just in case

Something rang in her, a repetitive theme in her dreams, or not so much theme
as texture on tongue
or temperature on neck
or humidity of strange land.
of rolling frozen hills at dusk
of stone houses to rest in
of frequent movement across borders.

Viewing it not like in the movies with dotted red lines trailing aces, but of the jagged greens and blues of conquest. From above.

It gnawed at her, this odd interpretation of dream themes as her immediate future, but it never rang so true until today.

Surely her dreams would not prophesize something equal or less to her immediate circumstance. So what was it, and which way?

My cat looks gorgeous on the new rug.

Last wine drank joint smoked laugh giggled cigarette stubbed hugged goodnight champagne forgotten (but waiting). For three weeks.

But for always my girls.

Love you!

Laden. The word I just used in a scrabble game with Amy. Laden. If you say it often it loses all meaning. Ladle. Sorry, had to type something there to get the old wheels turning. If ladle is what does it, that’s what does it.

Saw my third film festival movie today. Thanks to my sister and husband for such a lovely annual treat. The one tonight was Poor Boy’s Game by Clement Virgo, who also did my very first film festival movie ever, Love Come Down (causing massive crush on Larenz Tate). Clement Virgo also did Lie With Me, which I haven’t, but want very badly to see. The lead actress played Lara on the L Word. Cough. Anyway, the movie tonight was really good, my favourite of the three, although all were really good. My favourite personal memory of the film festival was almost crashing face first into Don McKellar then giving him this dorky smile/shrug, then asking my sister if that was Atom Egoyan. Oops.

Leaving in a week for a trip that in retrospect will be huge. A grand, unexpected adventure, that given how the next ten years of my life will probably go, will inevitably be used as the precursor for many stories to come. It will divide my life in two, as any day could, but we only count the important ones. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Well, maybe tomorrow, I’ll have to get over the jet lag. Then we’ll deal with the rest of my life. That time back from trips is a crucial one. Do you act on epiphanies you had while away, while walking on cobblestone streets next to canals, while sitting in a café, while sleeping in a hostel with snorers? Do you go back to school? Move to the country? Become a pastry chef? Even if you don’t follow all the little sparks vacations bring, there’s that air about you that you want to keep as long as possible. I’d like to thing that I live life like I’m on vacation, but there’s nothing wrong with a booster shot.

natural mystic

Nothing like the sound of a fresh bottle of shampoo squirting all over your floor as you step on it. How could I have been expected to see it when it was under that laundry? Ah well, at least I didn’t lose much, it was only 2.50 (with free 50ml of hairspray) and the stuff I missed wiping up will just aide in the next mopping.

“Mmm what is that smell?”
“Herbal Essences actually, I like to mop with it.”

Hung out with my nephew for most of the night, nothing like explaining the world to a two and a half year old to lift your spirits.

Honey you shouldn’t step on that plant.
Why?
Because you’re flattening it.
Why?
Because you’re stepping on it. That hurts it.
(bends down and stares intently) Oh.

He also showed me a neighbour’s labrador (lavender), cupping it in his hands and saying “smell nice”. He is a great kid. I’m a funny auntie babysitter. I take care of all the basic needs, but the boy will eat in front of the t.v. (Dora) and get soup all over his shirt.

Today in response to someone inquiring on my romanic availability my dear friend responded “She sees people.” Like clients? Like the kid in the sixth sense? I love how that was my sum up; we had a good laugh over that one.

That, juxtaposed with my auntie life… I guess I realize more and more how my world and who I am is made up of many different sections, overlapping half bubbles, like how horizons would look like from the sky. Some at opposite poles, some doing the cha cha around the equator. Oh my god I’m going to give you three guesses who may have smoked a little hoolie this evening. Go.

Later that day.

She sits smoking on the concrete ledge that seems to run the entire perimeter of Ryerson, minus the doors. The movie had ended and she’d gone out while her sister and mother were in the bathroom. Good movie. Jack Black and Nicole Kidman were not present; Jennifer Jason Leigh was. Celebrities always look totally normal in person. They’re allowed to have bigger better hair, but that’s about it. Nice boots. Her mother and sister approach slowly, and by the slow deepening of her mother’s brow and her sister’s “oh shit” widening eyes, the girl realizes she has not previously told her mother she started smoking again.

I smoke again.
I see.
I think I told you that.
I don’t think you told me. Maybe your brother did.
Matt told you I smoke?!
I’m not sure, maybe.
Ugh! (under breath) Well he smoked too…

The sister interjects to stop the girl’s retaliatory betrayal. The girl stubs it out. Her mother seems more upset that she didn’t know, rather than the expected horror of the associated health hazards.

Honey I understand it’s a hard habit to quit.
What?
It’s hard to quit.
Oh.
I’m going to find one of those “No Puffin” posters you used to put up for your dad.
Ha!
You used to think it was so bad.
Yeah….

I love my mother. I met her at the Eaton Centre and she was all aflutter, not used to so many people, and such variety at that! She was all bohemian purse and four layers of clothing plus waterproof fall jacket, completely prepared for any weather that should pop up. She snuck a pop into the Ryerson Theater (water only!) and starting asking me if I want some just as an ad ended so all you could hear was her going “ – want some Sprite?” We got her paranoid that they were going to see her chugging it on the night vision goggles they were using to prevent piracy and kick us all out. She was a gong show in the subway system. Said “Have a nice day” (big warm Rose smile) to the token collector and then didn’t put one in. The doors booped and closed right in front of her face, thank god they opened again or we would have had to mime a plan to her through the moving windows. It’s weird, all of a sudden trying (not) to lecture your mother on why you don’t walk 3-wide on the sidewalk, or the concept of stand right, walk left.

Came home, had some KFC. Sigh. There is only one fast food joint within a 10 minute walk from my house. If anything else shows up they are screwed. So slow, so nasty, so delicious.

strawberry letter 22

I’m out of Tylenol and the withdrawal is causing my back and neck muscles to coil and burn. Soon they will relax, shifting the tension into the nape of my neck, massive headache styles. I’m trying not to buy any more at my liver’s request.

Reason #43 I need a girlfriend. My last lesbian relationship consisted almost entirely of exchanged back massages and pancakes. I miss that. She contacted me recently to check in and apologize for missed opportunities and messing things up. Nice closure, would you like to come over and rub my neck please? I’ll make you Caesar salad. We don’t have to tell your boyfriend.

Leaving in 8 days and besides securing a passport and care for my pets I am not even remotely ready. Amy suggested we start with laundry. I countered with packing 3 pairs of gitch and buying a new wardrobe overseas. The lazy, visa-holding approach. Ah well.

I keep getting this nervous energy thumping through my midsection, at first confusing it with a nic-fit and/or bowel issues and then realizing it’s the excitement of a crush I don’t know exactly what to do with yet. Maybe I should wait until I get back, but that might be too long. Hm. This is the problem with girls. Its way too easy for me to just decide that I’d rather be friends forever then chance ever having to break up or get rejected. I always chance it with guys, which might be a problem in itself. Did I already write about this? I’m having déjà vu. Trying not to write about it on here for obvious reasons, so instead harassing my friends with the peas approach. The peas approach was developed by Jane and describes trying to have a conversation with someone who is crushing. Example:

Jane: I had peas last night, they were good, I think they are in season.
Alissa: Oh my god! (Name of crush) loves peas!!

5 minutes later

Jane: I’m going to have my wisdom teeth out in January.
Alissa: Oh my god! (Name of crush) was born in January!!

Anyway, large bowl of peas in this case but I’m trying to keep it under wraps.

Seeing my mother tonight, so excited to curl up with her at the movies. She’ll totally rub my back if I ask her. She’s the reason I’m addicted to touch I think. I spent my first 10 years suction cupped to her, rubbing each other’s scalps and her letting me rat up her curly hair with bobby pins and clips.

my big tree is amputated

There’s a sort of early learning that happens when you start to name and categorize things, like realizing that pigeons and storks are both birds. It’s funny when it happens to you as an adult though. Over the past few days I’ve realized that the kind of person I call an “old soul” is actually two groups of people. I can’t think of a name for the second group, please feel free to help me out on that one.

To use a pop culture reference, she has a Drew Barrymore mouth. Which I suppose is good trouble based on a whole other set of connections. That sort of twisty talk through a half-smile. My friend Stef does it too, so does my Aunt Kate. Kate was my mom’s best friend when I was little. I visited her at her horse farm last summer in rural Alberta. My childhood was sitting in her kitchen with a cup of milk, on furniture made of long blonde half-logs. She chain smoked, always exhaling through the side of her mouth, which was how she spoke too. It was as though she was always telling me a secret, but I’m starting to think it was more that she just knew one. I think they all do, and so do I which makes me wonder if I do it too. I’ve never watched myself talk though.

The old soul seems rich in something they brought into this life. My friend Nancy is a good example, this wisdom that helps them glide courageously through what life throws their way. The second group seems old at first, until you feel a certain static in the air around them, like they’re speeding through life, collecting several lifetimes before you finish one. I’m in awe of their self awareness that seems to have started at an early age, not without pain, not without hiding under the dining room table and sipping booze in grade 5. Speedy Souls? Sigh. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her Drew Barrymore mouth.

aw fer!

Arrived home an hour early to discover a massive wood chipper truck in front of my house and a bunch of dudes lopping off huge portions of my two trees. I knew if the dog wasn't hanging from the ceiling fan it would be a miracle and sure enough he's clinging to me in that way that means he believes the sky is falling. It also smells mildly of dog butt in here which means maybe he was really scared. Anywho, so they raked my yard up, which surely contained a handful of large dog poops as I usually scoop on Monday nights for Tuesday morning garbage. Embarrassing. I'm just hiding until they're gone. Ok I think they're gone. I'm going to go um... in the yard for a bit and then come back and write about what I really want to write about. I need to figure out how to put pics up here...

hubuh

I have one of those random hangovers that only beer and sleeping through the dinner hour can cause. Stayed later than I thought I would, drank more than I planned to, found myself in parkette getting twisted up tight in a swing by a blue eyed boy who seemed to find me interesting. He let go and I squealed, trying to hold on, trying not to yarf. He does hair among other things and spent the whole night trying to tease my frizzy hair out of its shy ballerina bun. When he finally got it out and began examining it, fingers to scalp I’d be lying if I said I didn’t close my eyes and lean into it a little bit.

So now I’m hungover and dumping sand out of my shoes. I wasn’t supposed to meet any boys right now (casting suspicious smirk at universe).

Have to clean a bit today once my stomach can handle it. Then painting at Jane’s, then we’re leading a group venture to Come As You Are having decided that certain things shouldn’t be purchased in places that also sell novelty items.

Today I am thankful for the blueberry banana loaf Kristen gave me. I should be ready to eat it in about an hour. Also to the small carton of milk Carole bought for her baby and left in my fridge so that I may put it in my coffee. Namaste.

Oldie but a goodie...

Had to pull my favourite post from myspace to here. Funny, reading old ones, reminiscing over old dramas. Case in point: The entry of the "You're fucking kidding me, I have to go see the fucking Nutcracker with my grandmother in an hour" day. Anyone? Anyone? I should bring that back, and post the photo of me at the Nutcracker, frizzy hair, puffy eyes, half hammed from chugging wine at the bar. Good times. Anyway, here's one from waaaaaay back.

The order of needs

My friend Paul's blog got me to thinking. I don't know how to link to blogs, but check out Paul, in My Friends for his chewy words. He was talking about how people need to feel secure before they can start thinking about peace.

This immediately snapped my mind back to one of my favourite theories: Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, which basically states that humans have an ordered level of needs, and it is only when the current need is met that one can move on to the next need/level. They start out with physiological needs: food, water, air, move to security and safety, then love, then esteem, and finally actualization, although few get there. I love this shit. When I was in my early 20s and completely broke I gave everyone a Christmas present that I had made with my hands, and let's be clear here that I am not an artist. My dad got a painting of triangles floating on a green background with an explanation on Maslow's theory and instructions to stop worrying. It is now framed in his office (wiping tear). What I get out of this theory is not only a cool insight on our workings, but the realization that no matter what, no matter where we are in the world or in this hierarchy, we're going to be worried. We're going to be needy, possibly obsessed, maybe willing to just do about anything to achieve our current need, and if we do achieve it, we just replace that need with something else. Kind of a relief to realize, no?
I also love finding similar ideas in other thinkings. Such as Christianity in Paul's blog, and recently in learning more about the chakras learned that it was quite similar. Listen to the order of the chakras from bottom to top:

1. Muladhara - security,
2. Swadhisthana - sexuality
3. Manipura - energy
4. Anahata - love
5. Vishuddha - communication
6. Ajna - intuition
7. Sahasrara - consciousness

Similarly there is the idea here that you move upwards, from earth-bound concepts to more "human" ones.

So then today I was wondering why so many of us are depressed. By "we" I'm referring generally to the western world, possibly middle class and up. I'm a big fan of evolution, and like to think that such a large portion of our species existing is such a miserable state naturally just wouldn't have survived the process. Of course we're living longer now, but a lot of people are getting depressed in their reproductive prime, and it just doesn't make sense. There has to be an environmental reason. Or there's always that lingering doubt that something just ain't right. Some important facet of our existence is just off. Something major and basic. And then it occurred to me: we're skipping the first step. Sure we go to work and get money that buys our food, shelter, clothing, etc., but technically we are quite distanced from those needs, we are not directly involved in their acquisition. Could this be it? Are there as many depressed people among groups who grow their own food, build their homes, sew their own clothes? The fact alone that we do so little physical activity during our day-to-day that many are required to go to a building and pay money to run, push, pull and lift, is kind of indicative of something, and actually a bit embarrassing. Thoughts?

NSFF (not safe for family)

I remembered today what I wanted to talk about last night, about the whole sexuality issue. A friend of mine had made some comments last Saturday that really got under my skin, and instead of saying something then, I’ve been passive-aggressively stewing ever since. Sweetie, if you’re reading this, no biggie, I think a lot of people would have said what you said and that’s what gets under my skin. It went a little like this:

Recently kind-of-single female friend: “I just want to kiss girls. I just want to go out and kiss them. I’m not gay. I just want to kiss them because it’s so nice. I don’t want to go down there (makes circle motion at crotch level and scrunches nose slightly).”

I squawked out a little “Well don’t tell the girls that!” and that was it.

Where to begin. “I’m not gay.”

Two early 20s girls sit on the carpeted staircase of a dirty university house, drinking brandy and orange juice (?) The first girl has decided to let the second girl read a short story she’s been working on. When she’s finished, the second girl announces to the first girl that it was amazing and she kind of wants to have sex with her now. Much fumbling ensues, up the stairs, leaving pools of warm wax knocked over in their wake.

Not that everyone is gay, but I’d think getting off on making out with females implies something a little to the right of straight, not to mention I had you 12 ways to Tuesday ten years ago and I think you kind of liked it. But no, go with not gay, then you don’t have to stop and think about it for any length of time at the risk of then having to turn your life on its head.

The girls make their way down the stairs to the second floor, giggly and flushed. The second girl knocks on the door of their male roommate and announces that they’ve just had sex, just to see him squirm. The first girl feels something pull in her stomach, a realization that what has just happened was two different experiences for two different people.

“I don’t want to go down there.” Gay issues aside that is a seriously bad case of female self-hate and I know a ridiculously large amount of girls who feel this way. Really? What’s wrong with it? I’d like a bulleted list if you don’t mind. Try making that list without insulting yourself and the woman who bore you while you’re at it. Is it gross? Smelly? Sticky? Furry? Not grabbing your attention with the sort of penile urgency you’re used to? You all need to do whatever it is you need to do to love yourself allover. Not for the lesbian community. Not for the pleasure of the next guy you’re with who will revel in your level of self love and comfort. For you.

Secondly on this point there is the actual physical dynamic of sex. The majority of what I love most in this arena is not based on the instinctual urges that first had me feeling a little funny 20 years ago, and heck I hadn’t even imagined most of it, but instead on what I’ve learned since. That all the sensory input that takes place is not in itself a turn on but secondary. I like this feel/touch/taste/smell because I know it makes you feel good, therefore it is a turn on. To not want to “go down there” and learn to love it just as you did men, to please someone out of lust and love, is beyond comprehension to me. Maybe I’m just lucky.

The second girl returns home from her date with her soon-to-be boyfriend and announces that she told him about their sexual exploits.
“What did he say?” says the first girl.
“To tell him so he can bring the camera next time!” says the second girl.
The first girl feels that tug in her gut again, her chin twitches and she picks up a magazine. She understands how it is going to be now. She is not a threat.

yeah that's right

Sometimes I feel like I kind of have the right at work to just take an hour off and blog. Seriously, I’ll be helping someone with something that will take them a half day to do even with my help, so I’ll say “Why don’t you just email that to me and I’ll finish it” and then I finish it in 10 minutes. And then I’m like – huh. If I wasn’t so technically proficient I’d still be doing it so…. Blog times. So before it slips my mind, here are some reasons I’m in a kick ass mood today.

1. In the ongoing saga of “wtf is Alissa doing with her pets while on vacation” it has been decided that the dog will go to Camp Calabogie, which is my dad and wife’s gorgeous lakefront house in Calabogie, ON. We call it camp because the dogs love it there. Boomer will lie in the lake, chase chipmunks, eat cheese and nap in the grass for three weeks. Freaking awesome. I’ll go out when I get back for Thanksgiving and pick him up. Or, depending on the epiphanous (screw you, that’s totally a word) nature of my trip, maybe I’ll just move there when I get back and write books on the dock. Hey dad, guess what?!?!
2. The weather – hate the heat, but holy jesus do I ever obviously have seasonal affective disorder. The last few days of fall have made me so cranky. I need to buy one of those face lamps my doctor suggested. You should have seen the look on her face when I asked her if it would give me a face tan.
3. I’m ovulating. Sorry if that’s too much Alissa in your coffee but – bonjour! I wonder what lesbians crave specifically while ovulating? That might be a horribly offensive question, but I think this was actually one of my things yesterday on not understanding gay/straight people. All of a sudden I’m looking at boys who wear suits in some sort of sociobiological nest-searching way. Thank gawd it only lasts a few days. This is how women end up with bay street boys. Pffft.
4. My lesbian yoda at work is back from a long vacation with her gorgeous french canadian wife and their son. (sigh) Can't wait to get her up to speed on my recent sapphic tendencies. She's so sweet, always trying to get me out there. Love her.
5. Kind of connected to that I feel as though I may get hit with a 2x4 of cosmic romance in the near future (cut to me 6 months from now, totally celibate). Haha, no seriously. I don’t know who, there are a couple of reusable/recyclable options in the air, which we know I’m just so good at, and then a few new ones. Something’s going to happen, I can feel it.
6. I’ve been seeing the results of some sort of creative enema over the past few weeks, don’t know what did it, not questioning it, just going with it. Plan on writing tonight. Crapping out a novel I’ve had stuck in my head for no joke 5 years and it feels GOOD.

dyawannanowhacher?

Kristen I am hurling this one out for you. I’m a bit drunk (physically feel like squishee syrup) and the cat is all over me. Someone just farted something nasty and it wasn’t me, this is my reality, take it or leave it. Another Wednesday behind us, celebrated on the balcony with a gal as sexy as a peach pie.

When I was 18 and splattered-in-the-bottom-of-a-well-depressed, I used to soak in a hot tub until I nearly passed out, and one time while flopping myself onto a towel before going into cardiac arrest I had a vision in shining light of the face of my true love. I have never met this one vision, but instead found that those important in my life all bare (bear?) certain resemblance to this vision, and the degree of resemblance usually indicates the degree of importance in my life. An interesting few weeks then when someone new were to bear a striking resemblance, and someone old who bears the most striking resemblance in history were to coincide. Watch. They’ll be cousins.

I had an ongoing thought process in my head today about how I didn’t understand totally gay people or straight people and there were some pretty good back up arguments and possibly news items however if I were to describe it right now it would come out a little soft core, so maybe it should wait for another day. Seriously chickens, you want a little late night giggly girl raunch talk you buy the condo next door to Kristen’s balcony.

I can’t find my cell phone (originally spelled there “selphone”) and so I had to plug in my alarm clock. No wait, FIND my alarm clock under my bed, plug in, dust off, use a Braille like memory to set the now time and the alarm time. I hope to god it works and I don’t wake up at 10am with a farty dog.

Another persecution dream, there’s one every night. In this one I huddled in the old classrooms of my high school and whispered dissent. My name was called over the speaker to come to a certain room and wait to be interviewed. I saw your name on the list, guilty probably of daring to write the truth out in curved letters. I wanted to see you, but didn’t want you to come, to instead run away. To at least have a chance on the run. They’re going to interview us and then kill us, I’m sure of it. My grandmother’s friend in the resistance was taken and never seen again. There were rumours she’d been tortured to death, alternated between boiling and ice water but never spoke. They could do this to me, take my honest love of extremes and pervert it and I promise I’d never breath a word, explain the secret of how it feels. How certain things feel across the palm of my hand. How it is to love it all and not feel guilt.

Long weekend scratchings from the bottom of my canvas bag

Because I know you love lists.

1. I need to replace the light bulb in my room. There are several bulbs out in the place right now and I’ve put off replacing them because I’ve discovered that I can get around by the light of my ipod. Also have no bulbs. So it’s going to be a bitch to type out my notes.
2. My last entry, upon further inspection was in fact bitter. Just so that you know that I know.
3. I’m calling bullshit on the fashion industry. 420 pages through an 840 page Vogue (second hand) and BULLSHIT. Seriously, I spot the occasional actually beautiful thing, but on the whole, total pile of feces. In the words of the great Thorstein Veblen “"The superior gratification derived from the use and contemplation of costly and supposedly beautiful products is, commonly, in great measure a gratification of our sense of costliness masquerading under the name of beauty." Can I get a witness? I feel sorry for anyone who trades their very limited lifetimes to work their asses off to trade money for this shit. Sorry, I said it. I love me a gorgeous shoe or chanel no 5 as much as the next girl, but fashion is probably the least important thing in the world right now.
4. Leaves from the big tree in my yard are falling on their half decomposed predecessors as they should. In my yard as in the forest. I don’t know if my environmentalism serves to justify my laziness or vice versa. Which brings me to another point – I call bullshit on lawns. Anything that you need to tend to and draw that many resources for to make flourish is just not meant to grow there. Put something there that is meant to grow there. My lovely landlady Morgan (highly recommend Buddhist landladies) swings by every few months to tend to the front garden, weeding and planting things that are going to look gorgeous in the next season.
5. I painted a lot this weekend and my left arm is swollen and sore, the nerves are burning. I took off a ring I haven’t removed in 13 years because I blistered underneath it and now it’s too swollen to fit back on. I am the class I have grown to despise, so unaccustomed to physical labour that I blister and tear underneath it.
6. Realized for the first time this weekend that I might have mild synesthesia. Examples: fall always smells like pumpkin pie to me, my cat smells like banana bread and a freshly painted green room smelled like pickles. Okay, just looked it up http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synesthesia and apparently I do have a more than mild case of it because I do all those things. My mother, sister and I have had conversations on how we see time. (Hi Andrea) Andrea and I see it like sidewalks, my mother as a wheel. To the person who recently made fun of me for thinking this was a relevant or interesting topic of conversation, I am giving you the finger right now. I wonder if this has something to do with the crazy deja vus I get from walking on cobblestones?