Laundry Room Etiquette

I was doing some laundry today (shocking I know). The laundry facilities in my building consist of 9 washers and 9 dryers.

We've all seen it (those of us without the luxury of an en-suite washer and dryer), the time's up on the machine, but the laundry is still sitting in it, and sitting in it, and an hour later, is still sitting in it. In my current building I'm fairly lucky, unless I'm doing laundry on a Saturday, the waiting time for a washer or dryer is hardly ever longer than an hour. In my previous building, we had two washers and dryers, and at least one machine was broken at any given time.

The problem with both buildings is that people will put in their laundry, and then go to work, leaving other people waiting for the machine, contemplating whether or not to remove the clothes from the machine, or patiently wait another 15 minutes. I personally have only ever removed some one else laundry from a machine, and that was only after the same clothes were still sitting in the dryer 6 hours later.

I bring this up, because today I was doing laundry, there were a few of us waiting for dryers, and the timer on 3 of them ran out. Conveniently, there were 3 of us waiting. We each found ourselves standing around for 15 minutes, waiting to see if they were going to come get their clothes, when one of the women finally said "I can't keep waiting, I have to work this afternoon" as she claimed one of the dryers, removing the clothes, and placing them on a nearby counter. The other woman also then decided she was no longer waiting, and claimed another. Afraid I was going to lose the one remaining dryer, I thought about removing the clothes, but took my daughter for a walk instead. "If it's still there when we get back, then I'll take the clothes out" is what I told myself.

10 minutes later, we returned to the laundry room as a man was leaving with a bag full of clothes, sure enough the dryer was empty. The man also took it upon himself to open the doors of the dryers that the other women claimed, so that the timer would run out, and their clothes would still be wet. Naturally once he was gone, I turned the dryers back on for the other women.

I'm not really sure where I'm going with this. I get upset when people take my clothes out of the machines as soon as the machine stops. I feel like I should be given the opportunity to handle my own clothes. On the rare occasion that I forget I'm doing laundry, or I can't get back downstairs because my daughter is napping, I completely understand when my clothes are not where I left them. Someone has even removed my clothes from a machine while it was still running and washed their clothes instead. I've never felt the need to retaliate though, I found the actions of this man to be incredibly immature. It's one thing to be upset, but it's another to be foolish.

Why can't we all just get along?

Happy Quarter Century Kim!

Today is Kim's 25th birthday, and she, like all of my friends, is totally awesome.

Happy Birthday Kim =)

And Then There Was...

It's been a long month, and it's not quite over. Remarkably, the summer is half over, and yet it doesn't seem like it's begun. There's been no, or few, park visits, no swimming, no tanning, no barbeque's, and no parties.

I don't usually tan, not intentionally anyway, any and all tans that I have had over the years have been strictly a result of burning, though the results, though patchy, are usually awesome in tone and colour. Spell check has me learning, and incidentally using, American spelling. I just barely caught that "u".

Honestly, I don't really feel up to writing. There is a lot going on right now that makes everything I have to say completely meaningless, and wasteful of my time, and really, time is all there is.

Who Is Your... Forget it. Who I Am and What I Do.

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? Dammed if I know, it was probably a telemarketer, wrong number, or a recorded message. I'm not sure the latter counts as a person, but I'm sure a person came in contact with the message at some point in time.

Do you sometimes worry about losing that person as a friend? I would most certainly hope not.

My Facebook home page is often bombarded with such silly questions, and every once in a while I feel the need to take part in such shenanigans. Not because it's cool, not because anyone is ever going to read all 276 questions in today's quiz, and definitely not because I have nothing better to do. My reasoning behind taking the 15 to 20 minutes out of my day to start answering questions I'll never get to the end of is simple. It makes me think.

I am an over emotional, sentimental, pack rat, who can't remember what day of the week it is, but can remember the tiniest, most meaningless events from more than a decade ago. For instance, if you were to say something to me, right now, I would either forget as soon as you stop talking, or I'd just stop listening all together mid sentence. Entirely unintentional, let me assure you. I have no idea when it started, or why I continue to space out, I just do. However if you were to ask me Something random, from 10 years ago, I could probably tell you what we were wearing, eating, saying, doing, and what the whether was like. I have boxes, yes plural, of pictures, yearbooks (okay, pieces of paper I made people sign), ticket stubs, autographs, lyrics and poems, random objects, and art (I use the term as loose as possible). I have books full of random thoughts and scribbles from before high school.

I think about people, a lot, some more than others, but if you have graced me with your presence at some point in time in my life, I probably still think about you.

High school was a particularly low point for me. Like a lot of teenagers, I had some seriously self-worth issues, which resulted in me tolerating a lot of events that I shouldn't have, a definitely wouldn't anymore. Unfortunately, these feelings lasted much longer than high school, and caused a lot of problems for me later in life, that at times, still haunt me. Perhaps I'll get over it in time, but I doubt it. The nightmares aren't any less vivid, or frequent, and I still have panic attacks.

I haven't posted here in a bit because I've been working on a story, about young-ish people trying to get out a negative cycle by putting a positive spin on their lives, and the events that have gotten them where they are. It's a story about them finding themselves, in ways they didn't expect, or want, but ultimately being better because of it. Boring, I know. But I find that I often make sense of things by putting it in writing. Which is sort of funny, because as someone I know very well pointed out, I don't read. I used to, but I don't anymore. In fact, I probably won't even read this over, so you'll have to excuse any misplaced words, or spelling mishaps.

I've also been working on some music, not quite my usual pop-punk. I've gone in an acoustic direction. So if you love me, when it's all done, you'll check it out.

Anyway, I'm off. And remember, respect yourself.

I Can See Clearly Now There's a Giant Highrise In Front Of My Window.

Okay fine, it's not giant, and it's clearly been there just as long as my window has been here. But I can't always see it. Why? Because heavy rains often provide a waterfall effect over my window preventing me from seeing anything beyond the impressively large sheet of could-be-glass.

There might be a hundred feet between this building and the one next door, if you ignore the fact that they are connected by a patio, and a daycare facility. The two buildings also share a remarkable view of what I like to call the Bag Tree. Now, I must warn you, it's not the best time of year to view the Bag Tree, for it currently has leaves which unfortunately hide the beauteous collection of plastic bags that are caught in the branches.

I do have to mention at this point, if you happen to have a really, really long stick, I'd love to borrow it, so that I can relieve this tree of it's heavy burden, having to carry around all those leaves, it's just unfair.

All joking aside, the bags are driving me crazy. I was hoping once the tree was in full bloom, I wouldn't be able to see the bags anymore, but I can. I thought that one of the insanely windy days we had would have rectified the situation, but in fact, there are now more bags in this tree than ever.

Have you hugged a tree lately?

Reaction Time and Ultimate Tragedy.

Tragedy is going in my dictionary of words that don't look right.

There is that moment in every body's life, that defining moment, where you get a sudden glimpse of the desires, passions, needs, and intentions of another person, usually a significant other, or close friend. That moment is the immediate reaction that another person has when faced with a question, theory, idea or some other form of expressing a conclusion. That moment usually consists of a pause. A brief collection of thoughts, and then a verbal or physical reaction of some sort. That pause can tell you the world about someone. The pause can last for any length of time from a small fraction of a second, to minutes. Either can be good or bad, and the time in between is just painful.

There are certain things you can look for in this moment though, a smile being the most important. A smile would represent that you and the person you are conversing with are at the very least of the same page. A smile can also represent relief. An odd out of place smile can represent guilt.

A physical connection is also a good indicator that the pair of you at least understand one another. Unless of course there is some sort of violence involved, then there has been a margin of error in communication, or, you deserve having your ass kicked. But simple things, like a hug, a kiss, a caress (does that make any sense? A caress?) Then of course, there's my favourite, the mauling. The excited, giddy, jumping up and down "oh my God oh my God oh my God" reaction. That same reaction you had as a kid when Mom and Dad told you that you were going to Wonderland (or insert other place of interest here).

There are certain things in life that should get this sort of reaction without a doubt. Of course those things differ from person to person. However some examples of this could include events such as graduation, promotion, marriage, and winning the lottery.

Silence, distance, and just generally being un-enthused are not good signs, regardless of the reasoning or excuses behind them. These can set of a number of different warning bells, that can send your head spinning in a million different directions. Most commonly leaving a person wondering "what the hell am I waisting my time for?"

It's important that we get over that feeling, because these moments are endlessly important. They give us some insight as to where we actually stand in our lives, and give us the opportunity to shape our lives any way we want to, and to pursue the things that we'd like to experience or fulfill in our lives. After all, the only thing you can't get back is time. Oh, and your virginity.

Strike One.

I've mentioned the strike in a somewhat irritated manner previously to this, however I thought I'd try a different approach.

I am a stay at home mom.

This summer, my daughter will be two. She's recently learned to ask for the things that she wants. And she, like most children, loves to be outside. So far this week, she has asked to go to the park 8 times, swimming at least twice daily, and 4 times she just wanted to go outside and walk.

Within 3 blocks from my home, granted they are rather large blocks, I have two temporary dumps set up. One directly south, and one directly west of the only playground in the neighborhood. My first reaction was to be grateful that they spared the playground, so that my daughter would have somewhere to play this summer. After walking in the general direction of the playground, the stench from the trash drove me to walk away from it. I haven't even looked at that playground since the beginning of this strike.

My family and I live in a decent sized 2 bedroom apartment, with no balcony, and certainly no yard. Though the apartment is fair in size, there is hardly enough room for a toddler to run around. Seeing as I chose to stay at home and raise my daughter instead of having her live with two working parents, it's no body's fault but my own that I don't have a back, or front yard, a car, or the means to leave the city in search for summer fun, except for the fact that if I were to pursue a career, or if I had already had one, I wouldn't have child care at the moment, also thanks to the strike, so working isn't an option any more either.

It kills me that I can't provide my daughter with the things that she's managed to ask me for, especially when it's something as simple as "Mommy, park?" I suppose I could take her to the park, but it would most likely result in me vomiting. Is that enough of a health hazard to force back to work legislation? Projectile vomiting caused by going outside? I didn't think so. Even after the strike is over, it will take weeks, if not longer for the parks to be rid of the trash, not to mention the waste that's seeped into the ground, or the smell.

I have such wonderful memories of my childhood, especially during the summer. I just wanted to provide my daughter with the same. Thank you CUPE 416, CUPE 79, and the powers that run our once beautiful city, for making that near impossible.

Great job also, our beaches finally get swimming passes, and you've screwed that up too.

I hope you all get what you want. I clearly won't be getting the one thing I wanted from this summer. A summer.

Happy Happy!

Today, John turns exactly 1,000,000,000 seconds old.


Happy Billion Birth Second John!!!

(Now stop getting older).

xox

Please Mr. Car Driver Won't You Turn The Music Off?

Most nights, at some point in time through out my sleep cycle, I'm woken by some ridiculously loud bass, I was going to say bass line, but it's really just one or two notes, if you can make any tone out in it at all. Anyway, so this bass, accompanied by some form of gangsta rap, or country music with the bass turned so high it sounds like gangsta rap.

I really don't want to be woken up by this incredibly loud, less than happy music.

What's worse than the bass, is the ice cream truck that seems to have become a regular visitor to the building, just before 10pm every night. No one every buys the ice cream, and there are never any kids out front, but for some reason we are lucky enough for this guy to come bless us with is midi-a-fied music. C'mon, the least you could do is entice us with the generic ice cream truck music.

Anyhow, neither of these things woke me up last night. So this has all been irrelevant.

I feel the need to admit something. I watch So You Think You Can Dance, religiously. The things these people can do with their bodies amaze me every time, and I often find myself either wishing I had taken lessons growing up, or scavenging the net for some adult classes. Sure there are cheesy stupid parts of the show, but when two people can partake in the same somersault, who am I to complain. I might not count it all as dancing, but I certainly enjoy watching it, and I definitely can not do any of those stunts myself.

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Last of The Numbers.

I've decided to stop numbering my chapters.

I woke up this morning, brushed my teeth, and sat down in front of the computer still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. With virtually no effort on my part, I've logged into Facebook and Blogger, and my day has started as it does every day, with me taking advantage of going unnoticed. I give it 10 minutes.

After reading my homepage on Facebook, it makes me happy to see suck talented people taking advantage of their talents, and pursuing the things that make them happy.

My 78 "friends" consist mostly of a variety of photographers, musicians, writers, film makers, painters, cartoonist, promoters, teachers, and students. People I went to school with, and other friends I have deep histories with.

When I first created my Facebook account, I had several more "friends", then I slowly started to remove people who only used their Facebook status for vulgar venting, people who I never talk to, or people I'm not sure I actually knew in the first place. There were a lot of those one time conversations, the "Hey! Remember me, we went to the same school!" Needless to say, I can't name all 1200 people that I went to high school with, let along the 400 I went to middle school with, or the 600 I went to elementary school with.

My favorite part of high school was getting our "yearbooks" signed at the end of every school year. Having never bought a yearbook, my home made autograph books progressed over the years. My grade 9 yearbook consisted of a single piece of foolscap (which up until me spell checking this I thought was "fullscap"), where as in the years to come they slowly became books with covers, eventually leading to me buying a sketchbook and using that.

I think I like Facebook because it's sort of like an ongoing yearbook. You can leave as many messages as you'd like, pictures and accomplishments are constantly changing, and there's the wonderful search box, a feature I think yearbooks still lack. I love hearing what people have to say, even if it isn't exactly directed to me. I like learning about people, their likes and dislikes, and relating to such things. I should have been a psychologist, or sociologist. Oh well.

Intermission.

I've started another blog about the many wonders of motherhood, it can be found at http://firstvsfirst.blogspot.com/ .

Chapter Twenty-Four: Bloggerific.

So, here I find myself at the end of another week, reflected on what we've learned so far. What? Oh shit. Really? It's only Tuesday? Dammit. Alright.

So, here I find myself at the end of Tuesday, wishing it were Friday, reflecting on what we've learned so far. The list includes how to not remove permanent marker from you wall, but from your child, how to remove Vaseline from hair, things that piss me off, things that don't piss me off, bands I've seen live with a few exceptions, that Jamie is old, Nicole rules, and that Toronto smells bad. I'm sure I'm forgetting a bunch of stuff I cared about at the time, or didn't care about at the time, but I think that covers the basis.

Bands, or artist that I'm 90% sure didn't make my previous list include the musical talents of our favorite media hog, Brittney Spears (MMVA's some non-recent year), Len (side stage, Edge Fest '99) and Harvey Danger (side stage, Summersault).

Len, for those of you who don't know, or don't remember, or just don't care, had their magical one hit wonder "If You Steal My Sunshine". To be honest, I'm not even sure that it's their song, it may, or may not have been a cover. Anyway, I vividly remember them getting booed off the stage at Edge Fest, and having water bottles, both empty and full, thrown at them. I was mildly amused at the time, for I had no real desire to watch them preform in the first place, but I'm thinking that they probably would have been fun to watch. They seem like really fun people.

Harvey Danger, also had a marvelous one hit wonder, called Flagpole Sitta. You know the one "Oh... I'm not sick, but I'm not well... and I'm so hot, 'cause I'm in hell..." for those who still don't remember I can also quote the line "been around the world and found that only stupid people are breeding..." which really is the line that sticks out in my head the most. I can vividly remember them preforming this song. In fact, it may very well be the only song that they played, however memories of it include the destruction of a keyboard caused by a 30-somethingish looking could have been rock star jumping on it, repeatedly.

Other bands I suddenly remember seeing include the Gandharvas (can't think of a song by them), Goldfinger (band triumphs include the successful covering of 99 Red Balloons, originally 99 Luftballons by Nina). Marilyn Mason (if you don't know, stop reading my blog).

I can also vividly remember Courtney Loves purple panties, and how cold I was while watching from the top to the hill. That's right, the hill, the one, the only, and the never again. Anyone who's ever been to Molson Park, as Molson Park, knows of what I speak.

Garbage puts on a good show, the mics stopped working for Our Lady Peace, and I'm not sure I've ever seen a concert clear out so quickly as when the Crystal Method took the stage. In retrospect, I wish I had stuck around, I probably would have enjoyed them.

Hayden had some interesting stories about an inter species relationship between a girl and a bear. I Mother Earth introduced us to what's-his-face for the first time since Edwin's departure.

I've seen Matthew Good Band a total of 4 times. Each time was exactly the same, which sounded exactly like all one of their albums (at the time).

Silverchair is exactly what you expect them to be, Treble Charger has a high energy feel to them, I would see 3 Doors Down again. I watched Serial Joe make it from side stage to main, and let me just say "Nickleback does suck" regardless of what Chad has to say. Gob, Joydrop and Sevendust were all fun to watch. I think I was expecting Tool to be more like what I've come to love about Nine Inch Nails. I don't remember actually seeing Creed, but I remember that I did.

Sam Roberts and Sass Jordan did put on a good show for what little time they had. I wish I could have seen AC/DC decades before I did, though I enjoyed it none the less, and the Rolling Stones were the Stones, what else can I say? Good or bad, I saw the fucking Stones.

The most disappointing though, would have to be Weezer, without a doubt. I scored some tickets as a perk of my summer employment at a local music store. After waiting for hours to get into Ontario Place, the band showed up 45 minutes after they were supposed to start, played 3 songs, and took off. The show wasn't even that great, but by the time you got into it, they were gone. By far the biggest waist of time, at least I had brought good company though.

Then there are the memories that have nothing to do with the music. The IME hats, tornado warnings, getting caught in the rain, mud wrestling, recreational indulgences, the 2 liter bottle of Mountain Dew that managed to find my head at every concert I'd been to up until I was 21. The fly guy, line ups, gas stops, honking signs, 2 1/2 hours of Beatles music, "we're going to see Pearl Jam" and jello shooters. Braiding Jen's hair, and Ashley's spot. Sun burns and self-induced laryngitis. Good times. Most of all that feeling, that "one day it'll be me" feeling. Hoping that some day, you'll be standing there, center stage, listening to 40 thousand people sing your song to you.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Scrabble For Beginners, Those Who Suck, and Those Who Just Have No Luck.

As I was growing up the game of the house was Scrabble. More often than not my mom won, then my dad, and sadly, I never did.

However, these are the basic rules for playing Scrabble and being successful.

1) Don't play with my parents. Granted they are not world Scrabble champions, but they've got a mean game.

2) Don't think about the letters, think about the numbers, all of them. Point value, bonuses, and how many letters are left, of each letter and all together.

3) Assume it is a word until proven otherwise.

4) Challenge anything and everything you can't define.

5) And lastly, if you've tried the above, and still can win, give me a call, we'll have a game, and I promise, you will win.

Chapter Twenty-two: The world is breathing, and it smells like... garbage.

I'm a little late with the blog today, I've been distracted. Yesterday, I bought the most rediculous impulse buy in the history of my shopping. I purchased, at a more than reasonable price, Guitar Hero World Tour. So far, I'm pleased.

The tracks are better than I could have asked for, with the exception of a few bad apples, and if you throw in the controller for Guitar Hero III, the number of plastic instruments in my home out number amount of real instruments.

I'm getting blisters on my hands from re-learning how to hold drum sticks, my knuckles hurt from trying to bend sideways, and everything is not-so-slowly heading towards the ceiling, including the ceiling.

Anyway, enough about GHWT. My air conditioning is broken, again. It was a remarkable 33 degrees today. The hottest it's been since the last time it broke.

I'm going near 48 hours with very little sleep, so I'm gonna take off.

Chapter Twenty-One: I'll Have a Quarter Pounder With Cheese - I Mean Happy Birthday Jamie.

One for you, one for me, one for you, one for... Oh. I'm writing.



Well today marks Jamie's quarter century birthday. You know what that mean? It means... he's 25. Ha ha. I'm not the only one.

You're 25th is a magical milestone that will forever change your life. And by forever changing your life I mean you will never again be 24, 23, 22, 21 etc... it's actually kinda sad.

Alright, never mind. I told myself I wouldn't do that, get all skeptical and morbid. So I won't. Instead I'll say take it easy, slow it down, and let the next 25 come at a much, much, much slower pace.

Happy Birthday Jamie, and here's to many, many more.

Chapter Twenty: Burning Bridges and Moving On.

I was writing a blog. And then I deleted it, because it was unimportant.

In it place I leave you with this.


NICOLE RULES!

Chapter Nineteen: I Can't Feel My Fingers, Oh No, Wait, I Can, I Think They're Bleeding.

It started with a guitar.

It was 1998. A wonderful, magical 1998. I got my first guitar that year. I'd finally convinced my Dad to let me get one. Prior to his agreement, I was told, regularly that I'm not getting one, because I won't stick with it. Anyway, after fighting about it for weeks, he finally caved. He agreed to let me get an acoustic because, get this, they're quieter. Ha.

You see, electric guitars come with two wonderful functions. The first being volume control, the second being the ability to use head phones.

So we headed over to Long & McQuade, the one near Keele Street, on Steels. After some relatively crappy customer service and trying out every acoustic guitar under $100, we left, leaving me mildly unimpressed.

In the near future, we visited an uncle of mine, actually, an uncle of my dads. The whole house played guitar. I picked up an acoustic, probably a Yamaha of sorts, and hammered out some Nirvana tunes, not as well as I could have, but better than was expected of me. My uncle asked me how long I've been playing, and what kind of guitar I have. I explained to him that I've been learning over the past few years on a friends guitar, that I really want an electric guitar, and my dads beliefs.

My uncle chuckled, and explained to my dad why the electric was the quieter option, but then explained to me why I'd want an acoustic. In all honesty, it all went in one ear and out the other. I was 14 years old, and I knew what I wanted. You can't mess with that.

After a long conversation about the pros and cons of each. He told me he had a guitar, an electric guitar, and a tube amp collecting dust in his basement, and that I was welcome to it.

We walked down the stairs, we didn't even turn the lights on, and there, in the middle of the room sat the guitar, literally covered in dust, leaning against the amp, in the spotlight of the sun beaming through the barely-above-ground window. Like it was sent down from the heavens. I picked it up, dusted it off, and there it was, my beautiful, custom made vantage. From that moment on, we were inseparable.

1998 was also the year of my first concert. Edge Fest '98. It was amazing, maybe not to the people who had been to concerts prior to this massive event, but I couldn't have asked for a better first concert experience. Spending the day with 40 000 other people, all there for the same reason might be the best experience ever.

It was Canada Day, and my first "Steve" experience. Steve is the guy with the clown wig on, who's mastered the art of setting the tone. After singing "Oh, Canada" at least half a dozen times in the line up, and lets not forget, that one time in french, a few rounds of the wave, and a bit of impatience, we were frisked, and we were let in.

Immediately drawn to the side stage, seeing as it was the only stage with music on it, we ventured over. Occasionally looking at the seemingly endless lines of jewelry, t-shirt, and paraphernalia booths. And then it happened, the gates to the main stage were opened.

With a powerful line up consisting of Bif Naked, Sloan, Matthew Good Band, The Foo Fighters, Green Day, Moist and headlining, The Tea Party. Each tried to out show the prior with some sort of gimmick. Bif had bra's lining the stage, Sloan tried to be extra Canadian (after all it was Canada Day), Matthew Good Band, well to be honest I don't really remember them. The Foo Fighters crucified a man only known as "Dan, the Man", We though Green Day was going to stop at Billy Joe's leopard print thong, but topped that by setting their drums, and the stage, on fire. David Usher, of Moist, entertained us with a few songs from his solo career, and an attempt at ballet. Lastly, The Tea Party put on the light show of that century, only topped in recent years by Nine Inch Nails and their Lights in the Sky tour. Mid-set, they were joined by what Jeff Martin called their special guest Edwin (previously from I Mother Earth), either before or after he asked us to light up those funny looking cigarettes.

Gimmicks aside, the music rocked from start to finish, and started what we had hoped to be a yearly ritual for us, which sadly only lasted a few years. It started with Bif, and ended with Hole, and the closing of Molson Park.

Concerts to follow that year, would include Edge Fest '99, and 2000, the original Summersault Festival, Pearl Jam and Friends, a few Green Day Concerts, The Offspring (which led to our introduction to The Living End), The Living End, System of a Down, Fuel, Finger Eleven, and Nine Inch Nails. What can I say, it's been a good run so far. I can't wait to see what the future has in store. As music and tastes change, life only seems to get more interesting.

In the mean time, I'm gonna crawl back into bed, my Vantage is calling.

Chapter Eighteen: That Not So Warm Place Between the Mattress and the Ceiling.

I often find myself laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, alone, wondering if this is it. If this is all that awaits me. I stare at the same spot on my ceiling, it can be found to the north-west of the lighting fixture that is located in the center of the ceiling. I'm staring at my ceiling expecting something to change. Expecting to notice something that wasn't there before, something new, exciting, and full of life.

Strangely enough, there does appear to be something new. Near the window, on the northern wall, there appears to be some sort of something that lives about a foot and a half below the ceiling. I've never seen this something, but Charlie, my cat, is very insistent about sitting on my dresser and staring at this spot on a nightly basis. I can only imagine what he sees, that I don't. Or perhaps this spot on the wall is like my spot on the ceiling. Just there. After all, it's easier for a cat to look at a wall than the ceiling.

Every inch of my body is telling me that something isn't right. That something is missing. As I stare at my ceiling, thoughts start running through my head. I start to think about the small things life has to offer, the things you can only experience a limited number of times in this life time. Things that I wish I was experiencing at that moment. Instead, I'm still looking into this empty space, and it hits me. I'm alone.

In reality, I'm never alone. I have a family that I love so very much. I have two cats, that despite everything, I also love. Actually, I don't remember the last time I was physically alone. I don't have that walk to or from work every day. I don't get "down time". I guess that's mostly my fault though, seeing as it is a choice that I made.

What I mean by I'm alone, is that I'm alone in my thoughts, my dreams, and my desires. No one shares them with me. They are mine and mine alone. And it's hard. Constantly wondering if the feeling is mutual, more often than not, finding out that it's not. I'm a touchy, feely type person, once you grow on me. Even a feeling so small, like a finger being run across my shoulder is paradise to me. Lucky for me, I have my family, and don't often feel lost for very long.

I'm also an over-emotional, sentimental person. I keep everything, and love to reminisce. I can talk for hours, if not days about points in time that stick out in my mind. I remember I once had my grandfather, whom I always called Ope, buy me 3 slices of pizza before he finally bought one I'd eat. That memory is by far the most vivid of my childhood. I think I was maybe 4 years old.

Without the small gestures of passion, and desire, and touch, I often feel as if I'm dying. I need these gestures to thrive. I guess that explains my undying love for my Vantage. There's nothing quite like the feeling of it's strings vibrating beneath my calloused fingers, or the feeling of the coolness of the wood seeping through my jeans until we are both comfortably at body temperature, warming slowly over a few life changing songs.

I can't change who I am, what I want, and I wouldn't even if I could. Life is short, and it's up to us as individuals with hopes and dreams to pursue the things that will make us happy. In my case, it's strictly emotional. For some people, like myself, that connection is enough, more than enough, more than you could ever really ask for. Other people want material things. Which is fine, as long as it's really what you want.

I suppose in my case, I'm just want to fill that void between the mattress and the ceiling.

Chapter Seventeen: Sometimes...

I woke up this morning to the news that Martin Streek had killed himself at home last night. To be honest, the name sounded familiar, but I couldn't put a face to it. The reason for this was because I've never seen it.

Martin Streek was an Edge 102.1 personality for a period of time spanning decades. He was fired in May of this year. For those of you also trying to put a voice to name, Martin's shows included Thursday 30 Countdown, and live-to-air broadcasts from the Phoenix Concert Theater, and the Velvet Underground.

I could speak volumes on why I believe suicide to be incredibly stupid. But seeing as Martin was responsible for my early introduction to awesome music, such as that of Nine Inch Nails, and the Smashing Pumpkins, I'll skip the rant.

In place of my rant I would like to say thanks Martin, for your contributions to the music industry, my tastes in music, and of course, your fans. Rest in peace.

Chapter Sixteen: I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts and, Well, You Don't.

Megan Fox is hot. I don't care about the airbrushing. She's hot.

I saw Transformers - Revenge of the Fallen last night. Unfortunately the sound cut out while Mikaela was bent over a bike. Fortunately this gave us the opportunity to put words in her mouth, probably much more x-rated than whatever it was she was actually saying. So instead of thinking "aww... they're gonna miss each other", I'm left thinking "You're gonna do what with my...?"

Anyhow, the sound cutting out resulted in free passes to see another movie, or the same movie if I really want to know what she was saying, but I think it will probably disappoint in comparison to what was going on in my head. I'll wait for it to come out on Blue Ray.

So, it's officially back to routine. It's Monday morning, I'm blogging, and there is a kitchen full of dishes that need to be washed, that I'll be sure to get around to once I run out of reasons not to. I'm tuning in and out of the Treehouse programming that's playing in the background. It's making it hard to concentrate.

There were these people smoking on the bus platform last night, which is a big no-no. I can probably think of 101 reasons not to smoke, especially in no smoking zones, but here is the best one I can come up with. If you light up a cigarette, and I inhale any smoke what-so-ever, I will punch you in the face. You have been warned.

I spent 4 hours at the hospital last week, while I was supposed to be on vacation, because of an asthma attack. Which started acting up last night as these inconsiderate assholes decided they needed to smoke, repeatedly, directly under the no smoking sign. It was the first time I went inside to get some fresh air. What bothered me most, was that they were standing in the middle of a crowd, they didn't even have the decency to move away from other people, because God forbid they have to stand on the bus, or worse, not be the first people to board. No pre-boarding for you, suckers.

Anyway, I've got some cleaning to do.
Cheerio.

We Love You Dexter.

We Miss You.

Chapter Fifteen: Hurray the "J" Works, and Yes, You Do Suck at Your Job.

I am at home with my working keyboard.

After an eventful week, I'm finally home. Procrastinating as usual. I need to clean up, but I'll finish this first. Pictures are still coming.

I had a less than impressive visit to the Real Canadian Superstore today. We had the most unenthusiastic, unhelpful, useless cashier I have ever had the pleasure of interacting with. The funny thing is, I didn't interact with her at all. It quite factually took her almost ten minutes to take the pull ties off of the bags we purchased to carry our products home in. We had a broken produce bag she wanted us to pay to replace, she didn't have scissors or tape, and made no attempt to retrieve these items, even as the bag of sugar we wanted to purchase was spilling all over the conveyor belt. She didn't smile, she didn't say "hi", "thank you" or "have a nice day". She looked so miserable that I was afraid she might kill herself right there in the store.

I get that a lot of people hate their jobs, but come on, you're getting paid, which is more than 8.4% of Canadians can say. 8.4% might not seem like a lot, but let me put it this way for you, more than 350 000 people have lost their jobs since October 2008.

What do I have to say about this?

She should be fired, and the job should be given to someone who is grateful, and has some appreciation of their community. The same goes for all the dirt bags responsible for the insane amount of garbage being piled in our parks. This includes the people on strike, the people allowing them to strike, and the people who don't care enough to hang on to their garbage until this is resolved. The reality of the matter is, if you don't live in a building where garbage removal is privatized, chances are you have a backyard. Don't want all that garbage hanging around on your property? STOP MAKING SO MUCH GARBAGE. My support goes out to those who are actually making an effort to help keep what was once a beautiful city clean, and I thank you.

I watch a documentary about Toronto on OASIS last night, and I do have to say, Toronto, in places, is a truly remarkable, beautiful place. It made me remember the things about Toronto that I love, and that I miss when I'm not here. Unfortunately, every time I look outside, those memories become just that, memories.

So with that said, I end another chapter.

Chapter Fourteen: T.G.I.F.

After a long, wet, week. It's finally Friday. This means it's back to Toronto tomorrow for my family and I.

Leaving the city car-less always increases my appreciation of public transit. Though I'm sure after one wonderful ride on The Rocket, it'll all come back to me. The horror stories of the Toronto Transit Commission.

Anyway, the week wasn't a total bust. It had it's moments. We went to the Kemptville Campus for some Canada Day fun, and in all honesty, the fireworks display was more than impressive, even when compared to the massive displays that hardly took place in Toronto this year. Again, I have pictures I'll have to display once I return home.

The thing I love most about being away from the city is that almost everyone is friendly, courteous, and positive. I realize that Toronto has a lot of friendly people, probably more than Kemptville considering the difference in population. Kemptville however, like most small towns, seem to be lacking the other percentage of people. The people who yell at bus drivers, the people who decide that we should be using are playgrounds as dumps instead of, lets say parking lots, or I don't know, dumps? The people who I've previously mentioned that hang out in the elevators. The people who stand outside in the middle of the night yelling profanities as loud as they can. The people who complain about homeless people having a foul smell to them (perhaps offer them a shower instead of showing us all your ignorance). The people who think that it's a good time to disrupt and entire city to get their point across with absolutely no thought for the people they are affecting.

T.G.I.F indeed. I cannot wait to return to that wonderful place I call home.

Toronto isn't all bad. There are some lovely places to hang out, to dine, to dance, and even sing. Toronto has some beautiful parks when they are not filled with garbage. Toronto has an amazing skyline, especially when you can get out on the island and see it from there, you know, when the ferries are running.

Toronto is an awesome place to fall in love. Every where you turn there is a love story waiting to be told. Every building has a tale to tell, every park, every street. I once fell in love at a streetcar stop, near College and Ossington. Granted, I was a little intoxicated, but I'll remember it forever. Basements also make for good love stories, but then, so does alcohol.

Toronto is home to a lot memories I keep very close to my heart, but I find that the more time I spend there the bad ones start to outweigh the good.