You are 16, Going on 17

Tonight is the last night of 2016. My last post was over 2 years ago.

Spoiler Alert: Not much has changed.

And yet, everything has changed. I wrote about wanting to get my life together, to leave Never Never Land. On November 28, 2014 I was sitting in my That's Chinatown Baby Apartment (a movie reference I still don't understand because I fell asleep) and I wanted to be different, but I didn't know how.

The year that followed was messy and elaborate, fraught with drama, hi highs and low lows. I experienced joy, rejection, polyamory, depression, drug use, love, freedom, accomplishment, shame, confusion (not necessarily in that order). By December 2015 I was crying every day, had been fired and was thus unemployed, generally unable to get out of bed, listening to sad songs over and over and over again. I was numb. I was lost.

I vowed to be Less Of A Mess. Not perfect, but not such a disaster.

The first step was giving up hard drugs (to me that means anything other than weed) for one year, and seeing what happened. The next step was to force myself to exercise, I chose hot yoga because it's a solo activity that you do with other people. Also I like to be warm. Next was finding a therapist. Next was finding a job. And so on.

As I reflect on 2016 I can see it has been a pretty crap year for most of humanity and the world in general. But for me, and my inner world, it has been an essential year of pain, reflection and growth. I had a good upbringing, I had parents who loved me, I wanted for nothing. I'm intelligent, creative and expressive. I am a 29 year old, middle class, caucasian woman living in Canada. Despite these facts, there were many mornings when I wished I hadn't woken up.

These days when I wake sometimes I feel happy, sometimes I feel overwhelmed, sometimes I feel nothing. But I have learned to take the time to reflect on how I am feeling in that moment and breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Accept where I am. Make a conscious decision to have a positive experience today. It's not always easy, but when I look back on where I was one year ago today I can say for certain that it does get easier.

I want to share my story. Maybe for selfish reasons, as I admittedly love attention. But perhaps it's so that I myself can understand what happened, how I got to this place, who I really am, and what can happen now. And through that understanding maybe someone else will read this, maybe it's you, and know that they are not alone. That life is hard. Every experience is unique and unforgiving, but it is experience that shapes us and leads us to new opportunities.

At some point in 2017 I'll be launching a new blog where I will be transcribing chronologically my diary entries from 1999 up to the present and will also respond to my past self with my present perspective. If you are interested in this story, please come along. But know that it will change how you look at me, if you know me personally. Admitting the truth of things can be a double edged sword, it hurts you to tell it, and others get hurt in the telling. But what is life without a connection to one another? What does it mean to have a singular experience, while being enmeshed in a collective reality? How can one person feel like many different people throughout their life?

I hope we can find out.

It Came In The Night

I've been tossing and turning the past few nights, unable to fall asleep. My long-time friend and compatriot, marijuana, has not been helpful, and I can't help feeling a bit betrayed. The blissful doze I usually enjoy has been a nightmare of twitchy leg, heart palpations and anxious half-imaginings of my future. In my mind I watch as my life unfolds for ten, twenty years in various directions, depending on which decisions I make Right Now. Suffice it to say, I'm freaking out. 

But why? I'm almost 27 years old, a fact I've been dropping a lot lately, trying it on like uncomfortable but necessary lingerie. And I have essentially zero responsibilities. I have a full time job that isn't stressful. I have no mortgage, no kids, no debt (except to my father), no pets, no ex-boyfriend drama, and very little hair on my head to give me bad hair days. If I had my way, I would go on hitting my one hitter and making the minimum amount of effort until I wake up one day, old and magically wealthy, watering my plants and baking for local neighbourhood something or other. Sadly, this is not realistic in any possible way. 

Real life is messy and difficult and exciting and - hopefully - somewhat rewarding. After Australia I promised myself a year off to 're-adjust', 're-focus' and generally get my shit together. Well that year is up and it's time for me to stop masturbating to erotic literature and doing my nails (which are, necessarily, separate activities) and actually do something productive with myself. And this blog is the gateway to that, according to my prophetic visions. After re-reading my last post, which I now find endearing and somewhat questionable, I was reminded of how open I was just a few short months ago. And now that I'm writing this I'm finding it's easy, as it always is, to write how I'm feeling. I've come to understand that not all people have the same flair for self expression that I do, and I should take advantage of having a 'natural skill' at something. Even if that skill developed from being an extremely self-absorbed [self-aware??] child, teen, and young adult. I am now in my mid-twenties (which technically still makes me a young adult but just go with it) and it's time to express myself and challenge myself and maybe I'll finally have the courage to leave Never Never Land, and grow up. 

Or at least pretend to. 

Heart vs. Facebook: An Experiment In Romance

"Why don't we just date for like 2 weeks, be really lame about it, then have a really dramatic break up?" was my suggestion, as I laid beside him in bed the next morning. We laughed about it and he jokingly (so I thought) agreed. 

It had been building for months, the tension, the taboo. We work together and with his constant flirting, my friend's disapproval, and the basic fact that any time someone tells me not to do something I want to do it more, I knew it was only a matter of time before we consummated the attraction. And why not? 

I was surprised when I checked in to Facebook the next day and saw that he and I were 'officially' in a relationship. This was something I haven't done in years. Publicly attach my name to someone else's whom I am romantically involved with is not high on my list of things to do. I could explore the reasoning of that for ages, but I'll just get back to the story at hand. I called him asking why he had done such a thing. "Babe. We're dating. We agreed on this." was his response. And so I laughed and went along with it. 

At first no one believed us. I jumped in, posting pictures of him, and us, with obnoxious hashtags. Public make outs (which are not new for me at all, but still generally try to avoid at my place of work), calling each other 'babe' incessantly, sleepovers more often than not. In spite of my reservations, it was fun. 

Yet within a few days we were more comfortable in public than in private. I no longer knew how I felt...was it a fake relationship? Sure he hadn't answered my text in a day or two, but he liked my picture on Facebook...and I was getting texts and comments from people inquiring about my new boyfriend. Who would you believe? 

I was confused. My heart said one thing, my mind said another, my Facebook page said yet another. About 9 days in to our facade of blissful coupledom, an old flame of his came back to town unexpectedly. I was understanding of the situation, as I have a spot or two in my heart reserved for those separated by distance. I told him to figure it out, if you want to be with me then be with me. If not, then fuck off. 

It was unsettling, a tough but interesting situation. Not that I hadn't had some competition in the past, but this was the first time I wasn't confident in the outcome. I waited around for a day or two, eventually realizing that I was wasting my time, and our experimental fling was over, despite the relationship status on my profile page. 

When we finally talked I was neither surprised or devastated. He was apologetic and perhaps a bit too concerned. I listened to Robyn's 'Dancing On My Own' about a million times. I erased our Facebook history, my pretend indulgence in the #hesakeeper movement. I went to work. I got asked out by someone else. I declined. 

If anything, this whole experiment showed me that a part of me is lonely, and I am jealous of those couples who hold hands in public, who know each other's friends well, who post pictures of themselves on vacation or their pet in a hundred different positions. It's annoying, it's lame, and I am envious. 

At the same time, I value my freedom. I hate feeling like I have to report to someone else, no matter what the nature of our relationship is. The first time the 'ex' and I got drunk together I yelled "I belong to no one!!!!" at him about a dozen times. 

He was playing a show this past Saturday at a bar I frequent when I'm not working. Exactly one week after the end of our two week relationship. He asked me to come repeatedly, as a friend, of course. I was working, and got cut in time to catch the very end of his set. But I didn't. Instead I took my time finishing up at work, and went to meet up with one of my best friends for a drink. We went by the bar afterwards, and made our excuses for not being able to get there earlier. I imagine that he looked at me with a kind of wistful longing, like perhaps he had made the wrong choice. But then again, it could have just been the weed, and my dry contacts. And I danced, not on my own, as it turns out but with my best friend. 

Someone asked me what the point of all that was, anyway. On the surface it was a funny approach to a potentially dramatic situation. Plus, we both honestly really love attention. But if I look deeper, I think it was a very valuable lesson in humility for me. And as much as I don't know what I want, and will not be satisfied until I get it, I know what I don't want. That is, someone who's not as into me as I'm into them. Also, I should never be afraid to fall for someone, or to be honest about my feelings. I had a crush, it didn't work out, so what? My value as a person and possible partner does not come from the amount of times I've been accepted, or rejected. It comes from a thousand different experiences and beliefs that shape my personality. I belong to no one. And, for now, that is exactly what I want. 

Afternoon Affirmations

Well the waiting game is over. The best way I can think to put it is...it's like when you're watching a television show, and see the edges of the set. You always knew it wasn't real, but now you've seen too much, and you can't enjoy the story anymore. Anger is pointless; I'm slowly accepting the fact that not every single person I come in to contact with will fall in love with me (probably...) So c'est la vie. I'm happy that I took a chance. Also I am never putting a time limit on sex again. My faith in 'if it feels right, just do it' has been affirmed.

And it's back to square single. Which is for the best anyway, as I have many plans for 2014, and after all I am getting older. Most people I talk to can't believe I'm 26. Maybe because I'm working full time in the service industry. But I prefer to think it's because I still have the shining face of a 21 year old. Or, more likely, the sense of humor and ambition of a 19 year old. 

I'm finding it very hard to motivate myself to reach beyond my limits. To learn new things, to be creative, to exercise, etc. I feel like I have become complacent, in a very happy and social way, that is. I keep saying 'In 2014 I will do this' etc. But what is the difference between January 1 and December 1? Or 4, 17, 23? Days and weeks and months blend together and I can't believe that one year ago today I was preparing to leave Calgary forever. How things have changed! Yet how they've stayed the same...

Probably the best way to motivate myself to do something is to just do it, and not sit around pining about it. And so I will write when I don't feel like writing. I will be alone when I don't feel like being alone. I will smile when I feel like not smiling at all. Attitude follows actions, and if I don't actively appreciate the life I have then I am a fool. Every where I look in my amazing and snuggly apartment is evidence of beautiful moments and people that I've experienced. My heart is full of gratitude. 

We Used To Wait

Sex is a complicated issue for many of us these days. When do you do it? How long should you wait? Will he lose interest if you wait too long? Will he think you're a slut for not waiting long enough? Will you even like him afterwards or will you just make up an excuse about having to work your office job on a Sunday, then awkwardly run into him at the beach after promising to call him but you never do? It goes on and on. I remember when the song 'What's Love Got To Do With It' became popular when I was in high school. My Christian teen self was horrified at the thought that you would have sex with someone for no real reason, other than to have fun. Love has everything to do with it!!! I thought. And then you grow up, and you have sex, and you realize that really it can be whatever you want it to be. 

One of my best friends waited until she was married. One of my other best friends has been having casual sexual encounters since he was 17. I went from a dedicated virgin with a purity ring, to a secret sinner, to a married and divorced woman all by the time I was 20. And after the divorce I was left single and church-less, free to navigate the deep and tumultuous waters of my sexuality in a child size raft. After a couple years of trial and error, relationships and flings, lovers and one night stands, I had come to the conclusion that I was just done for a while. Done with love, done with sex, even done with flirting. What is the point of it all anyway? 

And then I met him (to sound completely and utterly dramatic). We did not have carnal relations the first night...or the second...or the third. In fact it has been a month since we met, which seems like a minute as well as a year. And still no P in V. We decided to wait (frankly it was his idea), to have a period of time called courtship, a word I haven't heard in a long while. The very notion of this strikes up a blaze of suspicions and questions...does he have a disease? Regrettably small equipment? Is he dating someone else? Is he a sociopathic murderer? I suppose only time will tell. 

The thing is...we used to wait. I think that as a generation and culture we have become incredibly impatient. 50 years ago it was common, respectable and expected for a couple to wait until they were extremely serious, if not married to consummate their relationship. Even 10 years ago I was preparing myself to wait an indefinite amount of time for 'the one'. And today here we are, wondering what on earth could possibly motivate someone to NOT have sex. I don't have many regrets in my sexual history, one or two perhaps, and I count myself very lucky for that. But honestly I'm still not sure about this new/old approach to it. I'm as nervous to let him into my body as I am to let him into my heart, and the two have become inexplicably linked. After years of sex now, feelings later (maybe), it's pretty challenging to reverse it in my brain. As much as sex is a place of vulnerability and a sacred union between people, it has also become a shield for us to hide behind. 'It's just sex' 'there was no feelings, just sex' 'what's love got to do with it anyway?' And that can be a fun, hilarious and thrilling place. But it can also be very empty and lonely. I now strive to find what's right for me, and to not compromise myself for anyone. Most often finding what's right takes some time, which takes patience, which takes understanding. It can be lonely, and confusing. One may get blackout wasted and throw yourself at various coworkers/strangers/exes, to no avail. But I have come to believe that how you feel about sex and relationships is a direct reflection of how you feel about yourself. Or, in the words of Ru Paul, 'if you don't love yourself how the hell you gonna love someone else?' Take time, buy a vibrator, figure it out for yourself.

I'm not sure what will happen with my waiting game. Maybe it will be awful, and then we will be awkward around each other and never talk again. Maybe it will be like stars exploding with rainbows and unicorns and we won't ever want to be away from each other's side. Or maybe it will be a unique, enjoyable bond built on mutual affection and trust. As much as we, as a culture, generation and society, try to downplay the significance of sex, it is a big deal. If it's your first, your fifth, or your ninety-ninth, it is meaningful in some way, and denying that fact is denying your connection to your own sexuality. I am extremely excited and absolutely terrified to find out what happens next. 

Too Cool For School

"It's just weird...I went from being the most popular girl in school to no one knowing my name. I don't like it."
Said Brittany Munro, circa 1996. I was in grade four. And I was an asshole. In a way, all kids are assholes because they are making decisions based almost completely on how they feel. They are not responsible for anyone else, so they are consumed with what is best for them in that moment. So in grade four I had moved schools and went from having three other people in my grade to having thirty. And I wasn't impressed. You would think that I would do anything to be part of the popular kids at that point, and maybe I did, my memory is not awesome. But however it happened, I did not take to popularity past the golden age of 7 when I was being chased around the playground by the cutest boy with the longest rat tail.

I was never satisfied with this situation. In high school there were some tense moments of floating around the edges of the inner circle but never quite finding my way in. Instead of blaming my shortcomings for this I decided it was most likely everyone else's fault, and that I was better than my small town social group.

Many years later I have come to the conclusion that I was insecure and a little bit lonely, just like every other teenager in the world ever. I have nothing against my former classmates and am still friends with a few of them. "What's your point, Brittany?" you are probably thinking to yourself. And to that I say, please refer to the title of this blog. Senseless Ramblings.

But actually I am trying to make some kind of round-about point, and it is this: do we ever leave high school insecurities behind? It's been many years since I've graduated, I've had many life changing experiences and changed my ideas about the person I am and the person I want to be. And yet when I walk in to a pub and happen to know ten or twelve people there, and they all seem happy to see me and I them, I suddenly find myself feeling an ENORMOUS and OVERWHELMING sense of utter awesomeness. And then I start acting like an asshole. Everything I do seems hilarious (to me), everyone I talk to should be happy that I am shining my light of attention on them. Then I black out. And the next morning one of my best friends tells me that he's never wanted to strangle anyone more than he wanted to strangle me last night.

What to do what to do. It seems that being a happier person in general is attracting more people to me. People I enjoy, and want to be friends with. This is a great thing! What is not a great thing is when I let my ego get the better of me and I do things that I regret. If no one ever finds out about my actions, I know what I've been up to. Singing at the top of my lungs in a friend's apartment hallway at 3AM on a Wednesday is silly and may not seem like a big deal. But it is, because I wouldn't want someone to behave that way in my hallway.

As referenced in the Unhappy GYPSY theory (http://www.waitbutwhy.com/2013/09/why-generation-y-yuppies-are-unhappy.html) I would like to reiterate that our generation has an inflated sense of self, and though I am pursuing higher consciousness and have stopped shaving my legs, I am not an exception. The truth is I am never an exception. I am a human, going through the same challenges as every one else. But what's most important here is that I am responsible for my own actions. No one else's. Just mine. And I can be happy that I have friends, acquaintances I enjoy, and other people who I don't know at all but who I like staring at. And it's my responsibility to behave in a way that is appreciative and respectful of them and of myself, whether I've been drinking water or straight gin. Or gin and water, but that is pretty gross so I don't recommend it. What I do recommend is keeping fit and having fun. And also loving yourself, in a healthy, non-inflated way. I'll let you know my progress on this after Saturday night.

**As a side note, I know I haven't written anything in an incredibly long time and that's my bad. I'm still a couch surfing hobo until Monday, and after that I will once again have some kind of regular writing schedule. Probably. x

A Stranger Conversation

I was a shy child. Even as a teenager and young adult I didn't like talking to people unless I had to. I would walk briskly down the street, with a sour look on my face to discourage anyone from striking up a conversation. I dreaded spending time in public with my mother, as she would inevitably find something to talk about with whoever happened to be around, and I found this embarrassing.

It's interesting for me to realize that this is no longer the case. I enjoy talking to other people, and I try daily to keep myself open to conversations. You never know who you will end up meeting or how you can affect each other. I kept this thought in mind as I was approached by a man in the park a few days ago. I had been there for a few hours, napping and reading. He came up to me and struck up a conversation, about the books we were both reading (I'm currently 1/4 through 'Anatomy of the Spirit' by Caroline Myss, Ph.D.). Instead of politely telling him to go away, or leaving myself, I thought 'well this is an opportunity to get out of my comfort zone. Let's see what happens.' For the next two hours or so, I heard all about his life story, his family, his careers, his ex girlfriends, and his struggle with drugs and realizing his spiritual potential. He was clearly high, and admitted to it at several points. I was a wary, but also curious. I know that when people are high they are unpredictable, so it was important for me to stay calm, and to be alert. I always had my phone handy, and there were always other people close by.

This experience taught me that you can literally connect with anyone, any time, any place. You just have to take the time to listen, to be available. That being said, should you connect with anyone who comes along? I don't know how else to explain it, but this man transferred his troubled energy to me, and for the rest of the day I felt extremely unsettled. He hadn't followed me home, he didn't even know my last name, he didn't share any earth-shattering revelations with me, and yet I was profoundly affected. I assume that this is because I opened myself up on a higher level of consciousness, beyond the interaction you usually have with a stranger to the interaction you would have with a friend. And because of this, I received fragments of his stress, his sadness, his energy. That night I was exhausted, and the next day I spent some quiet time focusing on peace, balance and love.

This experience lines up so completely with what I've been thinking and learning about lately, which is basically the concept that thoughts and emotions can directly affect our physical bodies and our perception of the world around us. For so long I was not interested in feeling and embracing my emotions, because I have had painful experiences in the past (hasn't everyone?) and I thought that life would be easier if I was shut off from other people. I am realizing now how much this goes against everything that makes me a woman, everything that makes me a human. We were meant to feel, to connect, to share our experiences and emotions with other people. Not just a few select people who we have come to know after years and years, but sometimes people we have only just met.

However, not everyone we meet will be a positive connection. Some people are not in control of themselves and will give you a bad feeling; do you notice how one impatient, grumbling person in a line can make the people around them impatient? Suddenly everyone has better things to do than wait in line, even though there will always be times in our lives where we must wait. Others are so much in control that they will seek to control you through every interaction you have, such as a bully in the school yard, or a micro-managing boss.

To use an old saying, I must guard my heart. I will often get an immediate feeling about people I meet, trust or caution, like or dislike. I've told myself to lighten up, not to judge people before I know them. Yet almost every time (if not every time) my very first impressions have proven to be true. I'm not saying I will ignore people, or be unkind to people. But I am learning to be much more cautious of who I open up to. If you spend all your time around young families with children, you will want a family and kids. If you spend all your time around people motivated by material success, you will want material success. And so on. I do not strive to be an elitist of any kind, but I am making an effort to be selective, because the people I surround myself with will influence my reality.

This is a time in my life where I am very aware of my social and spiritual environment. I know that things I talk about now will make some people shake their heads. I know that I will interact with people that I used to know and they will wonder what happened to me. The best way I can explain it is that I am seeing things in a different way, in a way that tells me everything is connected. My environment affects my emotions, which affects my body, which affects my actions, which affects my environment. It is therefore up to me to make sure that I am consciously participating in my life, that I am choosing to think positive, loving thoughts, while making sustainable choices and creating healthy connections and relationships. And as I learn about these things, the most surprising thing to me is that I haven't realized them before. And now that I know, I must act.      

Peter Pan Brain

I close my eyes and imagine you, the feel of your skin, the smell of your hair. How it feels to sit with you, to look in your eyes and feel that time has been suspended, that this moment is completely ours.

Sunlight streams in through the window, worming it's way through my eyelids. I'm laying in bed, staring at the white wall in front of me. I don't want to check the clock and it takes me more than a few minutes to remember what day it is. I want to sleep, to dream. To wake up in a different place; a different time. 

I'm told this is a normal reaction. Other people who've been away travelling, most for much longer than I was, say it takes a while to 'adjust' once you're back. As soon as I get up I feel better, shaking off the dreary thoughts of half-conciousness. I'm eating healthier, and despite the fact that I haven't gone for a run since I was in Manitoba, I feel like I've lost some travel weight. Mind you, I use eating healthier as a loose term, as in the past two weeks I've managed to put away deep fried mac n' cheese fingers, a glorious tubby dog, pulled pork poutine and maple bacon KD. All the foods I loved and missed have returned to my belly, and while they are delicious they are not as satisfying as I anticipated. 

In fact, all the things I missed so much are like 'meh. Cool.' It's great to catch up with my friends, but they have all gone on with their lives in my absence (!!!!!) and I have to make an effort to be included in things again. Which is also normal. The short and the short is I'm being a sucky baby. I know what I need to do, what I want to do with my life. It's just the doing it that is proving to be a bit more daunting than I had planned. And why is that? Am I missing an enzyme or vitamin in my diet? Am I just being lazy? Am I afraid to fail? Probably some sort of combination of the three. 

Well it's up to me to pull up my socks. No one else is going to do it for me. Willing time to go backwards is proving to not be an effective use of my energy, and really I don't want to click my heels and magically be transported back to Aus. There is a time and place for everything, and right now my time and place are here. What that entails, exactly, I'm not sure. But as painful as it is it's time for Wendy to leave the nursery. 

Clearly I have been spending too much time alone. 

Some fun news is that I've managed to get away with not shaving my armpits in over a week. They are getting pretty terrifying if I do say so myself. And I can get a tiny pony tail of hair to sit on the top of my head, if I wanted to go for a sort of unicorn-chic thing some time. And there you have it, hair grows, time goes on, bugs bite me, memories fade, new relationships are formed, life happens. I choose to appreciate whatever circumstance I am in, and I'm excited for whatever happens next.

Cuntry Reflections

I run. The gravel crunches beneath my shoes and my breathing is ragged. My legs are burning and my chest feels like it's going to explode, but I push myself on. "This is what you get for being a lazy ass for the past six months," I say in my head. And I run until the fork in the road then I slow down to a walk and think about taking all my clothes off and passing out in the ditch for a while. But that's a good way to literally get eaten alive by mosquitos/be mistaken for a dead body by any passing country folk. So I slowly walk back home. My mind starts wandering...did I make the right choice? What will happen with the Boy? Will I ever stop missing Australia? What if I never get to go back?

"Be present!" I remind myself. I look around me, at the fields I grew up with. The gravel road is wet from last night's rain and all the plants and grass and trees around me are varying shades of vibrant green. The sky is a perfect blue, spotted with huge white clouds that are somehow fluffy and wispy at the same time. The gentle wind cools my face and sweeps across the field in waves, a different type of ocean. All around me I can hear leaves rustling, birds singing, and the chirping of crickets in their endless symphony. I am home.

It's been a great week here on the Munro Farm. I've recovered from my jet lag, cleaned my room for the first time since 2007, and eaten pretty much everything I could find (which was a lot). I've visited with my Grandparents, my Mom, Dad and his girlfriend, a lovely English lady who is as comfortable drinking a fine red wine as she is mowing the lawn on our giant riding lawn mower. I was lucky enough to see some old friends from Winnipeg, but unfortunately missed out on my neighbor Cam, who was selfishly busy working. I even managed to get my hair cut - that's number 9 in the past seven months for anyone who hasn't been counting. I am so happy that I got to spend some time here with my family, where I grew up. It's funny how different everything looks now. I've been away from home for a longer period of time, but I have never been so far away. The distance was palpable. I realized something very important in my travels...that while my family is not perfect, while we are in fact quite broken and uncomfortable at times, we are still family. The house will change color and furnishings and pets will come and go, but it is still my home. And I am so incredibly lucky.

The only part missing was my brother, who is working at a fly-in fishing resort this summer. On the one hand, I get to stay in his place in Calgary until he gets back (woo! no pants party!), on the other hand, it would have been really nice to be home with him at the same time. Well I'm sure I'll get my fill of him once he returns and relegates me to the couch. Yes, just because I've given up travelling does not mean I've given up mooching.   

And so, here I sit, on the eve of my surprise return to Calgary. I'm nervous, I'm excited, I can't wait to eat some poutine. But, above all, I am happy. One of my favorite at-home-on-the-farm activities is to read my old diaries, and I was doing so earlier this week. It was frustrating to read my truly senseless ramblings about past relationships and jobs and internal struggles (which of course seem incredibly stupid to me now). But it was also liberating. I realized that I am well on my way to becoming the person that I desperately wanted to be three years ago, but didn't know how. I can honestly say that I am at peace with myself and those around me. I have redefined what I want in life and I have the motivation to go after it. Who knew that cranking around Aus, getting drunk and dancing like an insane robot was all I needed?

Just kidding. It was so much more than that. I will never forget the feeling of driving down the coastal highway at sunset, with the windows open and Triple J playing as loud as I wanted. Laughing until my sides hurt and we didn't know what we were laughing about anymore. Looking around a room full of new faces, so grateful that they welcomed me so completely. The feel of warm salty water crashing over me. Looking into her eyes while the pink and purple fog rolled over us and I felt like I was falling. Smoking cigarettes with him as we looked at the moon and the trees and shared snippets of our lives. Dancing and getting so hot and sweaty that I took off my shirt, just like the boys did. Because I could, and I didn't care. I look at my pictures and realize I only captured a fraction of my experiences. But I don't mind. It's impossible to explain the feeling of total and complete freedom, of living for the moment. Of being miserable and homesick and lonely and leaving the house anyway, funneling a beer, putting on a mullet wig and arguing about circumcision with friends and strangers in a shed. I miss Australia, and all the beautiful people I got to know. But I know that I don't have to worry about whether or not I will get to return someday.
The universe is always unfolding as it should.

The Truth, Or Something Like It

After a hard farewell to Perth I found myself ready and willing to be thrown into Sydney. High times at Arq (nightclub) until 5 in the morning, which was an absolute delight. And as I sat on the floor in Denton's office, unable to sleep, listening to the sounds of two boys in a bathtub and watching the sun come up over the city I thought "is this really what I want right now?"

A few days later I met my old beau, Paul, at the airport. We had arranged this visit a few weeks prior and I was excited to see him, make amends for past hurts, and do the tourist thing around Sydney. It was extremely nice to spend time with him, and I'm happy to report we did not get run down by a ferry while kayaking in the harbour one day. The time came for him to leave, which was a very sad day indeed. But I knew it was time to get back to the travellers life.

And by that I mean it was time to lay around in bed watching Netflix. Denton was helpful with whatever I needed, including motivating me with slaps to get out of bed, but I wasn't sure exactly what it was that I needed. A job, a place to live, etc. But as I combed through adds on gum tree I didn't have that feeling of excited anticipation...and when I realized that the tax refund I had been counting on wasn't coming through after all, I had a definite feeling of panic and anger. At myself. And a little bit at the government.

What now? I promised myself that I wouldn't ask my parents for money, no matter what! Yet here I was, once again at the mercy of someone else. I talked to my father and he was immediately comforting and supportive. I asked him what I should do - stay here and continue on for another six months, or go home and start sorting my life out. The cost would be about the same. He wisely said that he couldn't make that decision for me, I would have to figure it out on my own.

I thought about it a lot, but I knew what the answer was. A few months ago I had planned on going home about this time, to get myself organized to go to school in the fall of 2014. I changed my mind because I thought that would be giving up on Australia too soon, which is when I decided to go to Sydney. And yet, here I was. I could stay in Aus and find a job and make new friends and have an amazing time...or I could go home and find a job and make new friends and have an amazing time. The difference was I wouldn't have to leave Canada in six months, I could stay there forever. With free healthcare! Also to be perfectly honest, I'm tired of looking at my friends who are about the same age as me and wondering why they have things so figured out, while I still feel like I'm 21 and struggling to make ends meet most of the time.

It may not be the most adventurous choice, but it's the most responsible one. And at 25 and a half years old I think perhaps it's time I started being responsible. I came to Australia to find a home, to find myself, and to run away from things I didn't want to deal with anymore. I certainly did find a home, and I found the confidence in myself that I've been lacking for so long. I feel ready to face those uncomfortable truths; exes I never really dealt with, my family issues, the fact that putting down roots of any kind is terrifying to me. Leaving everything behind, taking a breather and doing whatever I wanted was probably the best thing I could have done. It made me realize how important it is to be yourself no matter where you are, and I expect it will be a challenge to be the person I have embraced here when I'm back in familiar territory. But it's a challenge I'm excited for. And after all, I will have to come back to Australia some day. It is simply too amazing to stay away.

I Got This Feeling

I've been in Sydney for two days and it already feels a little teeny bit like I never left. I've already gotten a haircut ($85!! Really? I thought Perth was supposed to be the most expensive city. But maybe I should stop going to wanky hipster hair salons) and, with Denton's help, consumed an entire wheel of triple cream brie. As I was laying in bed this morning at 7:30 I thought 'I should go for a run.' But instead I rolled over and went back to sleep. Because that is the Canadian traveller way. I will get my exercise this weekend when I stay out dancing until 6AM. 

Leaving Perth was hard. But the upside of crying for three days straight is that by the time you're actually at the airport, your eyes are dry. Ok I did tear up a little right before we took off. Then I fell asleep. My last few weeks of "well it's 11:00PM, but I'll still go out. I can sleep in Sydney" living have caught up with me. That said, I regret nothing!!! Late night conversations are often the best conversations. 

I was so incredibly lucky to have a brilliant send off. I'll give you a brief [long and drawn-out] overview.

Saturday, June 29 - what would have been my sixth wedding anniversary. Went to the park with Andrew and ate a toasted ham and cheese croissant while he practiced flare in the sun, and walked around a lake and smoked and held hands like dirty hipsters. Went to the bottle-o to pick up my alcohol for the evening. For some reason unknown to man I decided on two bottles of sparkling red wine. Dressed up like a boy, which is feeling more and more natural these days. Took Jaxx as my date to my dear friend Alex's high school themed birthday party. Proceeded to consume many vodka jello shots and tried to get someone to cut my hair in the bathroom (it didn't happen, thanks to Alex's watchful eye). The rest is a blur, but I can tell from the many many photos of Jaxx and I making out that it was a good night. 

Sunday, June 30 - my last shift at the pub. Hungover and feeling like death, thankful that work provides free chocolate milk for those clever enough to make it. It was only a four hour shift and by the end I was starting to come around. And by 'come around' I mean I was standing at the till looking out at the empty restaurant and crying. Thankfully Lindsay was close by to give me a comforting, mother-like hug. When 4PM finally rolled around I changed into 'normal' clothes and had a drink with the regulars, then my friends started to arrive. I'll spare you the details that are only significant to me, and say that it was an amazing night full of laughter, dancing, bra-discarding, staring into eyes, beard scratching, dick-drawing, tears and hugging. For once I was the pep-talkee, instead of the pep-talker. I crawled into bed that night a very happy little Canadian. Until I woke up at 2AM and spewed my guts out.

Monday, July 1 - Canada Day! And, as it turns out, I can't party three nights in a row. It is physically impossible without the aid of certain substances, which I was not feeling emotionally capable of handling. But I still managed to drag myself out of bed and put on my ripped Canada t-shirt and beanie and flanno and have pres with the pub crew. It was chilled out and fun to sit around with everyone, but it was tinged with sadness for me and I thought to myself that next time I'm planning on leaving somewhere I'm going to tell everyone a day or a few hours before I go and leave it at that. No more of these week-long farewells. We all went out to The Deen for one last industry night, where I was treated to a shot with an American man I had just met and both of my lovers, which was strange and slightly uncomfortable. Very tearful goodbyes, followed by an uneasy sleep.

Tuesday, July 2 - packing etc. etc. The boring tasks such as going to the bank to sort my change and convert $43 of silver into bills. But my dad was right, every penny counts, and I used my tip money to buy some lamb and prawns for a BBQ that night (soooo Aussie). My house mum toasted me and said she had enjoyed having me stay with them, which was a relief because I use a LOT of olive oil. Patti took all the credit for the amazing person I am today (due to her life coaching sessions over the past two months). The girls reminisced about all of our times together and Alex kissed me on the head and said "thanks for coming". It was warm and comforting and I felt very loved. 

When I first came to Australia I was looking for a place that felt like home. I stepped off the plane in Sydney and did not immediately feel a kinship with the land I stood on. I felt like I was in an airport and I needed a shower. But so far in my very brief travels I've learned that many places can feel like home. You can fall in love with anyone. You can have incredible adventures anywhere. It just takes an open heart, and a willingness to spend time with people. 

In closing...when I booked my one-way ticket to Australia in October of 2012 I took a short (stupid) video to commemorate the occasion. A few weeks ago, when drunk at The Deen, I took another short (shaky) video, to remind myself how far I have come. I share these with you now because I've been showing them to people when I'm frittered anyway, and I feel that this will make a bit more sense. 'I Love It' by Icona Pop has been a bit of a personal theme song for me, and it still makes me smile and jump around like a crazy person. It may be trite to say that the past six months have changed my life, but it would also be true.

    

Rip Tide

Been doing a lot of reflecting lately (lately?!? you say with bewilderment).
I have been amazingly privileged to get some feedback for my blog from people in my life, and instead of humbly accepting this encouragement and using my creative energies for good, I let my ego inflate and wreak havoc. Maybe it's the awkward teenager in me who gets all giddy and crazy at the thought of being accepted. Maybe it's just my natural tendency for arrogance. Either way, I was feeling pretty up myself this past weekend. I had it all; a romance (or two), an appreciated blog, a nicely developing reputation at work, well wishes from people I have gotten close to as I prepare for the next leg of my adventure.
Cue Frittany.

What's more classy than downing a bottle of red wine while chain smoking cigarettes and obnoxiously 'gangster' dancing? Ooh pepper in some public makeouts and yelling obscenities at people. It wasn't all bad...had a very electric moment with someone very special...laughed a lot...gave a few positive pep talks. But overall, I was pretty fucking annoying. I can always tell when I've had a great night versus when I've had a Frittany episode. The details are often fuzzy, and the hangovers feel the same, but there's a general sense of shame and regret after Frittany comes out. Like if I had to put up with me that night, I would be pretty close to punching me in the face.

So I've been apologizing to the necessary parties, and listening to a lot of Lana Del Rey. And it reminds me how far I have come. I clearly remember a time when I always felt ashamed and out of control, and to make myself feel better I told myself that I was ok and had nothing to be ashamed of. But that is a blatant lie, and karma always catches up with you. So one's actions should always be considered, even if one is travelling and this isn't "real life". It is real life, and if I leave tomorrow and choose to forget everything that's happened in Perth, the people I have met and influenced will remember, and it will still be real to them. And thus I've had [another] reality check and have calmed my ego down. I used to think that once you fuck up, then learn your lesson and mature somewhat things are rosy. But no, I am realizing that you just keep fucking up, and then you learn a new lesson, and so on. And yet, there's no use beating a dead wallaby. Shame is something you recognize and forgive yourself for and let go of. Guilt is something that hangs around being negative, like a cranky 90 year old at the local pub, and I have no time for that.

Which brings me to my next point - Time. Two months ago I was all set to say 'catchya Straya' and be on my merry way. But then I realized I was just being lazy, and I would look back on that moment years later and think "you idiot" so I decided to stay. As I've said before, I can feel my Perth days are numbered. And like any great experience, I don't appreciate it fully until it's almost over. I can't believe I've been here for almost six months. I haven't been up to Broome, I haven't been on a wine tour in Margaret River, I haven't been to Rottnest Island. But I have met the most brilliant people. I have shared moments of fear, honesty, joy, freedom, pleasure and so much more. I've learned to go around barefoot and not care. I've been out at a gay bar and felt completely comfortable. I've gone for a drunken midnight dip in the ocean. I've been out walking and just stared and marvelled at the trees here. I have known people, and I have gotten to know myself.

I am sad to leave. I am excited for what is to come.

     

In The No

I've rediscovered the joys of saying 'no'. I think it's a service industry thing, because I have vague recollections of this feeling from when I worked in a nightclub, back in the day (am I old enough to say that yet? Meh, just go with it.) Years and years of dull office drudgery and polite submission have worn me down, programmed me to say 'yes'. Yes I can do that, yes I can figure it out, yes I will keep track of how much water you drink on a daily basis [while I fantasize about poisoning your coffee]. But since I've been working at the pub, I've woken up from my haze of yes and have started saying no. Granted, it is a customer service job, and I do honestly want people to have a positive experience. But when it's the busiest night of the year and some fool is asking you for six cocktails that I don't know how to make, and we're not actually supposed to make them anyway, it's incredibly liberating to just say 'Nope!' and serve someone else. I'm still a little rusty, and unfortunately will respond to people whistling or waving money around. However, since it's abundantly clear that tipping is not part of the Australian culture, I'm learning to ignore them and just go with my instincts. Like the quiet man at the end of the bar who's been waiting patiently for ten minutes. Overall what I'm (re)learning is that industry jobs are about smiling and acting polite and apologetic when things don't go the patron's way, but ultimately not actually caring at all.

I am slightly concerned that I will never care about anything again. But I'm going to go out on a limb and say that's just the over-dramatic teenager inside me, who will literally worry about anything. If I'm being honest I have to say that I feel more comfortable with myself than I have in, well, possibly ever. I sent a [completely unflattering and also hilarious] photo of myself to a friend in Canada and he asked me "who is this person you are becoming?" The response I gave him was the truth; someone who doesn't apologize.

I've spent so much of my life apologizing for things that aren't necessarily my fault. Some things, yes, I was an idiot and it was completely my bad (ex. spending money foolishly, being snobby in high school, getting married). Other things, such as being tall and thin, not so much. So I'm working on realizing the things I should say sorry for, and things I should not. Dressing like a dyke and getting drunk and making obscene gestures in photos, well, that's what I feel like doing right now and if that isn't your cup of tea I'm not sorry.

On the other hand, I don't want to lose my sensitive side, which may be a legitimate fear. I'm terrified of getting close to someone emotionally, since I've gotten used to flying solo. But these walls make it harder to empathize with people. How do I stand up for myself without turning into an asshole? How do I keep my heart soft without becoming a door mat? These are the questions that circle my mind, which I have to say are much more valid and interesting questions than "why isn't he calling me back?" So even though I'm a work in progress, I think I've still been making progress.

A girl I work with told me that she has recently become a rather avid reader of my nonsense, which surprised me. Partly because she and I don't know each other very well, and partly because I'm always surprised when actual people look at me and say "I read your blog". Sure I have a page counter, so I have a vague idea (though I don't trust the internet), but it's still a small shock to know people are actually taking time out of their day to invite my thoughts into their heads. It's interesting because I'm not really that interesting. Let's be real, I'm not the most clever or wise person with a blog, not by a long shot. But I think the people who read this are people who are somewhat like me. People who are confused about life in general and wonder why it seems to be so easy for other people...people who graduate, go to school, get a job, get a partner, buy a house, and so on. I've always been interested in people who seem to go the alternative route, because I suppose I'm one of those alternative people. And it's time I stopped trying to pretend that I'm not.

So no, I don't care about corporate culture. No, I don't mind eating leftover wedges from a stranger's plate. No, I'm not a lesbian but I'm attracted to people, not genders. No, I don't think 25 is too old to still be figuring my life out. I hope I never figure it all out, as I think that would be incredibly boring.

It's ALIVE!!!!

I'm alive!! I promise I've been here all along, and no my fingers weren't caught up in an unfortunate smelting accident. I've just been a severely Slack Alice in the blogging department. Due to chemical influences, homesickness, general moodiness and the indecisiveness that is moi, instead of blogging and sharing and being creative, I've been lazing around watching two whole seasons of Gossip Girl and binge drinking. Well, to be fair, I've been binge drinking this whole time. Oh, and cutting my hair of course! It's the shortest it's ever been, including that sad, confusing time of the "Halle Berry" cut in year 7. As my house brother pointed out the other night, I could easily pass for a boy sans makeup and jewellery. Surprising to no one, I like that.

And so here I sit, in my track pants and beanie, at 12:15pm, on a Friday. Do I have a job? Yes, I do. And no, it's not a sex phone operator, though I think I could probably be pretty good at that. I have given up the temping life for full time in the hospitality industry. My co-workers are fantastic, the hours are flexible and it's more interesting than sitting at a desk, willing time to move faster. I've learned a number of new skills, such as how to break down a bar at the end of the night, how to sneakily eat chocolate in the glassy room (that's the room where we keep all the glasses, for those of you not in the know), and how to carry three plates at one time. That last one is a work in progress, but I'm getting there. To sum it up, I'm thrilled with my current employment status. I only wish I'd gone this route earlier in my travels, then I would be writing this from the beach instead of huddled up by a heater for warmth.

What else is new you ask? Well my days in Perth are numbered, I can feel it in my bones. After a rather dramatic conversation with my experienced traveller friend Bobby, I was inspired to make my way to Sydney at some point, and to live and work there until I felt like doing something else; probably returning to my homeland. My previous excuse for not living in Sydney was that it would be 'too hard' to start over, make new friends, learn a new city, etc. Then I realized I was being a massive pussy. If I've learned anything from coming over here it's that as long as you put in some effort, things will always work out. I'm not missing out on amazing Sydney adventures because I'm scared or lazy! Who knows what lies just around the corner?

Apparently I've finally learned to take my own advice, with the Fake It Till You Make It mantra in mind. I feel stronger and more sure of myself than I have in years. I've finally learned to embrace and truly enjoy being single. I am now, however, paranoid of being tricked into a relationship, therefore any and all conversations I happen to have with men when I'm intoxicated and think they are trying to pick me up start with "I don't want a boyfriend!!" which somehow ends up with them talking about their exes, and suddenly I'm nodding sympathetically while wondering in the back of my head how my exes would describe their experiences with me...then I remember I'm drunk, in Australia, talking to a good looking guy, and I decide I don't care. You can fill in the blanks from there, I'm sure.

Anyway it's about time for me to clean the disgusting mess that is my shared bathroom. Patty and Mitch, if you are reading this, you're both gross. Also please don't use my facecloth. I say this with love. And readers, if there are any of you still following my ramblings, I pinky swear that I shall never go this long without posting again! (Cross my heart)

Fake It Till You Make It

I realize I haven't posted anything in a while, and I just want you to know, it's not me. It's you.
Just kidding, obviously it's me. I've been homesick/PMSing for what seems like a month but has actually only been about a week and a half. So instead of disjointed, sangry (sad + angry) ramblings I've just held off. You're welcome. (I do care about you. Honestly.)

Aside from making some Important Decisions About My Future I haven't really been up to much. I somewhat foolishly quit a temp job in the beginning-middle of the assignment, leaving me to lay on the couch and contemplate my life and nail polish for a bit longer than I would have liked. I probably was too hasty in abandoning the assignment after only two days, but I did get a weird sense of satisfaction in knowing that I stood up for myself in a situation I was miserable in. Being an administrator, especially a temporary one, is usually a pretty crap gig. You take a certain amount of abuse or being ignored or people not saying 'thank you' when you say 'bless you' as part of the job. And when a manager who probably doesn't know your name walks by and asks how it's going, you lie and smile and say great! Because you're only a temp. And no one actually cares. But every once in a while there is an assignment that actually makes you think about how feasible it would be to use the extremely dull letter opener to slit your wrists and you have to just say Enough is Enough! I may have done permanent damage to my temporary employer relationship, but it felt damn good!

Standing up for myself has sometimes been a struggle for me, in ways that are probably surprising to some people who know me. I don't really care about acceptance or popularity with my peers. I'm weird and I'm honest and if you can't deal with that I'm not too bothered. I've found that as I get older I attract friends with personalities similar to mine, so there usually isn't much drama in that area. But with jobs, as with men, it's usually a different story. A few weekends ago I was out with the old [new] gang and a friend said to me "you're good at being single! Teach me how to be single!" I replied with "I'm sorry what? How drunk are you right now?" I guess coming to another country to have solo adventures says something about a person...and I've never really pictured myself as that person.

It's taken me quite a long time to de-prioritize men from my life, and let's be real, it's still a work in progress. The general lack of attention (unless I'm full of gin and covered in paint) that Aussie boys have provided me with has made me realize yet again how much I care about how much I am wanted. It's the reason I went back to unsatisfying relationships or pursued people I knew weren't right for me. For someone who has enough confidence to pull off purple velvet pants, I sure have trouble with my heart. I don't want to turn into an ice-queen-man-eater (again) but I just can't devote the amount of headspace to romantic pursuits that I have previously.

Balancing strength and vulnerability has been my main goal in coming here, and my startling (ie. blatantly obvious) revelations in the romance department can really be applied to a few other areas as well. With work, I am learning to stand up for my interests instead of always going the polite doormat route. With family, I am realizing just how much I love and miss them, even though I've been living away from home for over 7 years. I have to admit that growing up, I pitied my peers who had strained home lives, and often congratulated myself on having such a great family. When I got older and my perfect family fell apart, I guess I decided that I didn't really need them that much. I could be independent and that was that. I've chalked it up to distance for a long time, but I am seeing now that I've purposely put a wedge between me and my family. I haven't wanted to admit how much I need them, or how much I miss them.

Something I've been working on lately is really accepting myself as I am. It's very difficult at times because I don't even know certain things about myself. But by giving myself a break - having self compassion is how I saw it phrased the other day - it's happening. While I may seem like a strong, single, confident woman...anyone who reads this blog knows the truth. I'm fairly lost, I'm a bit insecure, I'm a little lonely. But I'm ok. And if I do somehow fool anyone into thinking I'm otherwise, well I think that's a good sign that some day I actually will be.  

My Mr. Brightside

It happened like this…I was wearing a black and white animal print top with a teal belt accent, short black shorts and a terrible orange-pink-ish shade of lipstick (I’m sure I thought it looked good at the time). I walked in to a cocktail bar with over 100 martinis scrawled onto metal menus, excited to be meeting new people in a strange city. Looking back it’s a bit odd that my friend chose to take me to a cocktail bar to mingle with her work friends and her church friends. Possibly it was to make the work friends feel comfortable around the church friends. Or maybe it was a nod to me, since I no longer belonged in either category. I was chatting and laughing obnoxiously in the way that 20 year olds do, no doubt flicking my long black hair around like an insane beauty queen. And then he walked in. He sat across from me and a few seats down, but through the powers of body language, ie. obviously staring, I enticed him over to sit beside me. He was well spoken and charming and quickly wooed my attention away from the rest of the group and it wasn't long until I was leaving my severely unimpressed friend to go off with him and a few others to a questionable nightclub (the same nightclub where I would fall down a flight of stairs a few years later; I still have the scar on my knee).We danced and he drank, because I was new to the bar scene and knew I couldn't hold my liquor. Bodies pressed together, breathing each other’s breath, his cheek brushing up against mine. I was utterly intoxicated. I spent the night in his bed, although we didn't consummate our attraction. As I sat in the taxi on the way back to my friend’s house the next morning, wearing one of his faded polos, I felt strange. I had never had a one-night-stand before, even though most of the night was spent kissing and whispering about nonsense. I was giddy, but ultimately sad that I would most likely never see him again. My friend, on the other hand, was livid with me; this boy had a reputation at work for being somewhat less than honorable and she was disgusted that I too had fallen into the trap. But what could I do? I was recently separated from my 6-month-old marriage and I wanted to experience the life of a normal young adult (whatever that is).

It’s hard to pin down the exact details. A random Facebook message became a frequent occurrence, which led to emails, which led to phone calls, which eventually took me back to visit that western city I did not particularly care for. I remember packing for the trip and wondering if I should bring Q-tips, nervous that a single 20-something boy wouldn't stock his own (I did, and he did). I don’t remember meeting him at the airport, but I do recall the underwear I wore out on our first ‘real’ date that night. After our long weekend together I went back to my city with an Official Boyfriend, though I didn't really have any idea what to do with him.

After adjusting our phone plans to accommodate long distance rates we talked as often as we could. In the semi-darkness of my first apartment that I had on my own, I would close my eyes and focus on the smooth sound of his voice while I tried to reconstruct the feeling of laying in his arms. We fell in love with each other through words. Being away from someone physically forces you to connect with them on another level, and I got to know him in a way I hadn't known anyone else ever before. He listened to my insecurities and my guilt and somehow made me feel accepted again. Although our upbringings couldn't have been more different, we understood each other. Then came the true test of our relationship, his holiday visit – we could talk on the phone for hours but what would it be like spending a week together? Or meeting my family? That Christmas was full of defining moments for us, most pleasant and some not. I was already back at work the afternoon he left, which I thought would make his leaving easier. But as soon as my door clicked shut that evening the tears poured down my face. It feels like I cried for hours, my apartment suddenly feeling like a black hole. His smell still lingered in my sheets and I clutched my pillow as we talked on the phone and told each other “I miss you already”.

Obviously something had to change. It was only a few months later that we decided I should relocate, and live with him. A risky move, but we were young and foolish and hopeless with each other. My worried father dutifully drove me, my clothes and my purple couch across the prairies to my new home. How utterly frightening it must have been for my dad to watch me spring out of the truck before it had even stopped moving and run into this young man's arms. But overall he was probably grateful I was just moving in with someone this time, and not getting rings involved. As we unloaded boxes he read out a few of my packing labels “Shoes…pillows…full length dresses?”, I shrugged and smiled while my dad laughed and said “you've never lived with a girl before, have you?”

Our co-habitation was an interesting experience. At times wonderful, at times awful, mostly it was enjoyable and natural. I got along with his family but not so much his friends. He was there for me when my parents separated that October, he supported me while I was settling in to a new job and we moved to a new apartment. He loved to cook and would spend hours in the kitchen creating while I happily sat on the counter, drinking wine and chatting; some of my happiest memories. But people change more between the ages of 20 to 25 than at any other time in their lives, and we began to realize we were no longer on the same page, that possibly we wanted different things and were becoming different people...we ignored it as long as possible. I loved going out, getting fucked up, dancing and acting a fool. He was unsatisfied with post-grad life and wasn't sure what to do with himself, but knew it wasn't going out every night. It's hard to say what exactly happened, but the biggest factor was probably the breakdown in our communication; it’s much harder to be honest with someone face to face than it is over a few thousand miles. I noticed when I crawled in to bed in the early hours of the morning after my shift at the bar that he no longer reached out to me in his sleep. Eventually I made a list of pros and cons and weighed my options, but finally decided to go. I stayed away for a week to see how it would feel, and to postpone the inevitable ‘talk’ as long as possible. But the day came and I waited for him to get home from work. Standing on the balcony in the weak spring sunlight, listening to The Killers on my iPod and wondering if I was making the biggest mistake of my life, wondering how something that once felt so right could turn into this. After hours of talking, crying, arguing and bittersweet embraces, I closed the door behind me and walked away. I could feel his heartbreaking, and mine ached in return.

The next few months were rough. It’s generally assumed that the person who ends a relationship simply bounces back to everyday life. But the only life I knew there had been with him. To say I was unstable would be a gross understatement. I had my own apartment again and didn't hesitate to do whatever I felt like doing. Which was usually getting as drunk as possible without being fired from the bar and then taking home an unsuspecting male to use. Eventually I convinced myself I was over him, and started to date again and laid off the substance abuse.

I would still talk to him from time to time. There were a few brief periods in which I found myself single and we would try and see if ‘we’ could work again. But something was always off. There was too much baggage, too much pain, too many insecurities. Months went by since our breakup, then years and occasionally I would run into him, usually on purpose but sometimes by accident in the supermarket. A friendly chat would turn into dinner, accompanied by too many glasses of wine and I would look into his eyes and smell his smell that was ingrained in my senses and wonder what was wrong with me. Why couldn't I just be happy with him, and he with me? I begrudgingly began to accept that we were to be friends who care deeply for one another and perhaps nothing more.

It was the middle of summer, I had arranged a get-together because I had something rather important to tell him, and I was nervous. The air was warm though the sun had gone down and we were on our way to a pub as fireworks went off in the distance and colored the sky. I may have had a drink or two before we met up because I had that feeling like this might not be real life and I grabbed his hand in the middle of the street, stopped walking and declared “I’m moving to Australia!” then promptly burst into tears. He pulled me into his familiar arms and said nothing, just held me and waited for me to get myself together. After some eye dabbing and embarrassed laughter we went in to the pub and caught upon each other’s lives. Of course he would miss running in to me, but he wished me all the best and we agreed to see each other again sometime before I left on my adventure. 

Six months later my dad drove away from that city in his truck with me, my clothes and my memories. A random night in a cocktail bar with a handsome, charming man resulted in what I can certainly consider to be  the most defining time of my life. The road ahead is unknown and I bring a measure of caution that I didn't have all those years ago. I doubt I will ever love someone the way I loved him, because I am a different person now. But I try my hardest to be open with the people I meet, to enjoy every experience as much as possible, because you never know where it may lead. Dare I admit that every so often, in the twilight of my day, suspended in the darkness somewhere between awake and dreaming, I wonder if it will lead me back to him.

Cutter

I leave work with a  bounce in my step, knowing that today is the day! I have time, I have money, I have a picture. All I need now is to find the right salon. I walked by it the other day when I was meandering around on my way to work, and I’m confident I will find it again. It was edgy, it was modern, it wasn’t a chain – it was perfect. I wander around for a few minutes, then ten, then fifteen, and I start to get anxious. I duck into a random salon and ask if they have any room for walk-ins today? The pretty receptionist says unfortunately no, and then dutifully tries to schedule me in for tomorrow. But I have no time tomorrow. And I want it now.

After three more salons and three more repeats of this situation, I’m losing hope. Google maps has failed me, my palms are sweaty and I’m trying not to show the irritation on my face. I slowly resign myself to the fact that I simply will not be getting my hair cut today, and I will have to live with myself until Saturday. I get on the train to go home and imagine all the different hairstyles I could have throughout my life…I wonder how long it will take me to grow my hair out again? I wonder if I could ever put up with extensions? And how is it that celebrities seem to grow their hair so quickly? These are the great questions of my life in those 20 minutes of transit.

I’ve realized lately that I’ve always been obsessed with my hair. When I was younger I refused to go to the hair stylist for ‘just a trim’. I always wanted to shock people so I had mushroom cuts, perms, pixie cuts, highlights, lowlights, even a VERY unfortunate Meg-Ryan-in-the-90’s-flip thing for a while, until finally I decided I had to grow it out. For my wedding. Anyhoo, after that it was long and luscious and I would refrain from cutting it for as long as possible. And then I would only allow one certain stylist to touch it. And then when I moved to Calgary, I would only go to expensive salons. I once paid over $200 for a cut and color (the color was dark brown, it was not complicated) and it wasn’t even that good. I was just a hair snob. Finally, enough was enough. The long tresses needed to go. It would be a symbolic cut, me literally shedding the past few years of my life to make room for new things. I was tired of being the girl who hair-whipped everyone in the face, who casually flicked my fringe in a way that said “I know you’re looking at me. I would look at me too.” Enough with the vanity – I needed a change.

After the first cut, lopping off about 4 inches (which I seriously considered keeping so I could later mail them to my friends to freak them out on Valentine’s day), I felt so much lighter! And I hadn’t had a breakdown. So another appointment was made, and I then had an a-symmetrical bob. I quickly tired of that…plus something happened I hadn’t really bargained on. I began to experience hair envy. I would see a girl casually walking down the street, her long luscious locks flowing in the breeze. I would have visions of myself sneaking up behind her and quickly chopping them off with some scissors I so cleverly had in my purse so I could find a wig-maker on the internet and be pretty again. The only way to combat this level of crazy was to, of course, cut it again. I wanted it shorter, with a shaved section this time, something a bit more funky. I was recommended a great salon in Sydney and was as happy as a clam. Weeks passed. Eventually it got too long, so I had it cut. But something was off, the shape, the texture (even though the stylist did exactly what I said). I had to get it cut again…and again…and again! Until my housemate banned me from getting any further haircuts, lest I go raving mad one day and shave it all off.

But there I was last night. Driving home from the train station, making a last minute decision to go to the local mall and buy some tights and dinner fixins. I knew there were a few salons in the mall, but I vowed to stay away. I would be fine until Saturday. All of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, shiny bottles of product in their neat, colourful lines caught my eye. The glint of light reflecting off steel chair arms and the smell of shampoo and blow-dryers pulled me in and within minutes I was sitting in a chair, talking to a woman who the years had not been kind to about what I wanted her to do to my head. I was taken to the back, where I relaxed as a mysterious pair of hands massaged my scalp. The thought crossed my mind that maybe I just like people touching my hair, and should possibly look into buying one of those wire head-scratchers to avoid salon fees. My stress from the week melted away and I sat happily watching my newest stylist snip away around my ears. After she was done I walked away it was all I could do not to run to my car so I could get home and stare at myself in the mirror, styling and adjusting and possibly instagram-ing. I know I have a problem and it won’t be long until it starts affecting my loved ones (ie. people are going to stop hitting on me because I will have no hair and no one wants to hit on the weird hair-less girl). But I like to think of it as a physical expression of me learning not to be such a control freak. For now all I can say is that I hope that my hair grows really really really fast (like a celebrity), because I just found a picture of this really cool hairstyle I’d like to try…

[Authors’ Note: I do not carry scissors in my purse]

Pros & Hoes

I wake up from a cloudy dream, the kind you have when you say to yourself ‘just five more minutes’ and you sleep for another hour, to my phone vibrating. It’s DreDre, according to caller ID, and I hear my morningtimey old man voice gargle a sexy “hello?” Two high pitched voices (Andre and Lucy) that are entirely too chipper for it being 8:30AM on a Sunday morning sing that they are outside. I say ok and hang up, laying there for another second or two until I hear them giggling and yelling through the open window. Drag myself out of bed, throw on clothes, proceed out the door. It’s road trip day!

By road trip I don’t mean the 12-ish hour trek I did with the boys up to Gold Coast in January, during which I had plenty of time to curse myself for not bringing a book or an iPod or anything to drown out the sporadic and often disturbing talk of males who think you are sleeping. Today we were just making the 3-ish hour trip out to Busselton, for the Easter Sunday Caves party. Which is not, as the name would have you believe, in a cave at all, but a regular countryside pub/tavern/lounge/hotel. And as I started to wonder what we would talk about during the drive, a playlist was selected that was made up exclusively of romantic ballads of the 80’s and 90’s, and 50 Cent. We sang (poorly), car-danced (also poorly) and almost missed a turn or two, but the time passed quickly and I was reminded again that the Hoegarden girls are the only other people I know who share my intense love and appreciation for Enrique Iglesias. We arrived at the Progarden with plenty of time to primp and pre-drink, and to practice each other’s accents.

I haven’t really had a consistent group of friends throughout my life. In high school I hung out with the same people most of the time, but it wasn't so much because we all got along or shared common interests, as because our school had about 100 people and no one else would hang out with us. Or, quite possibly, that we wouldn't hang out with them. I was excited to graduate and get out into the world so I could find people I truly clicked with. However, that plan kind of back fired because I went right into a tight-knit church community, which is kind of just like high school anyway. I remember having ‘girls nights’ but we usually just ended up talking about weddings or babies or buying houses or something, which is cool when you're 30, but weird when you're 18. When I left the church I tried to maintain a few of those friendships, but the common denominator was gone and it generally just didn't work. So I drifted around, picking up friends here and there along the way. Don’t get me wrong, I dearly love my scattered friends and I know that no matter where in the world we are, we could meet up tomorrow and all would be natural and fun. But I had the sense I was missing out on something.

Enter the Aussies; the crew of 21JS. I had magically stumbled upon an actual friend group! We went out together, we cooked together, we were hungover together. I was given a key to the apartment, and I personally took that as the green light to never wear pants. There was drama and love and tears and memories, and when we eventually disbanded I was very very sorry for myself. Later when I decided to venture over to Australia, I knew that it wouldn't be the same as it was with us in Canada, but I couldn't wait to see everyone and I hoped to meet new people who were just as friendly and accepting. And meet them I did. The first night I was in Sydney, trying not to fall asleep mid-conversation because of jet-lag, I met Joanna and Claire, who immediately appeared to be crazy and hilarious (crazarious?). After my solo East coast meandering I arrived at the Progarden for Australia Day and was abandoned by the boys (fishing and surfing, surfing and fishing as usual) so I went about sitting quietly in the garden like a nanna, hoping someone would talk to me. To my delight, it wasn't long until Teash came up and offered me a funnel of punch. I’d never funneled anything before but I wasn't about to turn down a group initiation ritual, so I gave it a shot. And after that much of the day is a blur but I know I had a lot of fun.

Ever since then the HG and the PG girls have been introducing me to the other insane people in Perth. They have never hesitated to invite me along to house parties or festivals, and they have never judged Frittany’s ridiculous behavior  Like when I tackle Pickles to the ground on the beach or talk nonsense in my sleep and wake up Brucey. Of course there is drama, and of course it can’t last forever. But I feel not so homesick when I show up for pre-drinks and am greeted with (what seems to be) genuine excitement and affection. I love that I have carved a little Canadian niche for myself here in this social group, and I hope they know just how much I appreciate them. Possibly this blog post will explain it better than me drunkenly slurring it when I have a mustache painted on my face at 11PM.   

Wax On, Wax Off

I've been waiting for something interesting to happen to give me something new to blog about. And just when I thought I’d have to resort to regaling you, dear reader(s), with stories of oil well production figures (I hate myself for this) BAM! Something relatively interesting happened. A few entries ago I wrote about my Friend, the miner. It’s now been decided that he’s been downgraded to friend. I had been half-expecting it, as lately we had entered that very grey zone of Friendship where you’re not entirely sure what is going on anymore. Do I like him? Do I Like him? Does that mean I can’t like anyone else? Would I be mad if he was with someone else? Would he be mad if I was with someone else? And on and on and on. So friends it is, and I've surprised even myself with how rational and calm I've been about it all. I might actually be turning into a man. Which would be both disturbing and amazing.

You see, this is how the record usually plays: I meet a boy, quite by accident. We start chatting and go on a date. We sleep together and then the magical spell of my lady parts is cast, and we basically start dating. Two weeks to twelve months later we start fighting like a pair of crazy alley cats and it all starts to fall apart. This has happened 5 times since I was 17. Cumulatively I have been single for about 1.5 years since graduating high school. What is that about??? Until I recently did the math I could actually say with a straight face that I was not a relationship person. But I now know that would be akin to Taylor Swift saying that she is not a relationship person. On the bright side, I don’t write whiny irritating songs about my exes. Yet…

My last so-called relationship spanned almost a year and a half, with countless nights of tears, dozens of emotional emails and three or four breakups. My friends have long-since learned to tune out my declarations of “it’s over! For realz this time”. Letting go has never been my forte. I think it goes back to my previously-admitted weakness of needing to be needed. Even if I was in a terrible relationship, I would be afraid to cut and run because hey, what if No One Ever For The Rest Of My Entire Life Wants Me Again? I have vague recollections of making lists of potential interests in case a current relationship ended. Not to sound conceited, but this kind of thinking is totally insane. At the peak of this behavior I was only 22! Who is a 22 year old spinster? In this electronic age I have access to billions of people, surely I could have let go on the faith that worst case scenario I could get really good at online gaming and meet that special someone? But that’s not how I saw it. Somewhere in my mind I believed I was lucky to be getting any attention from ‘him’, even if it didn't make me feel good about myself. And, perhaps unsurprisingly, a lot of girls feel this way.

Going on the central thesis of “He’s Just Not That Into You”, if a boy pushes you away, it’s because he doesn't want to be with you. So maybe he has trust issues and is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and keeps a gun under his bed and doesn't answer your calls and drives by your house at night to spy on you. Maybe in some twisted corner of his mind, he does want to be with you. But that absolutely does not mean that he deserves to be with you. And I have learned from unfortunate first-hand experience that you cannot change this boy.

I’m not 100% sure what my issue with having an intense desire to be in a relationship was about for all those years, but I finally know that I’m getting over it. Dare I say, that I am over it. What I can comfortably call my first down-under-fling was a very positive experience, with only a tiny amount of drama that was - if you can believe this - not caused by me. It truly is an Easter Miracle. And I head off into the weekend with a generally clear head and a light heart...who knows what will happen next? 

Further Insights and Revelations

I cut my hair. Again. I’m going to have to be on My Strange Addiction soon. Of course by that point I would probably have just shaved my head and would have no hair left and then it would be a very boring show. Well I decided to switch it up this time and color it as well. I did it myself, with one of those new-fangled foam dyes. The frugal joys of travelling are forcing me to find new ways to do old things, like red hair foam in my bathroom instead of salon treatment. But I don’t mind, because it’s fun to put on those plastic gloves that come with the box dyes. Which always reminds me of a day back in 21 Jump Street when Kelsie spent a heap on money on getting her hair done with highlights and lowlights etc., and then decided three days later she hated it. She asked me to dye it a rich chocolate brown using a box dye she picked up, and I said of course! I used to dye my roomates’ hair all the time! (I wonder if the landlords ever got that stain off the floor…) So I went over to 21JS after work one day and patiently waited for her to be ready. Anyone who knows Kelsie will know that she does everything in her own time, so to keep occupied Jo and I hung out with the always lovely Mary Jane. Kelsie was skeptical about my hair-styling abilities after that, but I assured her it was completely fine and went about getting everything ready. I mixed the colors and then put on the gloves, but apparently the manufacturer was using children's sizing because my hands were too big and they ripped the gloves (ok, also I have big hands) leaving them useless. Naturally, we decided it would be best to tape plastic grocery bags over my hands, which would give me more freedom and dexterity anyway. The end result was, of course, pretty terrible. And because of the patchy nature of her hair for the next few weeks, I called her Calico Kitty. I later found out that in Australia calico is a kind of burlap sack and she had had no idea why I was calling her a burlap cat all this time. (I explained that calico is a type of patchy, multicolored coat that stray cats tend to have). The moral of the story is, do your hair when you’re sober. And always have extra gloves. And my hair looks really good. I have the word of a random man on the dance floor to back me up on that. They never lie.

So anyway I have reached the elusive three months in my time away in a distant land. I’m slightly disappointed to report no major changes. I did not become a new person in a new country. Though people keep telling me I look like Ashley Greene so maybe I could become a celebrity impersonator, which is kind of like a new person. Except the only thing she’s famous for is Twilight and I don’t even want to pretend to have any involvement with that. What I have noticed in my time here, Perth especially, are the differences in other people. Specifically males. Specifically in relationships. Because I’m obsessed with interpersonal connections and if you haven’t picked up on that by now you probably can’t read.

I am constantly observing the male interactions that are happening around and with me. Sometimes I feel like Jane Goodall in amongst the gorillas. But Jane probably didn't get really drunk with the gorillas and end up kissing some of them (I really hope not anyway). Anyway, male bonding is a big thing here. Which is great, because I think it’s important for boys to be with other boys to discuss boy things, just like girls should have girly time. BUT it’s different here. Male friendships, some call them bromances, supersede pretty much every other bond. Maybe it’s because the last boy I was with was in a deep and dedicated bromance, that I am more sensitive to these things. But it seems to me, an outsider of course, that boys generally get away with a lot more nonsense. Take the [admittedly very attractive] man I met last week at a music festival. We hit it off immediately by talking American politics (which I’m 100% sure was utter nonsense on my part), and I was doing my best to smyze at him (which probably looked crazy because I was off my head). All was going well. Until he started draping his arm around my neck (impeding my dancing – big no no) and telling me that he didn't want me talking to any other boys if he was going to hang out with me that day. I am not exactly sure of what I said, but I’m fairly confident that it was something along the lines of waving my arms in the air and yelling “I belong to no one!” Another example would be me, mopping the floor behind the bar at work the other day. In the space of 5 minutes two male staff made wifey comments to me, which I found more silly than irritating, but still.

When I meet someone I think could be nice, I like to chat and get to know them. I do not like to be put into a box or a stereotype because I’m a girl. Gender roles are quite clearly defined over here (perhaps the biggest example of this is that gay marriage is still illegal), which grinds my feminist gears. I’m finding it difficult to connect on a personal level with guys here. Conversely, never before in my life have I had so many female friends. Maybe it’s a Perth thing. Maybe it’s a me thing. Maybe I need to just have fun girly times and not fret about the strange gorillas. Not that I have ever really worried about it since I was 21, but it is nice to go out to a bar and really not be bothered about catching anyone’s eye. I guess it also helps that after I've been dancing for an hour or so I sweat off all my makeup and look strikingly similar to my brother.

Half-baked social observations aside, I’m continuing to have a great time. Even though there are no startling personal revelations I’m getting a huge amount of satisfaction from coming to a foreign country and taking care of myself. I work temp office jobs during the day when they come up (currently on a three week contract, which makes my bank account happy) and enjoy random shifts at the pub some evenings. I’m always meeting new people and I’m less shy than I used to be. I’m not bothered by a lot of things that used to stress me out (possibly because I’m single for the first time in about 10 years. But that could be purely coincidental). Last night I went out to a pub with some friends and only had one drink, as I was driving and I need all my wits about me with the strange noises Holly Holden has been making lately. So I wasn't drunk but I was laughing and I was chatting and I was bouncing from person to person and dancing and I realized that my face hurt from smiling, which is a very good feeling indeed.