Friday, December 31, 2010

Meat Pies and A Wish For The Future

Forgive me, blog, for I have sinned. It has been... Fuck, I don't know, a couple days since I last updated. But I have a good reason!

My new house is perfect and wonderful in many ways: there is heat in every room (even the bathrooms!), there is so much SPACE, I have my own room and my own bathroom, and the kitchen is the biggest kitchen I've ever owned. There is one huge, major flaw though. My new house does not yet have any Internet.

It's not as bad as I thought it would be, being without Facebook and my webcomics for so long. But I miss it sometimes. It's weird, not being connected to the whole world. But soon, soon, everything will be back to normal. The Internet man is coming on Sunday and making everything better. I-I think I love him.

Currently I am at my mothers house, awaiting meat pies and coconut cake. And being pestered. Man, it's like every time I come over here, it just reminds me why I left. She was expecting that I was going to stay over here all night, so I could walk Macey in the morning so she wouldn't feel guilty about going to Sean's house for the night. Bitch, what? I fucking hate coming back here. The only good thing about this house is Macey. I was going to stay here as late as possible because you were going to be an asshole and leave that nice little dog tied up all night. Honestly, you are worse than you say we are with her. You and your gay boyfriend COULD stay here, you know? Ah, whatever. Now I'm grappling with whether I should stay here, for poor old Macey. Who's going to give her a walk in the morning? I love Macey, but I regret getting her only to be left with these assholes. I wish I didn't work as much, then I could just take her to live with me.

So, I finally did it. I got my tattoo. It cost $200 and took up way more time than I thought it would, but it is now on my arm. All the people at the tattoo place were impressed that I had designed it myself. It hurt like a bitch, but worth it in the end. Unfortunately, there are already a few things that I see that I want touched up, but that's alright. Predictably, my mum was an asshole about it. But what can you do?

Meat pie time now, and I will have to put up with Sean and Janelle and my mother. I just want to escape with Max and watch 30 Rock, somewhere nice and quiet.

Ah, Happy New Years. 2010 has been a nice year. My first full year off of school. I took a lot of time to rethink what I want to do in life, and I think I'm slowly making my way towards what I (possibly) want. There were a lot of really, really shitty parts, but it was mostly all good times and I am thankful for them. And I have this funny feeling that 2011 will be even better...

Monday, December 20, 2010

Moving On

The first and only other time I've ever moved was when I was in 1993, when my family sold most of our belongings, packed up the essentials (family heirlooms, clothes, my baby sister and I) and drove from Toronto to Vancouver in my dad's old GM van.

A picture of my in the Rockies, 1993

I can't remember any of this, but I've seen pictures and been told some pretty humorous stories. As we drove through Ontario, it was summer, and the mosquito's were thick. We all suffered from bite after bite after bite... except for Rachel. She was only a year old, and she was so fair that you could see her little blue veins right through her skin, like she was translucent. But she didn't get even one bite. My parents joked that she was so white, the mosquito's didn't think she had any blood.

There's a picture of me floating around, of me sitting next to Rachel in the van, all buckled in with boxes and furniture and bags bulging behind us. She's smiling widely, but I'm just hunched over and worried looking, my little forehead furrowed. Rachel was only a baby, so she was even less aware than I was of what was going on. But I think it must have really scared me, because for years and years after, I would have nightmares where we were moving. Not even like, we were moving and there were monsters or bad guys or something typically frightening. We were packing up and moving from my house, and it was just a horrible, horrible dream.

I moved from my mother's house to my father's house, but I'm not counting that as a true moving experience, because they were both places that I considered a house and home of mine. Now, I am actually moving into a brand new place, and it's not the nightmare I always had when I was a kid. I could quite possibly be living in that house by tomorrow evening. Maybe this will be the last night in my old room. I am excited beyond words.

And sad, too. Since I've never moved (or can never remember it), I've never had to leave anything behind. I actually quite like my soon-to-be old room, now that I've seen it empty. It was okay before, but it felt so much smaller with all of my things in it, so much narrower. It's got a funny shape to it, and a curved wall that I loved the first time I saw it. My new room is going to be totally amazing, , but I've grown attached to this one. Honestly, I wish it had been this empty the whole time. I forgot that it's actually decent-sized.

What I'm most excited about with this new place is the potential that it has. I'm going to finally be able to do whatever I want with my own space, and then fun part is that I will never be finished. As long as I live there, I will continue to build upon and improve it. I will collect furniture and paint walls. Already, I want to create a giant frame on one wall, and just fill it with large pieces of white paper, and draw on it, and have anyone who comes over draw something. Hey, maybe I'll just paint one whole wall white, and then make a giant plywood frame around it, to make it look like a framed picture. Wow, I totally like this idea. I would have it in my living room, for sure. I wonder if dad will go along with it. Well, I don't see why not. He's always encouraged me to draw, which makes me feel pretty good inside. My dad is not a man of many words, so when he says "Lisa, you should go into art. You've got the touch, you do", it really means something.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Alone Is Okay

This is probably old news, since the video already has over 2 million views, but it's still amazing:

I will admit, I teared up the first time I watched this. And the second. And the third. Because this video is so... I don't want to say "so me" because that sounds trite and cliched, but it IS so me.

I love just hanging out with myself. I've never really found myself craving human contact, or thought "Oh no, I'm going to be on my own this evening." The first time I ever missed anyone was when I was 17 and I went to Europe for 2 weeks with my school band, and I missed Max so much I ached. I still miss him, when he goes away on trips, but never in a "I hate being without him"way, more like a "sigh, I can't wait until I get to kiss him again" kind of way.

I think part of my love for alone comes from being in a too small house with too many people in it as a kid. There was never any time where I just had myself, except at night when I was falling asleep, and even then I still shared a room with Rachel. I used to wake up every morning, excitedly anticipating bedtime, because every night I would take the time to just lay quietly and let my thoughts roam. Those were the best parts of my day. I kind of miss that those were the best parts of my day.

I've always been more of a thinker than a talker, and the first time I heard the word "introvert", I knew it was something familiar. I read this great article in a psychology magazine, about introverted people, and there was someone that hypothesized that introverts were really just hypersensitive, and took in data more rapidly than other people. So being exposed to too much stimuli (i.e, people) kind of shorts them out and makes them tired. It made so much sense to me. It was like the author wrote an entire article just about me. Whenever I'm trying to describe the sensation to someone, I always use the word "drained", because that's exactly what it feels like. Like all the energy has been sucked out of me and I'm just weary. Being alone recharges my batteries, and the article that said alone time for introverts allows them to sort through all the data they've absorbed.

One of the things that I'm most excited about with this new house is that I'll get to just be alone in my own little space. Whenever I imagine myself there, it's always Spring, and I'm sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea on my hands, gazing out the window at a sky dotted with perfect white clouds, and everything outside is green and growing and in my house it is quiet.

Man, specific imagination or what?

Haha, the other day when Max was over, he said "Hey, want to go do some gay Christmas stuff sometime? Like walk around downtown or Stanley Park when it's all lit up." So we're going to go to Van Dusen Gardens to see the Festival of Lights, and it's going to be so nice! We're going to bring a big thermos full of hot chocolate, and some nice little snacks. I've been to the Festival of Lights before, when I was a kid, and it's beautiful. I'm excited!

Tomorrow I am going to go to a party. What kind of party, you ask? A cake party, my dears. Months ago, Chiara was asking a bunch of us while we were having a wine and cheese night at her house, what good themes for more parties would be. People were throwing out suggestions, and then I, being kind of silly, said "cake". Chiara laughed and said "Cake? Why cake?" and I said "Because everyone likes cake." There was a murmur of agreement, and she asked what we would do at a cake party. "Everyone brings a cake, and we just hang out and eat cake." She loved the idea, and we talked about it a lot, promising it would happen. And now it's totally happening! I made the cutest cake, seriously. Actually, I'm going to go take a picture of it right now, so I can post it here.

I think the silver balls really make it.

My two favourite lines from the How To Be Alone video:

"Lonely is a freedom that breathes easy and weightless, and lonely is healing if you make it."
"Because if you're happy in your head then solitude is blessed and alone is okay."

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Just Think

New house, new house, new house WHOO!

Fuuuck I just want to move into this place already. It is so perfect. There's just so much space, and so much potential.

The actual moving is going very, very slowly. My mum warned me about this. Apparently my dad is an infamously slow mover. So tonight we only moved all the bags of clothes that we had packed. But this gave me a chance to see everything all cleaned up and painted over. It's the first time I've seen it in almost 3 weeks, and I still love everything about it. My room is smaller than I remembered, and Peter's room is bigger than I remembered it, but it's still great.

Also, I have the nicest shower ever. It's entirely new, and... sigh. I'm just in love with everything about this place. Also, the basement is totally cool, and I'm looking forward to helping my dad get it all fixed up. We're going to make two rooms down there. I just really hope we're moved into this place before Christmas, which is in 9 days.

9 days. Goddamnit, I haven't bought presents for anyone yet! I know what I am getting them though...

MUM: Biotherm perfume set, tool kit, stocking stuff (I make her a stocking every year, because 2 years ago she told me that she hadn't had a stocking since her mum had died, when she was 16. I made her one that year, and the look on her face was priceless).

RACHEL: Matching tattoos, but those probably won't happen until the new year.

PETER: Comics, and some kind of super cool t-shirt. Peter likes to be fashionable.

DAD: A nice wool sweater, AND we're going to buy all the Christmas Eve dinner supplies, and cook everything too.

TONY: Also a nice wool sweater.

MAX: ... Nice try, Max.

That's all I have to buy for. I wanted to make some tarts and such for people, but I'm not sure if I'm going to have time. I kind of want to get Nick something for Christmas too, because he's away from his family and all, but I honestly have no idea what I would get for him. What do you get someone who's essentially a stranger, that's not as typical as a box of chocolates?

But I only have 9 days to accomplish all these feats, and I have a feeling that this is going to be with little help from Rachel and Peter. Rachel will tell me she doesn't the time or money to help me, and while Peter would probably be willing to help, he won't have the money. Sometimes, being the oldest is a terrible thing. You have to organize everything, and no one ever wants to help. I'm feeling pretty hopeless right now, actually, especially about Rachel. She is my sister and I do love her, but she is so incredibly selfish sometimes, it drives me insane. So, it might possibly be a $300+ Christmas this year. Hooray.

Just think positive! Think about the new house! Think about all the vegetables we're going to plant in our big ol' garden! Lettuce, garlic, rapini, green onions, squash, beans, tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, pumpkins, and brussel sprouts! Think about how you're going to paint your room with misty blue stripes, and how you'll finally have your own kitchen, your own space!

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

I Can Say What I Like

I'm so ANGRY right now.

I found out from my mother that years ago, while my nonna was on her deathbed, she made my dad promise that he would always take care of Tony. Of course, he agreed. What else could you say to your mother as she was dying? Any now he is stuck with this fuck up* of a brother for the rest of his life.

And you know what? It's not right.

It's not RIGHT that he is the only one stuck with this. Uncle Tony is an okay fellow, really. I wrote a previous blog entry about him that was especially negative, mostly because I was mad about him intruding on our happy little life. I will still never forgive him for being a loser and taking all that money from my dad over the years. I still don't want him living with us, but he has never done anything to me personally. Hell, I know him better than the rest of my dad's family.

Boy, do I have a few things to say to them. Did you know that they don't even speak to each other? Siblings man, brothers and sisters, and they can't put aside their fucked up problems and just get along. My dad would always use them as a cautionary tale to tell me and my own siblings. "Never fight."he said. "You're brother and sisters, and you need to stick together and be there for each other. Look at my family; no one talks to each other, and it's bad." Growing up, I learned not to put too much stock in family. From what I'd seen, they were only burdens and inconveniences. I love my own family, I do; My mum, my dad, my brother and my sister. I have two favourite aunts, Sue and Helen, and I would have a favourite uncle if Mike would just fix himself up and stop being such a drunk. My dad's side are strangers that you have to put up with at family gatherings and obligatory visits, like, when you take your first vacation by yourself ever and just want to hang out with Auntie Sue, Julia and Leanne, but have to go visit your father's relations or else he'll be hurt, and they end up leaving a dark stain on the memory of the trip. Strangely enough, Rosa and Tony are the only two I could put up with, excluding my cousins.

This "promise" is BULLSHIT. What, because my dad is the greatest thing to ever come out of that family, he has to be the one to put up with this? No one else would help him, but everyone is perfectly content to remind him of this promise. Life must be pretty dandy when you don't have a promise to a dead mother guilting you into helping a brother you really don't have the resources to help.

Also, how dare you send a message to me, trying to get me to "remind" my lovely father of some bullshit promise. How dare you.

I am tired of censoring my own blog. I know, I know, that this is going to get back to my father, and I know he will be hurt. I know this. I will apologize to him, and explain to him why I said these things (although I have a feeling he would understand), and he can forgive me or not. This is my blog, and I can say what I like. My name is Lisa, and I don't mince words.

*Fun fact: In Australia, instead of saying "fuck up", they say "cock up"

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Morbid Careers and Green Burials

Today, on my way to work, I was thinking that if life doesn't go well for me as a cartoonist or whatever the fuck it is that I want to be, I might be a funeral director.

I know, morbid right? Well, I've always been a pretty morbid person, and the handling of the dead is an important job. I know I'm generally very blasé about this; sometimes I feel that people revere the bodies of the dead more than is necessary. They are, after all, just the husks of what once was. But I suppose that the body of a loved one is the last link that anyone would have with them, so I can see why people are so uptight about it.

The thing I really don't like is the embalming process. When you die, they drain all your blood out of you and replace it with embalming fluid, which is a pretty harmful carcinogenic chemical. Then they place you in coffins lined with cement, and stick you in a hole six feet under, which is a depth that is too deep for bodies to properly break down anyway. The big problem with this is that you never get a chance to decompose naturally, and as a result, sit in your cement-lined casket for ages and ages, turning into toxic sludge. Not cool, you guys.

A year or two ago, I read this great article about Green Burials. Now, I am the last person you should ever call a hippie, but these eco-friendly burials really appealed to me. I read an article (I really wish I could remember where I read it) that explained it all, and it sounded pretty cool.

Basically, instead of the traditional chemical embalming fluid, they use a vegetable-based one. Then you're placed in a biodegradable "container" (okay, I'll admit that the use of the word 'container' weirded me out a little bit) and are placed in a whole 4 feet deep, rather than 6 feet. Instead of a typical cemetery, the picture in the article showed what looked like a forest that is set aside for burials. There are no tombstones, but families can choose to have a rock or a tree placed on top of the final resting spot. I just thought this sounded so much more... I dunno, peaceful. Pleasant. And I really like the idea that you would be able to break down naturally. To become part of the soil and all other living things is how we can actually achieve immortality.

So, in case life does fail me, I think I will become and eco-friendly funeral director. The only thing that actually put me off the job was all the schooling -- 2 to 4 years! And that part of the courses involve boring computer stuff. Yes, I am more put off by that than by the actual handling of dead bodies.

The only reason I was really afraid of dead bodies before was because of zombies, and now I'm kind of a zombie fan, if you will. I remember seeing my first one. I was 15, and my mum had dragged us to the funeral of a friend of my dad's. I hadn't wanted to go, but my mum said that we had to stick together as a family. Pfft, whatever. It was a Saturday and I had better shit to do, like sleeping in.

It was an open casket funeral, unfortunately. He was an old guy, and he looked... Jesus, grey. It was awful. His face was sagging back against the pillow, I suppose because his muscles weren't holding everything in place. He didn't look like he was peaceful or sleeping at all, he just looked dead dead dead. I was frozen in front of his casket, petrified. I felt ill. After, I cried a little bit, and everyone nodded sympathetically to me. But I wasn't crying because it was sad, I was crying because it had shocked me really badly. Then we had to wait outside as the slowly lowered him into the neatly dug grave. It seemed lacking in any real care though, because they just used a machine to lower him in. I dunno, it seems like it would have been more respectful to do that yourself. Anyway, we stayed after all the people had gone, only to see a mini excavator roll over and pack the earth and turf on top of him. I found it really eerie, like they were erasing all proof that he had ever existed.

I am fairly interested in the trade though. The mortician part might take a little getting used to, but it sounds like you could make a pretty decent living off of it. Funeral directors typically make about $50,000 per year. More than I'd make as some kind of cartoonist, that's for sure.

How did I get so sick and twisted, you may be wondering? That's a good question. Let me know when you figure it out.

On Faith

You know what bothers me? If I tell someone that I am an atheist, they ask, without fail, why. "Why are you an atheist?" I don't know, I think it's kind of rude, like they're waiting for you to say something that they think is wrong, so they can correct you. If someone tells me that they are, say, Christian, I don't immediately ask "Why are you Christian?" I do enjoy talking about my own beliefs concerning us and the world, but not in this context. Everyone who asks gets this look on their face, and it's always the same. It's very self-assured, and almost scornful. I'm trying to think of the right word, but it's not coming to mind at the moment. Whatever it is though, I don't like it. I think, though, that next time someone asks me why I believe what I believe, I'm going to ask them the same.

I get the feeling most people wouldn't be able to answer it properly anyway. I'm going to use Christianity as my go-to religious example here, because it's the most common. If I were to ask someone why they were Christian (only ever in response to them asking me why I'm an atheist, because it's rude both ways) I get the feeling that most people would pussy-foot around the real answer. Because for the most part, if you're religious it's because your parents taught you to be that way.

Now, read this. I'm simply stating facts and I have a right to do that, and if you feel I'm being unjust, you can tell me so, nicely, in the comments. Or hey, just stop reading.

For the most part, it is your parents that teach you your faith. Church and other people can reinforce your beliefs, but it is your parents who teach you what to believe in. Now, this obviously doesn't apply to people who "found" God. But if you follow a certain religion, it is because your parents followed it, and their parents, and their parents, and so on.

The same can be said for atheists as well. If your parents were non-religious, chances are that you will be too.

I discovered my own beliefs pretty much on my own. My parents were both raised in devout Catholic families, but never forced me to take part. I went to church up until I was 5 years old, and then my mother became pregnant with my brother and the trip on Sundays became too hard. My father never came to church with us; he had gone to a religious boarding school in Italy when he was very young, and suffered rather cruely at the hands of the monks who ran the schools. I believe he is still spiritual, although he has no great love for the Church.

Age 5 was pretty much the last time I would have said that I believed in God, but even then it was only because that's what I assumed all people did. I didn't really think too much about any of it again until I turned 10. A girl in my class, Ashley, invited me to go to Church with her one Sunday. I politely declined, because I was starting to have my doubts about this God fellow. She argued with me, and I argued back. I said "If there's a God, why are little children starving to death all over the world? Kids our age and babies?" Her response was that they "must have sinned." I was just so... horrified, by this statement. My first thought was that I wanted to part in an organization that brainwashed it's believers into thinking that it was okay that babies starved to death, because they were sinners (I never said I was a normal 10 year old).

Of course, I know that obviously not every devoutly faithful person believes this. I was only 10 at the time of this.

I feel that the main reason people believe in God, or gods, is because they:

1) fear death, and
2) fear purposelessness.

Now, I know I've talked about these two things before, but please bear with me.

I think that one of the reasons people believe in a higher power is so they don't have to be afraid of death, because with most religions, there is no true death. You die, but then you continue living in some kind of ethereal world. While I'll admit that that does sound lovely, I just don't need it. I'm not all that terrified of being dead. Dying, yeah, is a pretty scary thought. Actually, someone once said "I'm not afraid of death, but dying scares the hell out of me." Isaac Asimov said "Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome."

Okay, okay, one more because I really like this one: "From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity." -Munch Edvard

But my point is, I don't think death is something we should be scared of. Sure, it's a weird thought. It's hard to wrap your head around the idea of just not existing. The reason most people are scared of death is because they think of it as this crushing, blank void. Just you and the darkness. It might just be that, but the reason they're really afraid of it is because it will just be them, stuck there for all eternity, alone. But the thing most people are forgetting is... you'll be dead! You're not going to be conscious, or awake! You won't even be aware of anything, because you'll be dead. So I'm not afraid of death.

The other reason I think most people flock to religion is because it gives them some meaning in life. What I really think is that "it's easier to believe that an almighty God created us, and that he's got a plan for everyone. You may not know what that plan is yet, and hell, you may never know, but just the fact that there IS a plan is comforting. You're not a worthless speck. Someone put you here for a reason." (Yes, I'm quoting myself. You know you're conceited when...) But yes, that is what I think is going on. Humans are constantly obsessed with having a purpose, a reason for being. Most of the time I say "Isn't it enough to just live and be happy?" But no one is ever satisfied with that. It's not grand enough.

While I firmly believe that the only reason we're around is to reproduce and continue our species (there's a Darwinist for you), I don't see why we can't just enjoy living while we're at it.

I know that probably no one is going to read this, or comment on it, but I'm used to it. I enjoy talking to myself anyway.

Yesterday I went shopping, and actually bought myself some nice things. I hadn't intended to, but they were all nice things that I needed. A new coat, 2 long sleeves, a button up, socks, a metal water bottle, and a purse (okay, I didn't really need the purse). Buying things is nice :D
I also (finally) figured out what I'm going to get Max for Christmas, and I'm so excited! I think it's perfect for him.

Nothing else much. Work today. I really got to packing last night, which I'm relieved about. Pretty much all my clothes are packed up, except for some that I'll be needing over the next couple of days. All my knick knacks are in boxes, and now I only have to deal with the junk under my bed, which there isn't much of, and the random stuff in the top shelf of my closet. I'm moving on Wednesday! And apparently my dad found a stove in the basement of the new place that is in perfect working order, and that's going to go up on my floor. Oh wow. I just realized we'll get to have our nice big Christmas Eve dinner at the new house! That'll be a relief. Before we always had to cook everything in the tiny kitchen of our old house, and there was practically no room for us to all sit down and eat. The kitchen in the new place is huuuuge. Now I'm extra excited :)

Alrighty children, I suppose I should be doing something more useful with my time, like... actually, I have no idea what. Getting ready for work, I suppose. Have a nice day, everyone.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Matching Tattoos and Sweet Revenge

Okay everybody, prepare yourself for the cutest idea ever. EVER.

Instead of getting presents for each other, my sister and I are getting matching tattoos!(!!!)

I got the idea from looking on one of my favourite websites, Oddee, where they had an article for top 10 Coolest Matching Tattoos or something. And the first one was of three sisters, who had matryoshka dolls on their inner arms.

So adorable, right?! Rachel and I had been talking about getting matching tattoos for awhile, but couldn't think of anything great. I saw picture last night on Oddee, and was thought it looked killer, so I posted the picture on her wall. And she is totally down! We're going to get them in the same place as the picture. Before I could even say anything, Rachel said "Yours would be on the left, and mine on the right." You see, when we were growing up, if my mum ever set anything out for us, like dinner or whatever (actually, it was generally food, haha), the order would always go "Lisa Left, Rachel Right". So now Lisa Left, Rachel Right is just ingrained into our heads.
Rachel is drawing the picture as I write this, actually. It's going to be mostly black lines, like the picture, with just a few things in colour. We want to have pink flowers on it somewhere. And I thought of a cute idea, that I haven't told Rachel yet. I want the dolls eye colours to correspond to our own (mine are hazel, Rachel's are blue). I dunno, I just thought that that would be cute.

Mmm, and today I made nachos at Tanis' house, and then we (Tanis, Montserrat, Karl and I) went out for Sweet Revenge! Our waiter was very gay, and very nice! He complimented my nailpolish, and then we all talked about nailpolish for a bit, much to Karl's dismay. And then later he complimented me on my adorable beaded change purse, that was made to look like sheet music. I encouraged him to check out the shops on Main Street, since he said he was never there during the day. Meeting nice people is nice :)
Oh oh oh my god, so for dessert, I got crème brûlée, but it was PEAR crème brûlée. I wanted to cry, it was so delicious. Crème brûlée is amazing anyway, but this had, like, little pieces of pear mixed in with it, and this big, fat raspberry ontop. I fucking love peeeears. Best dessert of my liffffffeeee T AT

A couple weeks ago, I was baking at Tanis' house and we made... Nutella cookies! They were honestly sooo delicious, so I am going to post the recipe for everyone reading. Er, not that there are many of you, haha (sobsob).


  • 1/2 cup Nutella
  • 1/2 cup white sugar
  • 1/2 cup packed brown sugar
  • 1 egg
  • 1 tsp vanilla
  • 2 cup flour
  • 1/2 cup butter, softened
  • 1 tsp baking soda
Combine all ingredients, and then wrap up and chill for 1 hour. Using a teaspoon, drop dough onto un-greased baking sheet. Bake for 15 minutes at 350 degrees.

*NOTE: I changed this recipe quite a bit as I mixed it all up. The original recipe called for 1 1/2 cups flour, but when I was mixing everything together, it was still way too wet and not firm enough to be cookie dough, so I kept adding flour until the consistency seemed right. I'm only guessing that it was 2 cups worth in the end.
We didn't have baking soda when we cooked these, so that was left out, and I can't remember how much the original recipe called for. I've looked at other cookie recipes though, and 1 tsp seemed to be a recurring amount, so it could work. They did, however, taste just fine without any baking soda.

Nothing else new to report from the home front. Max is still in Japan, and I'm just trying to keep myself occupied until he comes home. Packing is going terribly, but thankfully Tanis said she would come over and help me out. I just want to live in my new house already :(

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Packing Up for a Pack Rat

Packing up all your belongings is hard when you own so many knick-knacks and treasures. Wrapping up fish-shaped bottles full of paper stars comes to a grinding halt when tangled chain necklaces beckon. I will now sit here for the next 5 minutes, going in and out and around.

Honestly, where to begin? The jewelry? The books (4 boxes full!)? The jars and jars and jars of who KNOWS what? There's a trombone and a baseball bat beside my bed that need tending to, magazine pictures that need to be un-taped from the walls, scanners and mirrored cupboards that need to be disconnected and taken down. There are cotton dresses, beaded dresses, strapless dresses, summer dresses, glittery dresses, dreamy dresses and daring dresses that need to be unhung and folded into bags. Old diaries, hand-written histories, that need to be stashed at the bottom of boxes, in case prying eyes get a little too curious. SHOES (my god, the shoes). Dressers, two of them, and a beautiful vanity, full of polishes and shadows, that need to somehow be emptied. Under the bed (that needs to be dismantled) are boxes of things that are only valuable to me: Old letters, magazine clippings, photos and drawings, scraps of fabric and, for some reason, a leather pouch full of glitter.

Ribbons and cameras and pencil cases and paint and mobiles and notebooks and candles and music books and... sigh. There's a painting on the back of my door, of a girl and a squid, and I know that soon I will have to paint over it. I agonized over the details of it when I did it, months ago now. The girl is me, with the same wavy hair, the same piercings, the same eyes, the same half-smile. The door itself has a crystal handle that fascinated me when we first moved in.

It's going to be sad to leave this room that I've lived in for so long, and made my own...



Friday, December 3, 2010

Take Five

The best days are the 3:30 days. Those are the days where I don't have to be at work until quite late in the afternoon. I always stay up late the night before, taking time to draw, write and muse. It's that precious time to myself that I so intensely desire.
I set several alarms for times much earlier than I need them. They allow me to wake up, but stay in bed, languishing in that space between consciousness and dreams. Images and thoughts make their way to the surface, warm and strange. It's hard to drag myself away from it.
Whenever I finally force myself away from the comforts of my quilt, I shower, I eat, I get dressed, but all at this slow, careful pace that is my favourite. Then at the last minute, I explode into this frenzy of rushing-out-the-door, and make my way to the bus stop.

These are certainly my favourite days.

Ugh, I never ended up writing anything for Videojug Pages, because I am a loser and the prospect of possible failure frightens me. Because I've convinced myself that I was never actually a writer, just a hack that spun the occasional decent yarn. I really wanted to write something too... But this is what happens when you're an anxiety-riddled nutcase, kidlets. You fuck yourself over time and time again.

So cheery!