New Years, Another reminder of what you DIDN’T Achieve

It may sound a little pessimistic but, every year as the 31st of December turns into the 1st of January, I’m reminded that another 12 months have passed where I have not been invited to attend the Academy awards (never mind that I have not actually written a film or TV series that has been seen by people other than my roommates and mother).

The change from one year to the next is a time of Hope as much as it is a time of reflecting on things that haven’t been achieved (still not a size 8? hmmm, i’ll just eat this cookie dough, that will help). It’s a time of lists, things one would like to achieve. I’m a big fan of lists, clarity and putting things in order. I believe that putting it out into the universe, naming what it is you desire or hope for yourself, is the first step.

You can always hope to be a stand-up comic, but if you don’t set yourself the goals, like, do some live standup at an open Mic night, you’re probably never going to achieve Louie CK greatness.

This is hard for someone as impatient as me.

What do you mean fame isn’t going to be handed to me on a silver plate with grapes all around in a love heart formation?

I like not this reality. Bring me another.

At 23, I have had a pretty fantastic and interesting life, but I am always, always hungry for the next entertaining thing, the next adventure. Sensory overload! SHINY! MORE THINGS!!!!

Unfortunately this is something that has been a trait of mine since I was a small elfish looking infant. I don’t know that I will ever be able to change it. I have always wanted things bigger, different, shinier, newer, tighter, faster, louder. It has led me all over the place, through different experiences. Sometimes it’s exhausting, other times it is the life-blood of what makes me such an attractive person to have in your life. Either way, nothing is done in half measures.

SO being in North America and having amazing places close at hand and with 2012 feeling like a travel adventure year, here are 12 places I’d like to be visiting in 2012! 2012, 12 months… see what I did there?

12. Las Vegas
I have never heard of anyone having a bad  experience is the city of extravagance. I would want to go for the lights and night life and the amazing shows. Oh and for the partying and poolside lounging. Obviously.

11. Washington DC
The capital of the United States, with all it’s culture and beautiful architecture, how could I not visit this amazingly historic site? I’ve heard it’s beautiful in the fall with all the leaves changing. So that is something to keep in mind.

10. New Orleans
The city of jazz, colour, life. No further description needed.

9. Prince Edward Island
Lush, Canadian. This country is so huge, I need to see more of it.

8. Chicago
Everything i’ve heard about Chicago makes me think it is a city I will fall in love with.

7. Miami
Not only do I have a great friend who lives down there, it is a beachy paradise and Orlando (close by) has Harry Potter world!

 

 

6. Newfoundland
Another Canadian Desitination I’d love to head to. Different, picturesque, also located on the East coast of Canada

5. San Fransisco
Everything I have seen or read about this hilly city makes me think I would adore it. I want to bike across the golden gate bridge and take the street trams around.

4. Los Angeles
The home of Hollywood. What else is there to say?

3. Boston
Just another cool American get-away, close to Toronto, lots of Museums, all my friends that went there after camp said it was amazing.

2. Vancouver
Beautiful harbour city on the west coast of Canada.

1. New York City
DUH

And there it is the impatient, Austraalien travel wish list. How much of that can be achieved we’ll have to see! 2012 is a new, blank slate after all…

 

The Hole-eee-day Season

Ah Christmas! My favourite time of year. I am so into the holiday season that I have gone and neglected my (current) only creative outlet for ten whole days. Bad Me. I’ll punish myself by drinking the rest of this carton of Eggnog and eating that wheel of Camembert. I hope I’ve learned my lesson!

But seriously, there is something joyous about the gluttony of the season. The pretty lights. The present’s. The Christmas Tree. And of course the Carols. This year I had Michael Buble’s Christmas Special on repeat – which I thought was appropriate, his being Canadian and all, and this being my first Canadian Christmas.

I love the holiday so much that I ended up spending a fair chunk of change on the experience this year. It was my first 25th of December away from “Home” and so I don’t know if I was trying to recapture the childhood spirit of the season that my parents instilled in me, or if the Christmassy stuff was for my Christmas guests, mostly Jewish. I definitely wanted the boyfriend to get a sense of Christmas as it felt to me as a kid, lots of sparkly baubles about, Candy Canes, Ginger bread house (which he punched later in the evening as a way to break it for the guests…bloody knuckles aside it WAS pretty hilarious) and just a general Merry feeling. I think I pulled it off sufficiently well.

I was never really raised with religion in my home. I attended a Church of England school in Sydney (so I do know a number of the religious christmas songs + Christian prayers) for a few years, but the International schools which were responsible for the majority of my education were non-demoninal. So it is interesting to be amongst the Toronto Jewish Community (a vast presence here in my world), who have been nothing but accepting and welcoming. I have (sadly) been to a Shiva to pay my respects to a close friends late Grandfather, I have been to Rosh Hashana dinner, Hannakah dinners and Shabbat’s. So it was great to finally have a traditional thing from my childhood that I could share with my new friends.

We were definitely lacking in some of the finer Australian Christmas traditions (BBQ seafood lunch in the hot sunshine) or even more American style, Hong Kong Expat Christmas lunch, (Turkey or Ham with roast potatoes and pumpkin) and instead we kind of made an amalgamation (due to my hesitation to be in the kitchen all day). We had pigs in blankets (Z is from England and apparently that is what they eat there, mini-sausages wrapped in bacon – although ours were wrapped in pastry) Chicken with tomato spicy sauce, Roasted Asparagus with cheese and Roasted Potatoes with kosher salt and other secret ingredients. Boyf did all the cooking while I did the hosting/drink filling and despite the very random food and conversation, Santa did visit, and we did have a Merry time.

I hope next year, If I’m here next year, that it snows, and we do a proper Ham or Turkey.

But we’ll see! Maybe if I’m a very, very good girl and not quite so naughty….

Wisdom teeth, why you no wise?

You know those nights where you can’t sleep because your tooth is actually GROWING into your face?
I do.
Four years ago my wisdom teeth started giving me problems and I decided it was time to do something about it. Being the eldest, I was a little uncertain how this all went down.
So I went to the dentist and got an xray of my teeth. Fine. One tooth impacted, two fairly simple just breaking through. One, not an issue as it was trapped behind a different tooth and unlikely to descend.

What a joke.

Thinking back, the guy did have a degree from the University of South Australia. South Australia? Yeah okay.

So being the gullible child that I was, I decided to go ahead and get the three problem teeth removed, and thought I’d ignore the one which was just chilling. Let him chill (I thought to myself).

Great Idea Paris.

So rather than endure one round of pain and swelling and make that damn orthodontic surgeon get those useless teeth out of my face, he left one behind. And derp derp off I went into the sunset with chipmunk face and a crazy reaction to the drugs.

Until now.

Tooth is growing sideways into soft cheek causing achiness and sads. I live in Canada where I have no access to free healthcare/medical insurance maintained by father. Oh fun life.

Sigh. Does bitching about it on my blog help?

Not really.

But maybe a little

What they Said v.s What they Meant

Oh hello there.

Yes, you, random blog follower/internet Connoisseur.

Welcome to Austraaliens fantastical Wednesday blog post featuring your host (me) blunt, vertically challenged, Australian, do-gooder, and the ridiculous and often troublesome existence of my being.

Shall we begin?

Excellent.

Now, take off your pants and lie down on this slab of marble. The werewolf mechanic will be here shortly.

Oh no wait!

That’s the opening line to the second chapter of what is sure to be my new Erotic BestSeller, ‘Werewolf mechanic, howls at your moon’…

I’ve completely digressed from where I was going.

Let me just re-fill this pipe and we’ll begin again.

Alright.

Now where was I.

Ah yes.

Passive Aggressive Torontonians.

Now, I’m a fairly mild-mannered person when it comes to most things. If I’m angry, you’ll know – because I will punch you. If I’m sad, you’ll see because my face will look like this:

My emotions are fairly close to the surface.

That, and I’m blunt. Maybe too blunt. But the great thing about bluntness is, it saves time and avoids confusion.

I find that Canadians in general, are not very blunt.

This has caused a fair amount of cultural-lost-in-translation moments since I first arrived here six months ago. (Oh you Canucks and your polite-ish ways. How do you stand your maple syrup selves?)

But the thing that most gets to me, is the way people get angry here. No one gets REALLY shouty angry. It’s more quiet, snarky, commenty angry. And quiet angry frightens me. Quiet angry is from childhood, the moment before your parents would EXPLODE with rage.

Side story: When I was a (spoilt) child and my brothers and I were all under the age of ten, my mother made and painted for us the most INCREDIBLE child-sized table and chairs. The four chairs, (if I remember correctly) were shaped and painted like Jasmine, Peter Rabbit, The little mermaid and Winnie the Pooh. The table was painted beautifully and had corresponding character friends in the corners of the table (Flipper was one I can remember…the others not so much). Despite being somewhat of an underrated artist, my mother was also working as a radio announcer on a breakfast show, raising us three scally wags, looking after the house, 2 dogs, cat, 2 birds and being married to my lovely father who was going through somewhat of a midlife crisis (pretty much every 3-5 years) (dyeing hair blonde, buying motorcycles). I now realize that my mother would have only been a few years older than I am now, having gotten the babies popped out nice and early.

ANYWAY

Side story continued: My Mum was/(is) a yeller. When she is ANGRY.YOU.FUCKING.KNOW.IT. She wasn’t really a smacker, but getting shouted at on the occasions we were naughty, was like a smack to the eardrums. Fine. So I can deal with shouting, and while those times were scary, they were hot air and tears and then kisses and forgiveness. It was the quiet, simmering anger, the kind that only came out rarely in my mother, that terrified the living shit out of me. When my Mum was REALLY angry, back in the day, and we’d be sitting at our awesome table, bickering and being little pricks, my Mum would calmly and quietly go to the kitchen drawer, take out the wooden spoon (a symbol of smack-time) and put it on the table in front of us.

No yelling. Just a quiet danger.

Our instant reaction would be to sit up amazingly straight, stop whatever nonsense or tom-foolery we had previously been about, and resume dainty, quiet table manners, like the ladies we would all become.

That is how I feel in Toronto sometimes. Not like a lady with impeccable table manners, but rather as a child at a Disney table who has been presented with a calm quiet fortune of wooden doom.

Today for example, taking the crowded subway downtown because it’s wet and cold, everyone is squished into the car. I flatten myself so people can get past me that want to get out and a women with a bad hair-cut says passive-aggressively “Good job not moving!” as she shoulder charges me out the door.

I never bother to reply, but today I stared at her pallid gross face and said with all the haughtiness I could muster “There’s no need to be rude.” Did I feel good? Not especially. I’ll never see that woman again. Okay maybe I felt a little good. Bitch, that’s right I got the last word in.

There really IS no need to be rude.
She could have said “excuse me” or “could you move please” or “If I could just get by..”
OR
She could have been angry, own that anger, go for it and say “MOVE FOR GOD’S SAKE” or “FUCKING MOVE” or “EXCUSE ME WALRUS YOU’RE IN THE WAY.” I mean I would have gotten it. It’s Wednesday, number one, it’s cold outside but SWELTERING in the subway, and in general if you’re a middle-aged woman with a terrible sense of style, well I mean…you’re just generally going to be mad.

But seriously….

Grow a pair and say what you mean. That, or don’t take the f-ing subway!

Now excuse me while I sip brandy beside my TV which is set on the log fire channel.

Good day.

All the good things are bad for you

Today I read an article about E. Coli found in raw cookie dough and an outbreak of that disease which occurred in the United states in 2009.

Well, shit. There goes another good thing.

Why do all the good things have to be bad for you?

Eating raw cookie dough is one of life’s little joys, and while it may be that the blobs you pull off that long, cylinder of greatness, can be directly applied to your thighs, it is one of the vices I indulge in a couple of times a year. Thighs non-withstanding.

You know, those days when you put on the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice…and sigh that maybe there’s a Mr Darcy out there for you…and then you look down and there’s no more cookie dough for cookies because you ate it all between episode 3 and four when he proposes for the first time…so you have to go and buy some more?

You know what I’m talking about. Don’t pretend like you don’t.

I’ve always been told that you shouldn’t eat raw cookie dough. But I always did it anyway. It’s like knowing that getting blackout drunk is not good for your brain…what is word….cells?

It’s like knowing that you shouldn’t have a scalding hot shower in winter as it dries out your skin.

It’s like knowing that going to bed with wet hair can get you sick.

It’s like knowing you shouldn’t sleep in your makeup, but you’re already in bed and the bathroom is over there.

It’s like knowing you shouldn’t pick up that 3 am call from your ex, but maybe he really does just want to talk.

Eating raw cookie dough is the tip of the iceberg. There are plenty of things which are bad for us but that we do regardless. Life can’t be lived if you pay too much attention to coloring inside the lines.

And besides, what’s the worst thing that could happen if you DID get E. Coli…?

oh.

ew.

Link

Hmmm…

What else is eating raw cookie dough like?

 

 

Happy CANAversary

Today marks 6 months since that fateful day I stepped off the plane in Toronto.

I was jet-lagged as hell (I hadn’t slept in 36 hours) and my body was all confused what with the time difference and such. 

But my first Impression of Toronto, as the express bus from the airport pulled into the downtown stop, was, Wow.

What a cool place.

I can’t believe it’s been six months since I got to Canada. Lots of things are still new and confusing, and frequently I still have cultural, lost in translation moments (ridic I know as we all supposedly speak the same language). But every day is still another day where I feel more a part of this city. With every passing week, streets become more familiar, I know how things work, I am learning little inside tricks to this city.

I still laugh at the Canadian accent (when you speak fast, you DO say ‘aboot’) and the city still manages to amaze and delight me with its versatility (yesterday I went to the Danforth little Greek Town Area for the first time and was blown away by all the restaurants).

Living here hasn’t been the easiest task in the world, there is homesickness, uncertainty, financial struggles associated with setting up in a new place, a ridiculous time difference between my family and I, not to mention the distance between us. I think that from the outside, it looks as though things have just fallen into place, and that everything has been as easy as eating 5 packets of smarties in one sitting.

But of course there have been hard times.

I am (I can admit this) an extremely impatient person. But things like, for example, familiarity with a city, or a sense of belonging, come from living somewhere for longer periods of time – something I’m not good at waiting around for. You can’t manufacture a home in a foreign place. You can’t expect to instantly fit in and have a life in a new place.

But what you can do, is love every minute of your life, and live in the present. You can appreciate the days you have, and then when you get to six months, have the luxury to look back and realize that you have had a full experience and that you made it to this landmark on your own steam.

Here are a list of the most fantastic experiences I have had in Canada in the last 6 months:

-Seeing snow for the first time and nearly crying with joy
-The North by North East music festival
-Niagara Falls and the Maid of the Mist
-Going to the Art Gallery of Toronto for free with my new camp friends after a few beers
-Montreal Crepes in Beautiful French Canada
-Lying on the docks in lake country, Haliburton ON
-Seeing the 3rd year Ryserson University Theatre class perform The Crucible
-St Lawrence Market on a Saturday Morning choosing wine and cheese
-The Christmas lights along Bloor Street
-Apple picking at Chudleighs
-Walking to work through Trinity Bell Park and seeing the Autumn leaves
-Realizing squirrels are the funniest animals I’ve ever seen
-Seeing my first ever Ice Hockey game, and wearing the Maple Leafs jersey to the game
-Walking along the Toronto lakefront and stretching out in the sun
-Dim Sum in China town…almost every weekend
-Trying crazy “Hidden gem” Japanese restaurant Guu Izikai and eating deep-fried Brie
-Performing “The Lion King” at camp for the rest of the Camp and getting goosebumps in the opening number
-Finally assembling my Ikea furniture and feeling like I had a “place.”
-Dancing at Grace O’Malley’s and looking around to spot at least ten friends
-Wrestling with the Boyfs families dogs in the park and watching them chase the leaves
-Finally making it to the top of the hardest inflatable in the Lake at Camp Timberlane
-Walking with my English and Aussie camp friends along the water front in Montreal and snoozing in the shade
-Trying “real” maple syrup for the first time.
-Playing tour guide for someone else
-Having “real” Shabbat dinner with my friends family in her beautiful home and being surprised with a birthday cake
-Seeing Mumford and Sons at the Air Canada Centre
-Chinese food at 4am
-Going to London Ontario and seeing all my Canadian camp friends at Uni there
-Dancing like crazy at Saturday night “socials” at Camp Timberlane
-Going to TIFF and sitting right behind Francis Ford Coppola
-Seeing the Lights and makeshift ice skating rink at Town hall.

There are so many more things I could add.

Most of the experiences I have had have been made extra amazing because of the people I’ve shared the moments with. My new Canuck adopted family of ragtag Torontonians.

Who knows what the next 6 months will bring? If it goes as well as the last six…well…then I’ll be happy!

That one time I tried online dating

I am 23. As you may or may not have gathered from previous posts.
I have two degrees (in useful things like “Film” and “Creative Writing” – watch as I beat away potential employers with a club, “NO DAMNIT! I want to work in Admin”).
I am not unattractive  (depending on what day in my ‘cycle’ you catch me). I have blonde hair, green eyes and I’m kind-of short. You wouldn’t describe me as a lean green fighting machine, but then neither am I the shape of a Subaru. If I had to describe my body type I’d say… Cello flavour. Without the wood. + more cellulite.
I don’t have bodies cut up and buried under the floorboards (wait did I… oh no that was the OLD house).
And despite a slight obsession with the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice and other fairy-tales, which is a product of my gender-stereotyped upbringing (shut up I LOVE Barbie) I am what you would call, pretty “normal.”

(I’m only bringing this up – as you will find out when you scroll down – because of certain stereotypes of people who meet online – there I’ve gone and ruined the whole plot now)

So anyway, that’s me. And at 23, most of the guys I meet in person aren’t married, divorced or widowed (so that’s good), yes many of them are gay, or not fully formed, but unlike my thirty-something-year-old friends, there seems to be a lot more apples on the trees, and less rotting fruit underfoot. Are you keeping up with the analogies? No, you’re right they are getting a bit convoluted.

Regardless of that, what I am trying to say is that there are people around, in the flesh. People I could date/bang. Or both. Currently I am Dating/…. someone, but there have been times when I wasn’t. And one of those times was the start of 2009, when I, littler, non degree holding, 20 year, broke up with the first “Big One.” You know, the one you do grownup stuff with, like, going out for dinner. He was the after high school one. The one that my late teenage heart thought was “IT”. Love, blah blah.

So there I was. Single. Living on campus. Surrounded by booze and boys. Did I take time to appreciate being single (somewhat), did I think to myself, “Hey twenty year old Paris, just be cool.”

Did I?

no.

And what did I do?

Join an online dating website.

That’s right Ridiculous self-of-the-past (chastising voice of older, wiser self)

Part curiosity, part joke, part dare/truce from then not-out-of-the-closet-younger-brother-who-had-never-had-a-girlfriend-well-really-Paris-I-wonder-why-that-is? my brother and I made online dating profiles for each other – then switched.

Like I semi-mentioned above, there is (or was, I believe it’s changing now) a stereotype associated with meeting online that goes something like this:

“It is shameful to meet your partner online.” / “You must be embarrassed you met online, what’s wrong with you – can’t you meet people in real life?” / “You must be ugly or there must be something weird and freaky about you. Only nerds and socially awkward mollusks meet online.” (I hope you read those with varying degrees of old man type voices, like the guy who shakes his fist at the kids who kick their balls onto his property)

Newsflash – LOADS of people meet online.

I know a couple getting married next year that met online (both young, attractive Sydney types), my ex-roommate in Enmore just celebrated one year with her boyfriend she met online, and statistics show that the online dating industry is growing everyday (don’t ask me to back that up with a source…there is no source… okay there is one here stop nagging me, go nag your father).

When I delved into the ocean of potential back in ’09, there were plenty of attractive guys. Quirky, yes. New to town? Maybe. Normal – so it appeared. They had hobbies, they had jobs and goals, they read stuff. They watched things. They put funny little quotes on their profiles and had pictures of themselves standing in front of monuments.

Of course there were freaks (it’s not like Internet providers make you sit a weirdo test to get a connection), and I am sorry to say that a few slipped through the cracks, but there were also nice people to be found, ones with good conversation openers and amusing anecdotes to tell.

And then one broke through entirely, swept me away and we dated for two years. He shall thus be known as the one after the one after the one in highschool.

I don’t regret that experience, dating my ex was interesting. He’s a nice enough guy (it’s been long enough since our breakup that I am at the “generous” remembering stage), and certainly different from the type I normally go out with. Quiet, a little nerdy, he did live in my area, but I’m not sure we would have met if not for little old http://www.rsvp.com.au.

And that is where the key lies with online dating. You meet people outside of those you usually would. The internet connects us to many faraway and magical places, like Youtube, Reddit, and dlisted.com.

We all move in circles, very rarely moving from outside of them. If you hang out with the same people – you’ll see the same type of people. If you go to the same 6 bars, you’ll see the same type of people. If you work in a specific industry – you’ll meet people from that industry. If you go to a university…you see where this is going.

It takes a lot of push and change to meet different kinds of people (see my previous posts about me randomly moving to Canada after a summer camp experience and very different type of people I now know).

Internet dating exposes you to a bunch of single people instantly (that’s another thing to note when you go out, how many people are actually single in a bar…? it’s hard to tell). Internet dating instantly shows you what the other person is into. It’s like it takes away that awkward asking each other questions, finding similarities thing. All that information is front and centre. You just have to pick and choose. You can narrow searches to people who live in the same 5km radius as you. You can search for people who have blue eyes and who are Scorpio’s. You could (but you shouldn’t) narrow your search to 35-year-old men who still live with their parents.

But I digress.

Online dating should not have a stigma attached to it.

Most things available in “Real Life” are now also available online.

I couldn’t possibly list them all (alright I could, but I’m lazy) but things like shopping, degrees, friends. Thats right ladies and gents. All found on that big invisible spider web in the sky. It’s a spider web right? The internet?

So anyway.

Internet dating. I can recommend it from personal experience. If you can’t seem to meet the right person and you want to change your circles, then head online to one of these many fine sites:

http://www.rsvyp.com.au (Aus – Free)
http://www.plentyoffish.com (Worldwide – Free)
http://www.match.com (Worldwide – Paid)
http://www.flirtbox.ca (CA – Free)

And if that doesn’t work, hey, you can always move to Canada!

End Rant.

Post Dedicated to Emily Burgess because she checks my blog every day to see if I have updated

Weepy Wednesday

I was having a bit of a weep and tantrum today because I let the little things get to me.
After work I went to the shops in a huff and bought my $35 gloves (waterproof, bring it on snowmen) and then I huffled all the way to the subway, and then I huffed and grumbled because my train was delayed (a more and more frequent occurrence in Toronto, funny I never noticed it when I was just a “tourist”) then I huffed my way home, grumbled and sniffled as I heated up my delicious left over wings from last night’s “Duffs” excursion, sniffled and growled out of my clothes and into nakedness and then quite suddenly, cried a few tears.

Dramatic I know.

But then I decided to stop being a four-year old, and write a list of the things that were bothering me, because I feel like if I name things, I can conquer them. And I realized, that really, the things that were getting me down were mostly manageable problems (okay I can’t control this gloomy freezing weather, but I can control how many clothes I put on).

So here are my “problems” and the solutions that fixed them.

1. My Ankle Hurts from my boots which I have worn down from wearing every day.
Solution: Change Shoes! I wore my heinous running shoes around the house doing my chores today and my ankle is still sore (it’s been a problem since I was a kid) but it already feels better. Next I need to buy some more shoes.
Time taken to solve: 10 seconds. 

2. I have no clean clothes and have to wear a sexy g-string with my sloppy pajama’s.
Solution: DO SOME WASHING! I struggle to do my laundry. We don’t have a washing machine in our apartment, instead we have a communal laundry located downstairs (outside into the freezing cold) and around the back. It’s coin operated and you have to keep going to check up on it because you have to transfer the clean wet laundry into the drier, and the dryer sometimes decides to randomly stop. This is why I enjoy doing laundry at the boyfriend’s house. It’s all indoors, it’s not coin operated, and it’s brand spanking new. Put on and ignore. I think he’s catching onto me though…bringing a bag of gross dirty laundry over on our “nights out”. Today I even hand washed those annoying items that I constantly have to hand wash after one wear, and I ask myself “Why did I buy you?”
Time Taken to solve: 3 hours total, 10 minutes actually doing something.

3. My room is messy and I don’t want to be in it.
Solution: Clean room! Today I cleaned my room from top to bottom, I even used disinfectant wipes to clean the blinds! Now…hey hey! Let’s have a party in here! *party of one* …
Time Taken to solve: 1 hour

4. I don’t feel christmassy
Solution: Christmasafy! I wrapped tinsel around the end of my bedpost’s, put my Barbie advent calendar in a prominent place on my dresser, strung fairy lights around our front window and wrapped my first christmas present. It’s not much, but it’s a start!
Time Taken to solve: 15 minutes 

5. I feel so uncreative! Working 9-5 in admin is sucking the life from me!
Solution: BLOG! AAAAHHHH that’s better
Time Taken to solve:  45 Mins 

 

 

End Rant

A story

I walked uncertainly into the unfamiliar hall.
The chairs were arranged in the typical circle, and I spotted the styrofoam cups and the free coffee and sad biscuits on the banquet table along one wall.
I knew the drill.
Draped my jacket over the back of one of the available chairs, made eye contact, smiled at a few people.
Picked up the black marker, the sticker.
I wrote my name in big, legible letters, peeled it from the sticky paper, and stuck it prominently on my chest.

The guy in charge, his name tag read “Bryan”, cleared his throat and softly asked us to take our seats.

We danced around each other, made it to our seats. Twelve of us in total. More women than men.
Pretty standard for the type of support group.

Bryan stood up when we were settled.

“Hi, I’m Bryan”
“Hi Bryan” we echoed.

“I’ve been clean from my addiction now for ten years.”

Smattering of applause.

“My addiction was something I could never really talk about. It was seen as a weakness, or that’s how my family viewed it anyway. I put us into debt. I was trying to create a ‘Perfect’ world, and I just couldn’t seem to keep up with myself. I realized that I was hurting my wife, hurting my children. That’s when I sought help. You should be proud of yourselves, admitting you have a problem is step one in your recovery. This group is here to support you and listen to you. Our judgement stays at the door. Who would like to share their story?”

A large woman to my left, “Mandy” in a neon pink polyester onesie stood up and told her story. Her breasts wrestled with the material,  she started crying. “Ted” told about how he’d turned to prostitution to keep his addiction up. There were nods and murmurs of agreement and understanding from the circle. “Lenora” spoke of the emptiness as her addiction grew and she was struggling every day just to get back to normal.

Then it was my turn.

I took a deep breath and rose. My hands were shaking, so I put them in my pockets.

“Hi. My name’s Paris” I started.
“Hi Paris” they echoed.

“My addiction started like many of yours. Stress, loneliness, feeling like I had to keep up with my peers…I remember the first time I got that first amazing high. It was incredible. The freedom, the feeling of security and not having a care in the world… It wasn’t until I was starting to go broke that I figured I might have a problem.”

I stopped. Took another breath, filled my lungs. “Cayley” beside me squeezed my hand.

“It’s hard to admit it to yourself…that you have a problem…but I know now… I am addicted to Christmas shopping. The gifts, the decorations, the food. The perfect tree. I’ve spent hours searching, fighting, digging through christmas bins. I’ve scoured the internet for secret turkey tips…I even stole some of my neighbours christmas lights from next door…because they were slightly more beautiful than mine! That was when I hit rock bottom.”

Nodding and murmurs of agreement around the room.

“My childhood Christmas’s were always magical…”

I started to breakdown

“… I just wanted to recreate those feelings I had as a kid.”

I started to sob. “Cayley” stood up and held me tight. Her judgement had been left at the door.

Everyone clapped a little bit.

“Bryan” stood up.

“Thank you for sharing with us today Paris. I think we can all relate to your story. Congratulations on making the decision to continue finding strength from within, and wrestling with your addiction.”

The session was over. We all hugged, shook hands, peeled off our name tags and left in dribs and drabs.

I decided to walk home, even though it had started snowing a little.

I passed by HMV. They had a sign in the window, “Christmas specials for you and the whole family!!!”

I’ll just look inside I thought to myself…

RELAPSE

Homeless in Toronto

I got to spend the weekend with my Ice Hockey-loving, outdoorsy-wilderness seeking, sweet-as-maple-syrup Canadian boyfriend.
It was a pretty great one.
We watched movies (wet, chilly weather prevailed) we went out for meals, cooked at home and read our books, went drinking with buddies and got to hang with his family and ADORABLE half golden retriever, half poodle dogs.
We were together all weekend, and as I walked to work from his place, in my big puffy jacket zipped up to my nose, well-rested and just filled with joy, I reflected that I love Toronto so much and that it is a terrific city.

And then I saw the homeless guy.

I don’t live in a bubble. I know that there is poverty and a division between rich and poor – I’ve seen it first hand in my travels through Asia (Cambodia was the hardest), but it is still pretty shocking every time I’m reminded that there are some people just desperate to survive, and that life isn’t sunshinelollipopsandrainbows for everyone.

Canada is a first world country, and although our toilets flush backwards and our prime minister is a Ranga, Australia is considered a first world country too. The poverty here and there is not the African starvation-type poverty variety you see in World Vision commercials. It’s subtler.

Dirty, cold, hungry.

The homeless guy I passed, I’ve seen him before a number of times. He sleeps on top of a vent (that shoots out hot air from the subway underground) opposite the beautiful historic Old Town Hall building. Right on the corner where pedestrian traffic is thick. He has a little set-up actually. A sleeping bag with some kind of foam mattress inside. He has a couple of books – some other stuff clothes and things. At one point he had a kitten that slept with him inside the sleeping bag. I haven’t seen it in a little while.

Today as I walked past, he was curled up in his sleeping bag, a bunch of Starbucks coffee cups nearby, and as I waited to cross over the road, a woman walked past, and put a sandwich, sealed in a ziplock bag on top of his book.

It was a small gesture, but it touched me. I have no idea if that woman gives him a sandwich every day – she might have just been walking past and thought “I can buy my lunch today.” It made me think about the money stuffed carelessly in my wallet, and the Tupperware of leftovers thrown in my overnight bag.

It made me reflect on my brand new furniture tucked away in the warm room in my rented apartment – a place I didn’t visit once over the weekend. It made me think about the food I have in the cupboards, and the things in the fridge which I’ve let go bad because of the expiry date.

Toronto has harsh weather conditions in both Summer and Winter. Downtown it can be sweltering hot, and freezing cold. I learned in a throw-away conversation that every year, homeless people die from exposure to the cold.

That is a truly shocking thing in a city like this.

With the holiday season approaching rapidly, it’s time to remember that life isn’t easy for everyone.
That one experience this morning, forced me to really think about how I can make a difference  and what’s important to me.

To read more about Canada’s homeless population click here for an Article from the National Post from 4 years ago and a more recent news source (2009, Salvation Army) about who Canada’s homeless are.