Please find attached 2 relatively related rants:
Rant the First
Hubby and I are chronic renters. We prefer small cozy city living. Snuggled up in tight quarters. Small spaces but with great windows that on a clear night can see all the way to Bloor St. But to make way for progress our panoramic view is quickly depleting. It is a sad day for open space loving small townies like us. I liked the view from here. It's a great location... Location, location. Real Estate has never been my forte. It sounds really interesting at first until I realize the stories I hear about these amazing gems with nob and tube aren't in my future. I don't want a fixer upper in the city that's been lived in by 15 different people and none of them cared. Bleached and barnacled and tired from city living. It's not my cup of T.o. There is a dream though, a teeny little quiet dream. The wish is to have a house that's been in someone's family for generations and, this is silly; it's been deemed historically significant. Our house would be a part of the history of something bigger. Our very very very fine house, would have 2 cats in the yard. A story to tell. A song to sing. Our house would have personality. The stairs would creak and the wind might whisper on occasion but it would hold the secrets of history. Of course, it would be a pain to maintain all the structural integrity in accordance with the local historical society bi-laws; a challenge Future Me willingly accepts. But for now we live in a city shoe box, without a story. And the wide screen we were watching life on is shrinking. I guess I'll really have to go outside.
Rant the Second
The giant hole that is my backyard is a muddy disaster. Clay and gravel and slick squishy mud coat my pathway home. Covering my boots and imbedding itself in my tread. Stomping and dragging my feet the whole way. Trying to shake off the filth. When I do get inside the view is like an exposed root after the tooth has been ripped out. The bottom which is almost 4 stories down is dotted with tents to protect the men working in these conditions. Giant flood lights click on at sunset and push the crew to quitting time. The holes have been drilled, the rebar impacted. Cranes have been brought in to move the cranes in. The skeleton structures floating over head. Suspended and riveted. They are sleeping giants. Not quite ready for action. But I can hear them practicing their shriek, stretching for the long job ahead. I get why people want to live in the city. I mean obviously I do, it's just that how many more of us does there need to be? In such tight quarters and with all this mud and dog pooh, you can't ever wear nice shoes. Fancy city night living shoes. Shoes you hoped to look nice in, ensemble shoes. Been a long time since my feet were fancied up. Also down side, there is a lot of stomping in my building. Mud clots dot the hallway carpets. But winter is coming. The anticipation of frozen clay is killing me. Though, I don't think it will be a respite. By the time it gets cold enough to freeze everything's gross and soggy anyway. The once dirty route now becoming treacherous. It will be a slippery layer of icing on top of the so-hard-it-hurts-to-fall when you fall on it permafrost. (Notice I said when. I accept I will fall. It's slippery) At least while I am hibernating this winter, trying to pick the pooh out of my boot tread, I can watch the cranes spin and twill and finally grow up to be elevators. A dirty festering hole like that? The dentist would recommend a filling, at least 9 out of 10 of them would.
Hurricane Sandy is expected to make landfall late Monday night or early Tuesday morning. But we won't know her full affect until Wednesday. Now Ontario has already been dealing with a peer pressure system of it's own and the dire combination could, apparently, be just that. Winds could hit highs of 150 km/h in some areas. That's like a bajillion times faster than the average sexy hair toss. Waves on the Great Lakes could be five to seven metres high. Or maybe even as high as a million mouse boats. It's not a good time to be a worst case scenario Sally or a Debbie downright awful. So, how does one prepare for being without power? In a flooded home? I am not sure actually. Plus weather like this really blows my mind.
Now, those of you who know me, know me to be a teeny bit high strung. A worry wart. Obsessive even. But for some reason, I am not one who worries about a little bit of weather. That's probably because a snow storm seems a more likely Ontario disaster than a hurricane blowing in off the coast. It's not the big problems I am nervous about it's getting to and from work safely- cuz people aren't at their best when they're panicked. Kevin forbid the film industry take a day off- as they say the show must go On! And as fun as being sent home early from work might be...it has a tendency to bring out irrational behaviour. Including but not limited to: purchase of multiple 72 hour emergency kits, stockpiling water, barricading windows, weird FB updates and waterproofing personal belongings. I am also expecting to hear a few Mayan calendar conversations. Predictions of the future and our impending doom. Nastradamus and whatnot. Panic effects people very differently, but most of it's irrational. Except the panic that I've lost my smartphone, that's totally rational.
Uncertain times call for certain adventures. I am planning on packing items together so I know where to find them, if I wake up in the dark. Placing a flashlight next to my bed, just in case. I am also trying to eat the contents of my freezer- for if the power fails- it's bye bye fish sticks. All in all I'm sad this possible disaster is wind and water. I was kinda hoping the apocalypse would be of the Zombie variety. And that the day after tomorrow would be a new start for those of us wiry enough to plan for an undead invasion. Though if you ask someone who uses the Mayan calendar, you'd know the apocolypse isn't 'til December. So, for now, even though the weather blows, I guess we'll just have to soak it up. Hurricane Sandy wants to keep us on our toes, even if they are soaking wet.
* Red Cross urges people in the storm’s path to have supplies ready in case hydro power is out for up to 72 hours.
Writing, every person who can write, does. That's not to say that every person can do it well. And people who practise can typically write even better. Well, people, I can do it, I do it well and I practise. That should stand on it's own. But it doesn't, writing is something that is beautifully read in the eyes of the beholder. The value of those words and stories depend on the reader. People who can read, do it. And do it everyday. And people who can write will continue to do it. Hopefully they do it well. Otherwise what would happen in a world without stories?
I want to write stories and tell tales and maybe even spin a yarn or two. I always have. I want to tell stories to people. Stories that roll around in my head. The characters I hang with when I am on my own, and the mischief they get into. But I want to be able to work on them, because I love them. But asking for money for something you love. Well, that just makes me feel guilty. Wanting to be working at something you're in love with, seems greedy. Most people are happy with a job, a steady pay check- Too bad if you don't like it. Do it for the money. I should be happier that I am doing what I love and that is it's own reward. Oh and it really is. I love having inside jokes in an online world. I love that I have been tough enough on myself to stick with it. But it does seem kinda lack luster when your big launch happens and it's just you typing at a computer and your dog waiting to go for a walk. Also there's a missing thank you cuz I want to reward you for reading. For making this an emotional success for me. I do want to start working on more of a contractual basis, you know like a job. But here's the problem, I don't have any experience.
I don't have experience? Okay, I am not sure how much more practise I will need before I start gaining some "experience". I have not dealt with deadlines. Because daily entries for 11 months straight, is a flimsy work ethic. Oh a track record. Perhaps a school newspaper? Head of the Young Voices of Canada club? Maybe I have 2 years to work as an unpaid intern in a publishing firm or daily rag. I should have a degree in journalism with at least 5+ years of online media editorial experience. Alright, alright already, I am so I'm not Arianna Huffington. And I am not saying I am Tolstoy, I would never be that presumptuous. I will, however wait for a critic to say it, then quote it on my FB fanpage and the outside jacket of my book, well series of books. Sorry, tangent, I was also writing my Oscar speech, but I can't decide which category I am accepting for. As far as I am concerned I have already climbed that well written mountain, in my mind. Now how do I photoshop this resume to prove I am up here? Cuz people are never going to believe I was. Okay, okay, so maybe they're right I do need a bit more practice. But I am on the journey to becoming an above average writer, if I do say so myself. And I just did.
They say you can never go home again and after meeting some people's families I can understand why they may never want to. But it is also true that you can never travel the same road twice and life has a strange way of sneaking up on you. While spending Thanksgiving with my Bro, Momma and Papa B, I was me and Hubby was himself. We didn't put on an act. We didn't have to be anyone else. There were a few times when our not-so-awesome-selves came out- par example- when seen fighting in the local chocolate store or overheard lecturing regarding health values while passing the highway Arby's, but a few hitches ain't so bad...I guess. Oh yeah, and there was the Dinner and a Movie event my Momma invited us to where Hubby of course hassled me about laughing too loud in the theatre, though who can resist the sound of laughter amplified by a beautifully resonant space? It would be wrong of me not to laugh out loud. No matter what, I love going home. But where does my heart truly lie?
They say home is where your heart is, and my home is in Toronto. The work I love is here, I met the man I love here, my life is here. I love the CN Tower and it's light show- currently on hold for avian migration. I love that there are kitchens in the city open for a late night eater. I love that there is sushi within 1 block of you, no matter where you are. I love the Red Rocket- even though I know I shouldn't. It feels like the start of an adventure every time I drop that shiny token into the clinking slot. I love complaining about our Dumb-sass mayor. I love how close I am to all these people I love. I love seeing a different style on everybody I meet. I love the passion for life and the hustle and bustle. How could I not love my home?
Then there's the darkness of a country road where my heart feels full. The darkness broken by the bright shining stars we hardly see in the city. I love the smells, even the poopy ones. I love the panoramic colours that span every horizon. I love the quiet. The feeling that the neighbours can hear what you're thinking. Having neighbours that have known me since I was this big* insert knee high to a grasshopper action. Here is a heartfelt welcome no matter how long it's been. I love knowing people and them knowing me. I love picking up a conversation I've been having with someone for the last 20 years right where we left off. How could I not love this home?
Hubby says creating a home is key to having a happy life. Home- a place to rest your head, your heart and your body. A place of comfort. A place to recharge your batteries. But what happens when 2 totally different places feel like home? A spilt like that can be tough to stitch together. There aren't many people who can afford two homes or even one home in this market. And after being threatened with the sale of my childhood home, I begged my parents not to sell their house; a place I consider my home. I know where all their dishes go, I planted the tree in the side yard from a sapling that was barely a stick, I know why the wall has that chip, I love this home. But Hubby, Momma & Papa B; here's the thing I want you to know, I've realized: A true home- the real place that your heart is, it's with the people and not with the buildings. Now, I have to stop, before all this lovey-dovey stuff makes me homesick-to my stomach:)
While walking my pretty Puppa-roo across Queen St on a beautiful fall day I realized something. Almost every store we go into offers her a treat. And my Puppa is excited for every gift. Whether big cookie or little milk bone, she over-eagerly accepts all gifts- then I saw- when she wasn't getting a treat her interest wained. Pulling without subtlety back towards the place she last got treated. Oh no. I have created not only a chubby Jilly Bean no neck, but a bad gift receiver and a greedy puppy. A selfish and no good spoiled brat. And that makes me a bad Momma. Not the type of Momma I want to be.
Before I cast all the blame unto Bean for her lack of grace when accepting a gift I must reflect upon my own. For all my pomp and circumstance and big loud voice and funny dance moves, I am actually quite shy. Now, as an actress you may think that's weird. However, I don't mind the attention of an audience- an audience doesn't try to get to know you. Doesn't try to figure you out. They just let your character wash over them. The only pressure on you is to give a performance you're proud of. That's a gift I can give! Otherwise, I am a terrible gift giver. Or have been, until recently. I have been giving cash at weddings and gift certificates for most everything else. I am sorta generous. I just don't want anyone to feel like they should ever have to give me a gift. So, I try and avoid those situations altogether. Until I made my lifetime friends- they won't let me off the hook. And they are the best gift givers I've ever met, so it's quite an obstacle. Their gifts have inspired my intention to be a better giver and receiver.
Here are a few of the key ingredients I've learned about giving and getting perfect gifts. Something special comes from listening, looking and feeling- both the person and receiver- presumably a friend or family member- and their surroundings. Take mental notes or have Siri take one for you. Create dates in your calendar. Paying attention is key. Customized gifts are great but allow time for delivery. Also you can never go wrong with a genuine smile, warmly written card and eye contact. Receiving someone's gratitude is a key aspect of the cycle of being a talented giver. And never underestimate giving someone the gift of time. Life is busy and short, why not give the gift of togetherness? A dinner out or a home cooked meal, perhaps an offer to help with that nagging DIY project.
In the past I have been equally bad at giving and receiving- but I'm working on it. That's a gift to me. However, that treat eating, greedy little fur baby dragging me down Queen St , never gave me anything but unconditional love. Well, there's a new Sheriff in town and Jilly better start rolling over to my new way of thinking. She needs to learn a new trick or two- otherwise this old dog won't get her any new treats. Plus I like browsing Queen St and not every store has a treat for the Stinker, some treats are for your gifted Momma;)
Happy Thanksgiving! And getting!
The Great Canadian Entrepreneur: a species indigenous to the northernly half of the north american continent. Though many species appear in southern regions, they tend to be a much heartier and parasitic breed. I was raised by a pack of Great Canadian Entrepreneurs, making me an Entre-thusiast. I am a big fan of people who've realized that what they have to offer is different and special and like Frank Sinatra, they're doing it their way. Living in a city as diverse as Toronto allows people to take the plunge, crossing fingers for at least a slice of the widely variant market, hoping for a group of dedicated followers. People who like you. Like what you do. And like the way you do it. In smaller markets the game has different rules.
I grew up in a small town. Well, not small for a town, but not a wide market. Not a wide cross-section of opinions. And really only 1 degree of separation between people. If I don't know you, there is at least one person I know who does. Side note: Small towns were the original FaceBook. My Papa B is an Entrepreneur. He has been for all the jobs I can remember, except the middle one he took cuz it was too good an offer to turn down. Though in hindsight, it was his worst and grumpiest and most awful time, and if you know my Papa B, that's saying a lot. He does not work well for others. Here we go again genetics. On every report card ever sent home for signing: "Melicious has trouble taking direction." Not a great quality in an actor, but the best quality in an entrepreneur. My Town Councillor Momma is a self starter married to an Entrepreneur. Which isn't much different. Having owned several at home businesses she joined my Papa B's company almost 15 years ago. Being the motivated lady she is, she is constantly morphing to fit the needs of her clients and anticipate their future goals. She's a great role model to teach a blossoming actor about being a chameleon. Making me an even Steven.
Entrepreneurs are a rare breed. A group of people who made it their business to do it well or at least differently. People who's job was created for them. Tailor made to fit their specs. What's the hardest part about being your own boss? Making your employee -yourself- accountable. Making sure they get to work on time. Finish their projects in a timely manner. Trying to inspire your employee to strive for something better. And brainstorming sessions can be a little lonely. But there's no greater feeling than a job well done. A job that you are responsible for. A job that you thought up, worked through and completed. You did it. It's on you if it fails, but the upside is that I am not dumb enough to let anything fail, if I can help it. Plus I think my boss is pretty great.
While attending my second industry TIFF party of all time I realized. There is a lot of really great hair in here. Great hair, great outfits and huge egos. The ego though I think is inflated by nerves and the constant fear of making an ass of yourself. People celebrating at these events are typically over-anxious about their art house film that took them 11 years and their entire line of credit to complete- not to mention their parent's money and a friend providing craft services just to keep it going. A labour of love will give you painful contractions.
Watching the potential success of others can be inspiring and disheartening at the same time. With the limited implied value of that little movie your making it's an emotional pregnancy. From conception to birth and even after; all through the awkward teen years until they go off to university. And even then your grown up little baby will always be your baby. The sad thing is that if it took 11 years just to birth it, that is a slow growth rate. The worst part is that my concept zygote is still awaiting fertilization- and by the time that bundle of joy arrives I will be 41! And I never wanted to be an older mother.
Little baby film idea, your Mommy and Daddy have been waiting so long, wishing for you, dreaming of your future and how you'll complete our lives. So TIFF I promise you, you don't know me now but within the next 11 years I will be ready for you to meet my baby. Baby Movie concept: You'll be smart, witty and full of surprises. You're already keeping me up all night and have spoiled my figure, so I have nothing left to loose. It would be great to have an amazing hairstyle though, but I guess I have 11 years to get it right.
When I woke up and stretched and let out a yawn
I couldn't remember where the week had gone
I thought maybe this week would take me all year
But the time went by fast and now that it's here.
'The weekend, the weekend' I cried out with joy
Time to spend with my Hubby and boy,
I am glad the weather is supposed to be nice
Because working all week I missed out on the ice
Tinklin' in my glass, while floating in gin
Rooftop patio please, you will soon find me in
Atop of the city with a view of CN
I love it so much, don't know where to begin.
Fingers are crossed for fun and for rest
A drink and goodbye for a gal who's the best
My uke wants to sing songs in sweet harmony
Jilly and Lucy; I'll rub their tummy
I know that the weekend will be fast and then gone
A pedi and snuggle and blog set for dawn
Monday will start with a boom and a bang
Before the sunrises I will work again
So hear me out weekend, I've been a good friend
I've worked really hard and this short weekend
I want you to listen and love me real good
The way only a summer weekend ever could
So prepare thyself weekend for fun and for mirth
Cause you know you're too short, I want all that you're worth
Thank you for hearing my pledge and my vow.
I would love you weekend, if you'd only start now!
It has been so long since I've had a vacation... a really real vacation. I have gone on trips to my parents, day trips down or up to the beach and hung out in Montreal. But I haven't had 2 weeks solid of days and nights off...With no strings attached and a few bonus days with Hubby gone up north. I really woke myself up! And I learned quite a bit.
1. Putting a ribbon on something doesn't make it a gift.
2. No plan-plans are the easiest and most satisfying plans to attend.
3. Anything is appropriate wardrobe if it's THAT hot out.
4. Buns are great if I wanna look like a ballerina without an eating disorder.
5. Lucy positions herself so that as I pet her the fan blows her loose hair back in my face. She's tricky like that.
6. I remembered how to scream. But once you've lost your voice it won't come back if you keep screaming.
7. Not every selfless act is free.
8. Taking a gamble with thirty percent chance of thunderstorms is like betting against the dealer.
9. Kids are cute until they make that face and explode from both ends.
10. Jogging when the humid ex is high is like trying to breath underwater.
11. James Bond is hot. And if Beckham were James Bond there would be way more kicking.
12. Obsession is something most people should keep to themselves. Or limit to 2 hours per visit.
13. Don't start a conversation with the Commissioner unless you're prepared to be thoroughly tongue lashed for your insolence.
14. Cuban food rocks.
15. BFFs exist for all the great-big-fun and fabulous reasons.
16. Peeing in the pool is acceptable if you're laughing that hard.
17. Karaoke is supposed to be songs everyone knows. Singing- scratch that- screaming along is part of the fun.
18. If your Hubby recognizes the smell of your fart, he'll sell you out; just to make friends.
19. White wine can make you fell like falling or like flying depending on the region of the grapes.
20. A drive-in is the perfect place for 2 girls to talk through a movie.
21. Puppa will always wait until you're close enough to benefit from a good shake.
22. Drunk men will try and proposition you because you have a dog. Having a dog means having a place nearby; so they don't have to drive back home to Kitchener.
23. Sometimes the most interesting looking people talk about some lame stuff. (ie: Egg salad or bandanas)
24. I want to ride the boat around the channel past the drive-in. I don't know what it's called or who owns it, or if they even take passengers, but I want to.
25. I forgot how much I loved high kicking.
26. Jilly doesn't stomp at me when she's hungry, she just stares and puppy sighs as though I should just get it, because I am her Momma.
27. Being a single Puppy-Momma isn't hard if you have a part-time nanny.
28. Slumber parties rock.
29. I can sweat while eating brunch, so that when I get up the pool drips down the back of my dress and puddles on to the seat.
30. Caribana is not as loud in a backyard swimming pool.
31. Meat is not my friend. Unless it's still alive, in which case I will pet it and we will become friends.
32. My Hubby isn't happy with only boys around, but the way he smells I don't think girls would be happy around him either.
33. The 4 storey hole in my backyard is a muddy and green pond...which is kinda Zen.
34. There is a family of 3 mini-city bred skunks lurking in my neighbourhood. There is a turf war brewing.
35. The barometer is a tool of torture.
36. Pickle sandwiches don't exist for a reason.
37. You can get 2 weeks out of a pedicure if you walk on sand.
38. The Olympics aren't fun until we get to the medal rounds; just like every other sporting event.
39. Lemon juice is not a hair product, it's an urban wives tale. Just like not being able to swim at Toronto beaches.
40. Roller coasters are a great source of tension. There should be more movies about them, though I imagine they'd be shorts.
41. My Baby Belle sounds better singing happy tunes, and happiest while playing the Disney library.
42. It's easier to encapsulate and optimize your time in the city- the close proximity allows for entertainment leap frogging.
43. Secret codes are hard to explain but helpful to have... Even if you're the only one who knows it.
44. Little Red Riding hood is a very clever little girl. But not every babysitter gets fridge privileges.
45. Music can come from anywhere, but that doesn't make it all good.
46. My arms tan, my chest tans, my stomach burns and my legs get patchy.
47. A facial can take 2 weeks to heal, and even then is still working hard.
48. My Puppa sleeps as close to me as possible, even if there is tonnes of room in bed.
49. Creating a cartoon series is harder than it looks.
50. Spending a rainy day watching an entire season on Netflix is worth the $7 a month.
51. Picking it just makes it worse.
By the time you relax, you're vacation is over. Which is sad- but I gotta say I was missing you. You know, missing this, US<3 and I am glad to have it back, though I do wish I was still floating around a pool or getting macro-dermabrasion at the beach, or bbqing with my Besties in the backyard... But maybe, just maybe, if I work hard and try hard and hope, I can still do it on the weekends... Oh right, weekends are for doing what you want... Silly me. And I will keep doing it, you can bet on that. Welcome back and happy Tuesday of the August long weekend. I am glad to see ya!
As you may know I have been working quite a bit. Taking advantage of time off and trying to fill my weekends with fun and friends. But I got a much 2 week vacation. Hurray! It's not a second too soon either. I am so excited to have 2 weeks of time for me! Here's what I am planning on doing.
1. Sleep. Period. End of sentence. Having to be at work for 7am everyday has me getting up at 4:30am and going to bed at 10pm-or at least trying to depending on how good TV was that night.
2. Eat salad! Having on set food 5 days a week has wreaked havoc on my body. Not to get too detailed, but I could use a good clearing out.
3. Go to the movie theatre and watch a double feature- perhaps even sneaking into the second movie*insert shocked gasp I haven't been to a movie in months. And the summer blockbusters must be reviewed!
4. Did I mention sleep? Cuz I'm gonna.
5. Take the Stinker to the park, give her a good brushing to make her coat shine like silk in the sunlight. And let her sniff until she's decided the world is too big to explore in one day.
6. Have Cuban food. Julie's has the best guacamole in the city, it's right up the block from me and I haven't been in more than a year. Plus maybe a few Mojitos... Yes. I think yes.
7. Visit my Momma and Papa. Last time I was there, I didn't take a breath while speaking to them. It might be nice to actually hear how they are doing. Though they are busy folks so I will take Hubby and the Stinker, and plan hikes and riverside picnics.
8. Go to the beach. And swim hopefully in an erroneously small bathing suit to even out my tan lines.
9. Finish my 2 books I've got on the go. One for pleasure and the other because I will not be beaten by a book, you hear me book? I will not be beaten!
10. Play my Baby Belle. That poor little lady has been missing me and I her. Her strings growing limp. I am pretty sure she's put an ad on craiglist looking for a casual hookup/jam session.
11. Write this series of children's books I have been dancing around for months. You can swear and do pornographic things in kid's books now right? Is that where they're learning it? I think yes.
12. Pedicure + many other assorted spa necessities. I have to be slathered and lathed. Removing multiple layers of sun damaged skin from everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Especially my heels, they look like a crocodile skin socks.
13. Patio brunches! I need at least 2 patio brunches. Brunch is my favourite meal of the day, combining the wholesome foods of breakfast and the boozey sleep in behaviour of lunch:) mmm breakfast caesars.
14. Just an all around relaxation celebration. I want to sit on my tiny balcony and watch the world go by and laugh at the poor Joe's who don't have time off. Laugh and laugh and laugh.
15. I am going to take an allergy pill and pet my Kitty until she's rumbling so loud the couch vibrates. Until the Puppa gets jealous and chases her into the bedroom.
16. I am going to see friends. Tall friends, short friends, even friends with kids! I want to see them all.
So, since I won't have time off again until September, I have to take advantage of the summer now. (Although with global warming the way it is we may never see winter again) I do love the feeling of accomplishment a stay-cation provides. But I am really looking forward to exploring the world a little bit more, and planning a large scale trip. For now though, it's amazing the type of adventure you can have in your own backyard.
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