fill a purpose in my life. Feeling lonely, I wanted to connect to others and entertain them in the process with the fascinating tales of my very exciting life. Well, it wasn't so exciting at the time as I slowly decended into complete insanity, but even that has it's thrills.

Two years ago London was full of people whom I knew and loved and it still is, only the faces have changed. Two years ago I had no idea who Loralee was, never mind that there were actually two of them, and Marco was but a twinkle in the sky, somebody who I would first hate, then love.

Two years ago I was quite bulimic and never thought that I would recover. I was unemployed, bored, and briefly took anti-depressants. Two years on I am fat once again (but working on it), gainfully employed, but still bored. And those anti-depressants? I now prefer alcohol.

Two years ago I was obsessed with the second-season finale of Lost, and two years on the fourth-season finale.

Two years ago I had fewer wrinkles, and a whole lot less money.

Two years ago I started this blog, and two years on I am posting in retrospect. Here's to two more! Months, at the very least.

Things Cheap People Like #3

2008-05-24T02:48:00.011-04:00

Welcome back to the newly rebranded Doug's Tips for Cheap Living, for now on out to be known as Things Cheap People Like. Yes, an obvious rip on a now very popular blog, but when you're in the quest for the ultimate in cheap living like I am, piracy is fair game. Or cheap knock-offs. Just ask my closet-full of top-notch Präada clothing.

But today's tip has nothing to do with clothing, nor piracy, nor even my growing love of pocketing leftovers from random potlucks I happen to stumble upon at work. No, this week's tip for cheap living has to do with the one thing we all fret about. No, not somebody breaking into our homes in the middle of the night, making themselves and sandwich and not bothering to clean the crumbs off the counter, but hair. Yes hair. Many people wouldn't dare skimp on their hair for fear of screwing up and being publically ostracized, but fortunately, I am not one of them.

The Problem: Expensive haircuts.

Men, are you with me? The last time I went for an actual haircut, the barber actually charged me $12.99! Plus tax! And a 25 cent tip! Well, the tip was my fault, but as I left the barber shop that grey April afternoon, I decided that I would never again pay a professional to cut my hair. That, and the fact that my hot hairdresser Moe has decided to go and do whatever, and the new girl looks anorexic. And I've been anorexic. It leads to the shakes, and I really don't want her coming at me with a pair of scissors, shaking them towards my left ear - the one that I affectionately refer to as "the completely intact one."

The Solution: Why it's simple silly! Cut your own hair and watch the savings pile up as fast as the hair clippings at your feet!

You may be nervous cutting your own hair the very first time, and you might want to schedule it at a time when you won't have to appear outside of your house for at least a month. But after a few kicks at the can, you'll be an expert and wanting to cut everybody's hair! For a fee, of course. Nothing in life is free.

You will need:

Knifes. Can be purchased at the dollar store. Scissors are too expensive and will only get lost. And besides, after you're done cutting your hair, you're ready to sit down and enjoy a nice steak. Or some TVP, like me.

Cheap, low grade hair gel. Preferably in industrial sized quanities because you will need lots of it for the first few days if you plan on venturing outside of your home. Failing pre-made, you can whip up a batch of your own using gelatin, hand cream and a dash of cinnamon for a pleasant, long-lasting smell. However, don't make the same mistake as I did - do let it chill for several hours before applying. That's a mistake you only make once, trust me.

As well, water and a mirror. Any will do.

And perhaps most importantly:

Finger crossing. Lots and lots of finger crossing. Crossing the toes wouldn't hurt either.

Starting off, you probably look something like this:

In this picture, I am showing off a scarf that I knitted for Marco. The rest of the picture if for his eyes only. As you will notice, the hair is long, straw-like and completely unmanageable. But we're going to fix that!

Step #1: Completely wet your hair and then, whilst strattling the bathroom sink, pull close up to the mirror and grab a chunk of hair.

Step #2: Cut. A serrated edged knife works best.

Be careful! Always remember to measure twice and cut once!

Step #3: After you've whittled the front down to the desired length (be careful, too much random cutting and shaving it off may be the only option!), it's now time to work on the back. I recommend unstrattling the sink as this can get complicated. If you do choose to continue strattling the sink, be unextremely careful. An accidental dismount is entirely possible and you may end up stabbing yourself in the back.

For this part, you'll mostly have to rely on your own good judgment. This is where the crossed fingers come in handy. Just remember not to keep them crossed while you're in the process of cutting. As an alternative, you could cross your toes instead.

Step #4: By this time, you're probably standing knee deep in your own hair and verging on tears as you look in the mirror. There are bald spots, yes. And it's grossly uneven. And you got bored 20 minutes back and don't even care if you finish the other side. Now is the time for the low-grade gel I mentioned previously, or a concoction of your own making.

Throw a large dollop on your head. And then some more for good measure.

Remember, be very liberal with the gel, because gel fixes everything.

Step #5: Massage gently into your scalp, covering all areas. Style in a very disorganized way. It's trendy and it hides the slight uneveness. Move hair around to cover any bald spots. If you do it right, you should finish looking something like this:

But try not to look so scared. Cutting your very own hair for the first time is a tramatic experience, and many have been known to cry. For instance, this picture was taken just as I opened my eyes to the mirror for the very first time.

The best part of all? You've just saved yourself $13.24. Now go out and buy yourself something nice from the Dollar store!

Closing out the season...

2008-05-13T23:51:00.004-04:00

As the strike-truncated television season of 2007/2008 comes to a close, it's time to take stock of the shows I'm watching, and what I can weed out next season. Because I'm watching too much tv while knitting, and tv is too expensive. Not tongue-in-cheek like my cheap living postings, but really. The digital box (of which I only really watch network tv) is $40 a month. So, as of the Lost finale on May 29th, bye-bye cable and hello cheap-ass TVOntario and CBC French!

Speaking of which....

Lost: Lost really came out of the gate swinging and, with the exception of maybe two episodes, has been flying high ever since. It's really crazy just how much is going on on the show, and how hard it is to keep track of it all. I'm still not happy that Danielle is dead (so much story left!), but really, with such a plot-focus now and 35 episodes left, when would they tell her story? Oh, I know when - how about last season during Jack's dreadful tattoo episode feature the incomparable Bai Ling? But on another note, I had the craziest nap dream tonight about the season finale where I literally dreamed up the whole thing, watching on some broken down set with Joanna in a building I wasn't familiar with. Still the show I love the bestest.

Desperate Housewives: Formerly a favorite, but now a habit. It's a relaxing Sunday evening show, but nothing to write home about. Supposidly flashing forward 5 years for the rest of its run. Could it really hurt?

Brothers & Sisters: While it is fun to watch Sally Field emote, and Kevin and Scotty's wedding was sweet, the almost-incest story is gross. And getting worse. And Calista Flockhart still bugs me. Some things never change.

How I Met Your Mother: Very Friends-esque, but the second appearance of Britney was not very well done. She's like a block of lead. I still enjoy the show a lot though. The actors play off each other very well.

Two & A Half Men: A default show, on between HIMYM and SW? Sometimes so smutty that I feel embarassed watching it. Hey, it's The Nanny for the 00s!

Samantha Who? Great show, great Christina Applegate. Too many good characters to choose from, but I especially like Deena, Sam's awkward best friend who moved back in on her life after the amnesia. Almost every line she delievers is hilarious, is only for her subtle reactions. And could Applegate be any more adorable? And Barry Watson any more hot?

Law & Order: SVU: What a mess this show is. So, Olivia gets almost-raped a few weeks ago and yet she's all happy and perky the next episode? Again, great story lines, terrible execution. I still watch mostly for Christopher Meloni, who only gets hotter with age. And this week marked the exits of both Adam Beach and Diane Neal. Yay!

Ugly Betty: The first half of the season was fantastically hilarious, but the post-strike episodes not so much. Adding Eddie Cibrian was a wise move pure on a selfish stance, and I'm glad the whole Betty/Henry mess is just about over. Really, Betty is possibly the least interesting character on the show. But my favorite episode of the season? Claire giving Betty the poisoned perfume and Betty's reaction when she couldn't stop spraying it on herself. Closely followed by Amanda breaking into Milkshake at Bradford and Willhemina's wedding. It's moving production to NYC this fall, so maybe that will reenergize the show.

The Office: Some great episodes, some not-so-great ones. I hate when Michael devolves into being a total idiot, and that's happened more than a few times so far this season. I also hate when they delve out of the office too much, and that's happened a lot too. But the absolute high point of the season was Jan and Michael's dinner-party and Jan's decent into complete insanity. Followed by Toby rubbing Pam's leg, then quickly announcing he was moving to Costa Rica and feeling the scene.

Robson Arms: A Canadian goodie that I encourage you Americans to pick up on DVD or DivX. It's a half-hour series about the people of a Vancouver apartment building, with both comedic and dramatic elements. I've loved the show since it first aired, and this season has been good so far, whenever CTV's decided to air it. Thank god for CTV broadband!

Thoughts?

Doug's Tips for Cheap Living #2

2008-05-10T01:57:00.006-04:00

Times are tough... you know the drill.

In my second installment of Doug's tips for cheap living, I'm going to explore the expensive problem that has vexed people since they first started interacting over coffee at the local Starbucks. So for me, 2007.

This week's problem:

Friends.

Meet Jenn.

While Jenn has learned to save money by sorting through old 80s fashions wisely hidden somewhere the back of her closet, I have not. Jenn and I like to get together to chat over cups of $4 cup of Starbucks hot chocolate that, while delicious, is something I could have easily brewed myself using baker's chocolate and Brita water (more on that next week). In these hard economic times, I implore you to seriously consider becoming a hermit.

Friends are expensive. Being a hermit is not.

In becoming a hermit, you no longer have to worry about several things, like phone bills, social clothing, hair products and toothpaste. Yes, it will be hard at first, but your wallet is begging you. After a short while, you will learn to love your own company. And yes, you can even have interesting conversations with yourself. And fights. I nearly punched myself in the face the other day over a seemingly innocent comment that I made. I really hate myself sometimes. Unfortunately, the art of self conversation is nearly dead, but you can bring it back. At first you may need a mirror to facilitate things. Make sure to wear old gym clothes and look all disshelveled.

But it will become easier, I promise.

Alas, you neighbours may think you're crazy, leaving your apartment only to go to work, grab the mail, and sort through the garbage for pop bottles that neighbours carelessly disregarded. But the good news is that there's a solution to that too: laughter. Every once in a while, let out a loud, boisterous guffaw. Like this:

For added effect, try by an open window. But don't waste money on turning on the lights. Suddenly, your crackhead neighbours will think that you're hosting the party of the year and they're not invited. Meanwhile, you're strewn out on the coach lying in your own filth, cheesie stains covering your shirt because you were too lazy to grab a napkin.

To keep up the charade, you may need to occasionaly slam the front door to fake people coming and going. And for the love of God, don't forget to change your vocal tone every once in a while so they don't catch on. Because then you'll just look crazy.

Total cost of having make-believe friends: $0. Take my advice and watch your bank account grow!

Doug's tips for cheap living

2008-05-03T00:38:00.008-04:00

Times are tough. Life is so hard. So here's your fucking Christmas card...

So went the verse I once found under my mother's bed, scribbled out like so many illiterate scratchings across Hilroy double-lined. Although it's not Christmas and no, I probably wouldn't get you a Christmas card, times are tough. And life is so hard. So here's your fucking blog post.

In my new Saturday column, I will be exploring ways to cut costs around the house through cheap and effective sacrifices that you can easily make. Rest assured Loralee, I would never suggest giving up the Diet Coke for RC Cola, or whatever the hell Wal-Mart is selling these days. But there are other things you can save money on. For instance, bubble bath.

The problem: Expensive baths.

Everytime I run the water to take a bath, the only thing I can think about is how expensive that one simple bath is going to be. Literally money down the drain, never to be seen again. And why? Bubble bath! That shit is what, like $2.99 a bottle now? Add 50 cents for the really good stuff, and even more for Epsoms salts and those tiny beads that always find their way into your ass crack. Who can afford that kind of luxury? Especially nowadays when you practically have to mortgage your house in order to buy a bag of rice. Or so I've been told. Remember, carbs are the enemy.

But all is not lost. You, yes you, can do something about these expensive baths. Let's start with the bubble bath itself. I discovered this little technique myself a few weeks ago when I was fresh out of the good stuff and dying to take a bath. So what's the secret?

Dish detergent.

Yes, dish detergent. It foams well, and as an added bonus, after you have a bath in this stuff, you'll smell grape-fruity fresh and have an ass so anti-bacterial that you could have a dinner party on it. And it's only $1.99 a bottle.

And instead of Epsoms Salts, go for the real thing! Actual salt is practically free and dissolves much better in the water. For an even cheaper route, go outside and stock up on road salt before it all washes away.

While you're at it, feel free to add other things:

Cinnamon for that sweet, "I've been baking all day!" smell.

Curry powder so people think you actually know how to cook internationally.

Cayenne pepper for that "muy caliente" finish!

Or my personal favorite, basil.

I think it smells like Italy, so why not smell like it all day long? It's the closest I'll ever come to Italia.

See? Cutting corners it not so hard. Come back next week for even more money-saving tips!