Chapter Two

Moving on. Moving up.

2007-03-19T20:30:00.000-06:00

So a year and a half ago. Two years ago. Perhaps three. Nearly 4...I went through a bad break up. And not bad like hurling insults and throwing dishes at each others heads. Not even messy like: I'm-taking-the-house-and-your-Swiss-bank-account-and-am-going-to-be-very-petty
-over-every-last-detail. Not at all messy really - or childish. But painful. Very very painful. Where one retreated further and further, the other fought harder and harder for attention. Any kind. Good or bad.

Finally, when the realisation that he was never going to change set in, I set off. Picked up what was left of my pride, my very self, and forged ahead. The most difficult thing I have done - but probably one of the things I am most proud of in hindsight. You see - life with him wasn't bad. But it wasn't good. It was just...beige. He didn't love me. He didn't not love me. But what I learned is - I had to love myself. No one is going to love you until you love yourself. Sounds trite, I know. But it's true. I had to love myself enough at such a low point in order to lift myself out of a world to which I had become accustomed. Where I felt comfortable. Where I felt stagnant. Where I was lost.

Anyways. I was sorta just contemplating all this after I read a fantastic quote on - of all things - a Lululemon shopping bag. "To rise out of mediocrity you must not be afraid to fail." And I admit -I am pretty much afraid everyday...of one thing or another. Real or imagined. Mostly the latter. I am afraid I am never going to get the things I want out of life. I am terrified of the journey to achieve them. I am not sure if this is the reason for all the self-sabotage - the moments where things are going oh-so-well that I need to upset the proverbial apple cart and return to my neurotic state - where ironically I feel calm when I am worried about everything.

I don't know. I am just tired of waiting for life to begin. And yet at the same time I am afraid of living life. As set in my ways as I am convinced I want to change them. Weird I know. And reason #792 I am somewhat difficult to live with; no matter where the living is...

Let me know the new zip code Parkes, and we'll see if we can help this girl face her fears in exchange for a new life adventure. In exchange for even more happiness.

Again.

I'm Ginger. Fly me!

2007-02-13T18:49:00.000-07:00

So I was sitting there – across from my better half – admiring the view of both said person and the mountains outside the window of the sunny ~~café~~ pub. A pint of lager in one hand – a nacho in the other. We had just finished a long ~~hike~~ drive and it was time for a visit over hops, barley, and various deep fried goodness. A little après ski. Sans the skiing.

That’s when I heard the sound – foreign in the moment – and yet strangely familiar. Ah yes – the sound of the cell phone ringing in my ~~backpack~~ red snakeskin purse. A sound so foreign nestled amongst the sunshine and trees outside the window at the mountain resort.

It was Miss L. It wasn't like her to call – as I had told her we were heading out of town for some much needed…um...R & R. I answered her call though – my very own call of the wild so to speak – and she sounded v. upset.

Her brother – who had the poor taste to set her up with her now-ex-BF Mr. Beige – had run into Mr. Beige the night before – out and about on the town with a new accessory of the female persuasion. And at first I couldn’t figure out why this would bother her. I mean she left Mr. Beige. And good riddance – she can do so much better. But the problem is just that – she hasn’t done better…YET. And the mere fact that he is moving on and is dating someone new – while she is reading self-help books, going to sex toy parties, taking cooking classes, and volunteering with the poor (okay I made that last one up) in order to better herself – while he – Mr. Beige (complete with the red neck/blue collar) is out and about on the town.

So I told her I understood. I’ve been there too. (‘Cuz who hasn’t really?) I mean I half expected The Ex - (* my very own Ex) - to erect (don’t read into it) a shrine in my honour – and worship it once – twice – max thrice – daily. But that didn’t happen either. Hell – I’m not sure that a year and half later he even notices my absence yet. But that being said – it IS easier to move on yourself – rather than see someone else move on – while you are momentarily stuck in limbo.

And she understood that. Sorta. But then she also couldn't get over another sorta silly, somewhat trivial, but very real-to-her concern. Mr. Beige had a hole in his heart where an educated lawyer once lived. And now that spot had been taken over by a flight attendant. A stewardess. A waitress in the sky. And at that point I truly understood. For I too had encountered that very situation. In fact, I couldn’t have written a better outcome for The Ex than ending up with a flight attendant as is also his new accessory. Something along the lines of:

“Once Upon a Time Ginger was fed up with being taken for granted and/or being ignored despite her very charming, very feeling, very intelligent package, and finally left her already-absent spouse. She had not only figured out WHO she was but WHAT she wanted out of life, and the type of man she would like to share that life with. Enter her former BFF/current beau, and for the first time – in her whole entire life – she thought “Here it is – someone who often sees this crazy world how I do…someone I can share all this with…someone who gets me...someone I love...and who returns that back to me tenfold. I am so unbelievably lucky!” Meanwhile, The Ex spent his days…and nights…playing videogames, playing extreme sports, playing videogames about extreme sports, until one day one of his esteemed extreme sporting colleagues introduced him to a 22-year-old flight attendant despite his mid-30’s reality. “Hmm…” thought The Ex in the split second he had while the Playstation fired up “Out of town most of the time AND free flights? SCORE!!!”

And the thing is – one has absolutely nothing to do with the other. I was not replaced by a flight attendant. And nor was Miss L. We both made conscious decisions to leave situations that were ultimately very bad for us. And I have been lucky enough to start rebuilding a new life with someone else. Someone better suited to me. And she will too. It’s just a matter of timing.

So what words of wisdom did I impart? Basically that she is one of the most wonderful people on this planet – funny, kind, pretty, smart, and even deep (learning to be anyways). And that I am proud of her for beginning to understand what she wants out of life, because she will find it. She just has to be patient and wait for it to happen. And when it does the view from first class will be much much MUCH better than the view from serving peanuts at a cruising altitude of 27,000 feet.

But until she's willing to believe me, I defer to the Replacements. Who actually - in retrospect - may have said it better…

She don't wear no pants and she don't wear no tie
Always on the ball, she's always on strike
Struttin' up the aisle, big deal, you get to fly
You ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky
You ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky

Paid my fare, don't wanna complain
You get to me, you're always outta champagne
Treat me like a bum, don't wear no tie'cause
You ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky
You ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky

And the sign says, "Thank you very much for not smoking"
My own sign says, "I'm sorry, I'm smokin'"
Don't treat me special, don't kiss my ass
Treat me like the way they treat 'em up in first class

Sanitation expert and a maintenance engineer
Garbage man, a janitor and you my dear
A real union flight attendant, my oh my
You ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky
You ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky

Fortune Cookie Wisdom

2006-12-04T22:58:00.000-07:00

I have been blogstipated. For. Like. Ever. Nearly two seasons have come and gone...and not a single word. I have so much to say. So much wisdom to impart. And yet I sit here not knowing where to start. I know I could start at Chapter One - as I am so very good at beginnings - but it's the where to go thereafter that has me somewhat stymied. I have spent the better part of the year growing, learning, celebrating, mourning, remembering, forgetting - or at least trying to. The blame. The anger. I am just so tired. Am looking forward to looking backward and feeling the relief that I survived what has been a difficult emotional journey, even if it was the best outcome for all. He - the target of so much anger and blame...he - who in retrospect was never 100% to blame...taped this very message to my computer monitor years - if not lifetimes - ago..."Mistakes are often the stepping stones to success." And so I must learn from this...forgive him...forgive myself...and move forward. Recognise that not all of it was a mistake - for there are so many moments I'd do over exactly the same as they still make me smile....while the moments that made me cry are slipping further and further away. So here's to a new season with a fresh outlook - head up making eye contact with the world, working towards - not against - all I want, and of course the odd stepping stone thrown in along the way.

Bliss

2006-06-20T21:08:00.000-06:00

At what point does the girl you are with become the girl who is worthwhile?

Until 10 minutes ago I would have thought – said – presumed – it was when you first fell in love. No wait. That may be too soon. Perhaps it’s when you go on your first date – even if it’s a week…or a month …or a year - or 2 - after you first met. Maybe it’s when you start to spend every waking hour together – and those hours that you’re not together – the ones that tick by so slowly – become all-consuming thoughts of THE one in your life.

That. That is what I thought. I was wrong.

On review, I would suppose that a person – a woman – can only become something – something worthwhile – once she has accepted her fate and become the property of the man. Married. Don’t ask me about it – because I have a lot to say. A lot. A self-proclaimed expert of sorts – for I have been down that path…and found my way back. My way back to being me. Where my last name is the same as it was for the 28 years leading up to it. Where I am not just another possession to be admired. To be envied. And I thought – I think – I know…that “back” is where I belong. That just because I do not wear an expensive trinket on my ring finger – does not make me cheap. Nor worthless.

So imagine my complete and utter shock – when someone – someone who I thought got it – understood it - someone who I thought was my greatest supporter and aided in my journey to become un-lost - comments about how his newly-wedded friend should not have time for him anymore – since now – well - he’s married. He’s won. He’s done. Forget the fact he’s shacked-up with said betrothal for nearly a year. Forget the fact – as difficult as it may be - that her wedding dress fit tightly across her now 6 months pregnant frame. These are things I do not judge. In fact, these are the things that I thought mattered. These are the things that I would have thought – made her a priority to him long before some stupid ceremony and piece of paper. But perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps this is just me extending my bitter-jaded-once-bitten-twice-shy-you-name-the-synonym-my-god-I-can’t-believe-I-used-the-
word-synonym-in-a-sentence point of view.

But to me marriage is what one makes of it. I am neither for, nor against it. But I do not believe it should be entered into foolishly. Nor should it make someone more important to you a mere day later than the day before. Because if that’s all it took to make someone make someone else a priority – well – perhaps I’d still be living in the house on the hill…instead of picking myself up off the mantle – and dusting myself off - however much better I may be for it...

*** P.S. DECEMBER 4, 2006 - Dear Parkes : I wrote this in June - but never posted this until today. I wrote it in anger - as I do many of my posts - but I'm not mad at you - don't believe I ever was. Yet another moment where I misunderstood/misconstrued/misfired - and for that I apologise. I did feel compelled to post it though, if only to better understand the frustration and anger I felt - feel - at myself. Forgive me...~G

Beverly Hillbilly

2006-06-05T18:45:00.000-06:00

Okay…it’s like – Day 192 since Parkes left…and as much as I have enjoyed this time apart…I think I am ready for his return.

I have, however, become reacquainted with the box in the corner of the living room though – and more happily – with one particular show involving one very posh zip code. I hear the opening song - in all it’s synthesizer glory - and am magically transported back to days spent lying about in my one bedroom apartment wondering what my future would hold. Which on second thought – would mean that I’ve come full circle really…though fill in as much drama in the past few years to make even Kelly’s head spin. You name the story line. I have lived it.

Regardless – what I also noted during Episode 3 "The Green Room" today – apart from terribly bad writing – is that the boy I would stalk – if it were me walking the halls of West Beverly- has certainly changed. Circa 1992 – I would have given anything – ANYTHING – to give up my (non-existent even at the time) virginity to one Mr. Dylan McKay. Dylan was soo cool…so popular…if you could just land Dylan McKay then - well your days would be filled with long rides on motorcycles, surfing, and a constant good time. I was always pro-Dylan – the bad boy – the fun guy – whatever you call it – I was just plain attracted to it.

He was certainly far more attractive than the sensitive, emotional, about-one-day-away-from-his-first-period Brandon. There was nothing that put me over the edge faster mid-90s than goody-two-shoes Brandon who always showed up at a party or the beach armed with an empathetic ear and a life lesson for all. He was smart and articulate and good-looking – but didn’t ooze the charm of Dylan…the bad boy…the one that could suck you in and make you feel like you were the one lucky enough to be with him…even if it were the other way around.

Fast forward 10 years…and I find myself looking at the two boys of Beverly in a whole different light. I mean sure Dylan is hot and you could have a really good time with him. He looks great on the beach and can ride the waves like no one else. But he’s also the shallow end of the pool so to speak. He’s emotionally shut off…and though I’m sure has feelings - deep down...somewhere…he hasn’t the faintest clue how to express them…partly since his parents ran off to France when he was still in high school…choosing to buy him fancy toys to distract him instead of dealing with his hurts…his happiness…the things he needed to be taught. No wonder Brenda moved to London. I mean what kind of future is there with a man like that? Sure – you can date him…get engaged to him…hell – even convince him to marry you - but at the end of the day he’s in it for fun…and well…anything over and above that….is just a bit too heavy.

Enter Brandon – whose cheeseball musings and high brow banter always used to drive me a bit batty. Really didn’t like him at first. But you see - as I’ve matured…I’ve noticed that it’s Brandon who is actually the hottie - the keeper…the one who will stick by you during Student Council elections…the closing of the Peach Pit…friend’s drug additions… family emergencies...pregnancy scares. It’s all about Brandon. He listens. He empathises. He nods in understanding. And then he tells you how it is - not always what you want to hear – but how it is…and it makes so much sense and suddenly you feel very supported…and very very much not-so-alone anymore. And you start to notice why he’s so popular - why everyone loves him - because he’s kind. And genuine. And that is a rare combination. Credit his loving family. His good relationship with his sister. His great genes. I’m not sure. But in retrospect - Brandon is the guy you want to hold on to - the one you should tackle life’s adventures with. I mean - yes - there are times he might not be as fun or as carefree as Dylan. He may not even look as good in a wet suit. But when the chips are down…there’s no one better to have on your team than the Student Body President.

And that my friends is what I have learned from watching TV.

Saturday Night Fever

2006-06-04T01:30:00.000-06:00

Hi Murz...just me...just got in...can't get hold of you because - well...third world shit phone lines...(he he) and the fact I think you are in church. (Honestly...I think you really are...not in the way I always say "Oh-shit-don't-let-me-sleep-in-and-miss-church-tomorrow" dripping-in-sarcasm-way - but in the "you-are-in-Uganda-and-you-really-really-are-going-to-church-this-Sunday-morning" way) I hope your day is good so far...I know how hard it all is on you...and just want you to be okay.

Anyways - I have just returned home from the bar (yes...altruistic me as well) with Miss Gillian and The Broker. Lovely time really...both are big fans of yours. Good time all in all...learned lots...mostly that I'm not as strange or neurotic as I might think...oh - and a bit of info from each...namely:

Broker: "You Ginger are tall with long blonde flowy hair and blue eyes. You look like an American Eagle model." At which point - I do not know whether to be flattered or offended. It sounds like a fancy way of saying "plain." UGH. (at which point he called Miss Gillian "exotic-looking." I'm so boring! HELP!!!)

Gillian: I love Parkes. You should marry him. In South Africa. I'd so come to that. (looking all exotic no doubt.)

So you see...everything is just how it should be.Me the plain-American-pie (ugh - I am so not-American)-looking-girl-next-door getting married in Durban. Now that would make an excellent AE spread.

Good luck in church - avoid all lightening bolts...and say a quick prayer (or 12) for me.

Ta.

Day 3

2006-05-30T22:24:00.000-06:00

Not much to say that hasn't already been said today on MSN...and telephone..which btw...is the best spent $3 a minute ever...and cheaper than those late-night party chat lines (so I hear...)

Anyways. Just thought I'd post here incase you can't open the email...

----- Original Message -----
From: Ginger
To: Parkes
Sent: Tuesday, May 30, 2006 10:17 PM
Subject: cute kids

Hey (insert silly pet name here)

As we were talking (which btw - went so fast - 15 minutes felt like 15 secs! IMY!!!) I found this great photo on the 'net of kids in Uganda. It makes me smile...and I thought it might make you do the same...:)

I hope you are okay for the next few days...I think it might be a bit hard for you - only because you are such a softie (once referred to as "bleeding heart liberal" - which I'm sure said name-caller regrets and now takes back...) Just please be strong and know that you will make a difference to a lot of these people - even if you can't just bring some little ones home as requested. We are so soooo unbelievably lucky (or "spoiled" as someone once referred to someone else - though am sure said name caller/bleeding heart liberal now regrets same and takes it back...) to live where we do (by birth or by choice.) I watched a documentary tonight on sweatshops in China - called "Mardi Gras - Made in China" which showed the factory where the beads (beads for boobs) are made...and just contrasted how hard these people worked for 10 cents an hour making strings of beads...and how hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of these beads are simply tossed about like nothing in New Orleans. (don't I recall...? ;) Very interesting concept - very poorly directed IMNSHO (see that you've done to me???!!) and all I could think was "Parkes could have so done this show so much better..."

Anyway. I digress. All I'm saying is that we are lucky and I am sorry I am a whiner about missing you...I just do...and can hardly wait 'til you are back in this country safe and sound...(though noting a forest fire could break out at anytime)...splitting that $75 bottle of Malbec with me - even if some Argentinean boy only got paid 3 cents to make it.

Chat soon...
~G

Day 2

2006-05-29T21:53:00.000-06:00

Yes. Yes I know. It’s been a long time since I’ve written. Too long.

I suppose it boils down to the fact that instead of writing about life - I’ve actually been living it as of late. The veil of confusion that has been blurring everything - like when you try on someone else’s glasses - has now has lifted - and in it’s place clarity.

But this evening I find myself at home reflecting on my day - day #2 spent without my partner in crime. He’s on assignment in Uganda…researching his latest project…which leaves me alone for 10 days…alternating between complete excitement for him and complete worry for him…with the realisation that this is perhaps what you sign on for when you fall for a socially responsible morally wonderful beautiful human being…and are not for one moment distracted by anything that sparkles.

I admit that 10 days isn’t a lifetime or anything - but also now realise how much we talk each day - talk about big things…important things…and talk about nothing at all really. And it’s those everyday musings - the ones I often swear are my inner voice but are instead coming right on out of my mouth at him that will be lost…so for the next 10 days my dear…I will be updating you here…with the incessant nothing ramblings of my day…leaving the important things for emails - the not-so-important things for all to see here.

So tonight was all about me shop-shop-shopping myself happy. First stop - shoes. Rows and rows of cute shoes. Me. Cute shoes. Enter sassy shoe salesmen. You know how I hate when I get ma’am-ed? I mean I’m hardly a ma’am…(nor a lady upon reflection I suppose) but you know what I got tonight? DOLL. He “dolled” me. As in “finding everything you need doll?” and all I could think of is if he had some sort of muddled accent like - well - yours - it would sound cute and somewhat sophisticated and I would have turned a million shade of red. But it wasn’t cute. And then I didn’t want to buy shoes from him at all. But then I found a pair of brown ones I really really liked – and well - you know how brown is the new black for me…and then - I found this other pair that I just really loved…and the thing is normally you are there to say “get those ones - they look better” but tonight I realise I can no longer be trusted to make such difficult decisions on my own so - I bought them both. Bought them both doll.

And then it was time for the dreaded Wal-mart experience - as I have run out of all household products at once…and I am in a packed Wal-mart chock-full of screaming children – having my usual I-am-too-pretty-for-this meltdown - trying to pretend its London where you told me to just put my head down and bash into people without any sort of apology or Canadian politeness - which I tried - but of course nowhere in London do I recall the people so yucky and smelling so bad. Why is it that Wal-mart shoppers and batheing do not go hand-in-hand? What is with the correlation there? I mean granted I shop there – and I do pride myself in my outstanding personal hygiene and love all things perfume (though never ever body spray do you hear me future fashion designers?) and just wish that these people could return me that one small favour. I swear the entire store smelled like feet and I wanted to puke - but I did save like what - a whole $1.32 so all in all well worth 45 minutes of parmesan cheese smell.

So now I am home giving myself a pedicure (in never-ending quest to be perfectly polished from head-to-toe and so as to avoid any sort of foot smell while looking lovely in new open–toed sandals for tomorrow) and writing this never-ending blog entry. And the thing is I am alone…but not lonely - there are people with whom I could connect – but they all seem a bit mundane right now...especially when I’d rather relish in my thoughts. And so I sit. I paint. I write. Very blue-green for a self-proclaimed red-yellow wouldn’t you say?
~G

Iron Knee

2006-03-29T11:43:00.000-07:00

So I was out with a friend of mine last night…Miss L…a wonderfully cute and funny lawyer…who is book smart (at times)…but has been known to lack street smarts…in her very own naïve 33-Going-on-13 type way. Examples include asking whether I think one can “feel the lean” when they are visiting the Eiffel Tower…and correcting me when I mistakenly thought a mutual acquaintance was going to Seattle for business…rather than “Washington” as Miss L patiently explained to me.

Fortunately the woman is charming and funny and would do anything for her friends…and the above-described moments make her all the more endearing somehow. The latest phase she is going through though is the use…overuse…misuse…of the word “irony.” Everything in her life is “ironic” right now. And ironically it’s not. It’s coincidental at times. And sometimes just weird. But not ironic. Never ironic. And I am finding myself becoming mesmerized by the word…and wanting to use it all the time too…in situations where it’s not required.

So I have designed this helpful little tool to keep myself from using - and abusing - same:

Main Entry: iro·ny
Pronunciation: 'I-r&-nE also 'I(-&)r-nE
Function: noun

1 : The use of words to express something different from and often opposite to their literal meaning.

Ex. “Isn’t it ironic that I’ve told him I hate him – only to disguise the fact that I am completely in love with him?”

2 : Incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs:

Ex. “I searched profile after profile on the on-line dating service and none of them appealed to me, because ironically I was searching for the exact qualities of the man who I seem to have just lost.”

Main Entry: co·in·ci·dence
Pronunciation: kO-'in(t)-s&-d&n(t)s, -s&-"den(t)s
Function: noun

1 : the occurrence of events that happen at the same time by accident but seem to have some connection

Ex. “Last night I dreamt over and over that I had lost my yoga Mat, and refused to use another one since the one I had was the only one I wanted, and coincidentally when I woke up, it was still lost and I couldn’t find it anywhere.”

Ironically, I’m not sure the above-noted examples are ironic or coincidental. But they are a reality at present. Hope to recover my mat at some point soon because class is tonight, and life isn’t much fun without it…

Hiatus...

2006-03-02T22:38:00.000-07:00

Time for a break...feeling a bit too exposed as of late.
And not in the good way.
In the vulnerable way.
And that is not good for anyone...especially moi.

TTFN
~G

All I Wanted for Valentine's Day...

2006-02-14T11:53:00.000-07:00

...was a little prick.

And careful what you wish for - as I got it - in form of a needle in the arm last night…all part of a routine blood test…so as to ensure life of gin and saturated fat has not yet caught up to me.

I am terrible…TERRIBLE…with anything needles…blood…hospital-related (save hot doctors)...and literally feel sick to my stomach when entering any type of medi-centre…clinic…hospital…etc. I’m not sure where exactly it stems from, but have always felt that way…sheer panic.

Last night was no different as I sat making idle chit-chat with my partner-in-crime-best-friend in the waiting room…not sure what I was blithering on about actually - just filling the dead (no pun) air until my name(s) were called. So finally it was my turn and the lady - who I swear has been working there since before blood was invented and may just be into S&M in her spare time…was none too friendly…noting my fear and muttering something about “well at least you have great veins, but I’m sure you get that all the time”. (No actually – I’ve heard that about my hair...legs…boobs…humbleness…but never about my veins thanks!) props my arm up on some block type thing (I don’t know what it was really as at this point my eyes are squeezed shut and I am reciting the alphabet backwards in my head) and takes a running leap à la javelin thrower to launch sharp stick into arm. And then I feel the slip of my elbow onto the table…hear her “oh shit” and then hear “Marilyn get in here”…and I close my eyes tighter...retreat further into my head...“s-r-q-p...it will be over soon." At which point Marilyn comes in …hands her another vial…and the day is saved. I can feel (not see…am not going to look…"d-c-b-a") her mopping up…and she says “Wow…you're a great spurter” (A great spurter? Well - I’ve never been accused of that…though I have accused others of same…) as I turn to note my blood spattered across the table…floor…wherever (except her white coat thankfully - because being the total loser I am I would feel bad had I stained her outfit after she mutilated my arm.) UGH…room spinning…head whoozy…sitting for a moment to regain composure as knees not working…

Anyways…colour eventually returned to my face…and all was fine until I went into the waiting room and saw him waiting patiently for me. And much like when a child bumps her head and is fine when no one notices, but wails at the top of her lungs when someone draws attention to the fall…crocodile tears start. Ice cream follows. Gentle talking and teasing. Laughter replacing shakiness. Boo-boo kissed better.

And that. That is what I really want for Valentine’s Day. No more pricks. And someone to fix my boo-boos.

You know who you are. See you tonight post 357…
~G

Boringback Mountain

2006-01-31T10:46:00.000-07:00

So, as promised, the weekend delivered a little cowboy loving. Brokeback Mountain. I had so wanted to see this movie, for the many reasons as follows:

1) I live where it was shot. No, not Wyoming. Calgary. The city that I love, the city I have chosen to be my home for a multitude of reasons…the kind people, the vibrancy, the relatively temperate climate, and the intense beauty of the mountains and prairies surrounding it. And what better way to showcase the beautiful places that I have been time and again - but that always amaze me every time I see them - than on the big screen.

2) I have friends who worked on the film. Okay, not friends. Acquaintances. As the last time I checked, “friends” did not involve a bunch of arrogant backstabbing wankers who are so out of touch with reality that they think that if they prepare a cheque for an art director with cute little stickers all over it, that they are suddenly, somehow, Heath Ledger’s new best friend.

3) Heath Ledger. Jake Gyllenhaal. Having sex. With each other.

And now for a small disclaimer before the rant that follows. I was in no way upset by, offended by, nor cared about the homosexuality in the film. I couldn’t care less if someone is gay, straight, both…I have friends who are gay...a family member who is gay…and it isn’t an issue. I love them all for who they are...so my distaste for the film has nothing to do with that particular detail of the film. (Though I did note one redneck couple storm out of the theatre after the first kiss between Ennis and Jack…which I must only presume means that the good ol’ boy had done gone seen that thar movie poster for that thar cowboy movie and had convinced the little lady to go see it after church on Sunday. In which case I don’t find the film nearly as offensive as the closed-minded uninformed conservatives that make up this Province for the most part...but that is another rant for a different day.)

What my lack of enthusiasm really has to do with is that it was soo sooo sooooooo boring. I mean really really boring. They took a short story and turned it into a feature length film. It’s like when you were in high school and had to write a 1000 word essay and only had one thing to say. That thought got repeated over and over - stretched out beyond belief, and even if it were a good idea to begin with, bored the teacher to tears and you ended up with a C+. I mean – if you’ve seen the movie – substitute “Jack” for “Jackie” and what kind of story would it be? Zzzzzzzzzzzz…(and that is what I also find troubling - the filmmakers are relying on the “gay” story line to make the movie. But it’s hardly shocking enough to drag out for 2+ hours. I mean does anyone remember the “Ellen” airport scene circa 1997? No, which is exactly my point. In a few years there will be bigger…more earth-shattering social fish to fry…)

And then there was the character development. Or lack thereof. I didn’t particularly like Ennis or Jack. We didn’t really get to know either of them…who they were…what motivated them. I know this because I didn’t cry on command when the script tried to force it. And I cry at everything – from babies to watching the 6 o’clock news. But the poor writing did not grab me…did not make me care enough about these characters to really feel much of anything. It was like “hey everybody – this is the sad part…it’s coming up…ready…okay everybody…1, 2, 3…cry!” and I couldn’t get into it, rather resented it for trying to force emotion that just wasn’t there.

And the look of the film itself (if that even makes sense)...but the look…was just…blah. They took one of the most beautiful places on earth (IMNSHO) and made it look…well… grey. Beige. Blah. As mentioned by my partner-in-crime/fellow-film-critic “maybe that was the look they were going for.” Stark. Depressing. I don’t know. But if so, they succeeded.

I will say on a high note that Heath Ledger is brilliant…his acting carried the movie…Jake – well – the only funny bit was in my head when I kept thinking that he looked NOTHING like he did in Spiderman...(duh)…and Michelle Williams…I mean all this hype, and she was in it for about 15 minutes. I mean I could have played Alma at that point. I have great boobs too.

So all in all – if you’re actually even still reading…keep your $12, and if you must waste 2 hours of your life…then rent the DVD. A better suggestion is take your $12, get a cheap bottle of wine or two, grab a friend (boy, girl, one of each, whichever) and tune into this...

P.S. I note eight Academy Award nominations. 8. Well I have been wrong before…see the likes of "Gladiator"…"Lord of the Rings"…"Million Dollar Baby"…and other hours spent that I will never get back. Maybe it’s me. But someone someday needs to write/produce a film that holds my interest. And that means you Parkes. I am waiting patiently…:)

We Were on a Break...

2006-01-27T12:35:00.000-07:00

Well...I haven’t blogged in over a week - which could mean a multitude of things - mainly:

1) I have been relatively happy with things as of late…and as such am not able to wax poetic about any of the trials and tribulations that is my life.

2) I have been busy lately. V. busy. Entertaining out of town guests, i.e. my Mom (who I both love dearly and drives me to drink – quite literally – at the same time), Baby Sis, and her New Fiancé…(who I absolutely adore despite v. v. bad first impression in Summer ’04 likely due to my own worries about what was happening in Vegas at the time, as well as my I-am-not-drinking-tonight-rather-driving-your-sorry-annoyingly-drunk-asses-home-and-will-sit-here-as-martyr-sans-sense-of-humour-all-evening-hoping-that-at-least-you-will-feel-my-pain-in-8-short-hours-when-alarm-clock-rings)

3) I have been reading more than writing. Reading all sorts of things – from juicy fiction to the guide to my own very real reality as of late - in gold and black snakeskin patterned satin PJ’s courtesy of Miss L as she could not bear to throw them away and thought I could use some “lounging.” (Which btw - I admit are v. comfortable and quite lovely to lie about in until someone has poor sense to walk past open window and catch glimpse of same lounging on gold and black striped-paisley-polka-dot-couch in some sort of bizarre/hideous camouflage attempt.)

4) I have been busy expanding my social circle. Well social dot as it is. And well no – I haven’t expanded it per se. Yet. But I have thought about it. A lot. Have also been clearing out the old energy suckers (I wish you a v. Happy Birthday this weekend FFF…however I will not be there to drink myself into oblivion (which FYI was done only because you and the rest of the mongrels made me so damn uncomfortable in the first place) and do something foolish – so as to give you even more ammo to use against me the next time you all sit around trying to decipher me etc. etc. while I dig the knives out of my back…)

5) I have been v. busy at work. Well up until this moment anyways. Have committed to seeking some sort of promotion around here. Management quite happy with decision and will be supporting my eventual rise to CEO. Okay. Well not exactly CEO. But figure I have been here for 5 years now and should “expand my horizons” as they refer to it on most CVs. Which really is a load of bull for the most part. I just want to make more money. There’s a lot of really cute stuff I need to buy.

So there you have it – an update on the life and times Ginger/Mary Ann for now. Weekend looks promising, plans for a little cowboy loving (not my own unfortunately) as well as drinks with Miss L and her b.f. Mr. Beige.

TTFN...

Nuts & Bolts

2006-01-19T15:09:00.000-07:00

So a friend of mine is having a procedure this afternoon. A "procedure." Makes it sound a little less serious than "surgery." Also kinda makes it sound like he may be getting THE snip…but I for one hope that is not the case…

Anyways….the two of us were chatting last night…somewhat…and he tells me in a presumably joking fashion what he has become quite fond of the small-non-serious-albeit-a-bit-unsightly mass on his neck which we have both come to refer to as the bolt (well actually “bawlt” when said in South-African-British-Canadian muddled accent…) much in the fashion of a cartoon Frankenstein. He says he will actually miss it when it’s gone.

Which got me thinking (yes the dreaded thinking again - the thing I try so desperately not to do)…can you actually miss something that has no value to you…something which may even be detrimental to you…just because it has been a part of your life for so long? And yes. I suppose you can. In fact, I know you can. It’s like this thing…this bawlt …is not there for any particular reason - it’s just there hanging on…and just the thought that it is still there is comforting in some bizarre way…and the thought of being without it is not so much...regardless of its value…real or otherwise.

So what is it you do? I mean obviously - you need to rid yourself of this stuff. But if you are like me - you hold on desperately…because you hate ridding your life of anything…the shirt you wore on the that first date (or whatever it was) to that sunny café with the unsteady mugs so long ago…(even if said item is outdated and rather worn out now.) Or the ticket stubs to Closer because it was the first movie you walked out on in your life and reminds you how empowered your silent little protest made you feel. But at what point do you cut this stuff off? Stop hanging on to all these little things in boxes…shelves…jars on the mantle …whatever? Because at some point you are hanging on to so much of this stuff that you are completely overloaded and can’t collect anything else…and you find yourself living amongst a cluttered confusing mess of the past… finding it difficult to sort the important from the not-so-important…instead of living calmly in the moment.

Well. These are the things I am trying to focus my attention on now. And note to Frank…if you could maybe just hang onto that bolt for me…as I believe it may be me who is in need of her head being screwed on tighter.

Thanks luv…

Dress Code

2006-01-18T09:24:00.000-07:00

So I was getting ready for work this morning, and decided to wear the skirt that I have been saving since Christmas, the one Baby Sis gave me all the way from Vegas (don’t judge it – there’s no Gold Lamé anywhere)...the one she bought in August because she knew it would be perfect for me when the time was right. And it is. So cute. I would describe it here - only it would not do it justice, rather it would sound hideous…much like my gold-and-black-striped-paisley-polka-dot couch. Sounds terrible. But it works. Trust me.

Anyways…I am running late…as per usual it seems as I cannot seem to drag myself out of bed these days as in sleep everything is okay…and am jumping into my clothes (which I have laid out the night before…yes...some neuroticisms you just can’t get past) and I put on my skirt and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. And that’s when it hits me. This uncontrollable urge to twirl around like I’m 5 years old…just to see how the skirt sways. And suddenly I remember what it was like to go to birthday parties when I was little…all dressed up in my new - usually pink - dress…which of course I was not allowed to put on until the moment I was leaving so as to avoid coke-pop spills all down the front…and I can almost hear my mom telling me to have fun, don’t forget to say please and thank-you, don’t eat too much cake, and call us when you need a ride. And I am so excited to get there and show my friends my new dress because I feel like a princess even if it isn’t my birthday…although at this point I am so nervous about whether or not the gift I am giving is right – is it as nice as the other presents, will the birthday girl love it or will I feel stupid because my mom didn’t buy something as cool as Carly’s mom (who incidentally let us call her by her first name which I thought was really glamorous circa 1980, but also made me feel really uncomfortable in retrospect...though - ugh - at the time she was probably younger than I am now...)

Anyways. I digress. The thing that got me thinking most was right now – in this moment – there is not a single soul for me to twirl around for. A party dress is just a plain old dress when there is no one there to watch you watch your reflection in the mirror…smile approvingly, make some comment about you looking like a princess…and then making a further comment about what he would do to you in that dress (circa 2006 – not 1980) all the while with smiley eyes that adore everything they are seeing.

So add that to the list of things I miss. And the list of things I want again. Because I have a lot more twirling that needs to be done…

Chapter Two

2005-10-18T10:38:00.000-06:00

I know I know. A whole new look about things now. You may remember a year and a half of Ginger blogs...ranting and raving about everything from airports to radio talk shows...as indecisive about the choices I make as I am about the colour of my hair...and really...I just got bored of the whole thing. Always writing...musing... about what I should be doing with my life, instead of just doing it.

An amazing person once told me it was ACTIONS that matter. Not words. And I never really believed it - until recently - as I have had plenty of time to reflect on all these things...so many things. Firstly I wonder when it is that I will actually start to believe this person from the beginning, as he has always been right about everything. But secondly, and more importantly, I am ashamed by my lack of action. Merely floating around in the last year and a half...waiting for God or whomever to pluck me out of the tsunami waters and place me safely on dry, happy land. And that's just not going to happen.

So this time around, I am going to write as Mary-Ann. Honestly how I feel, not covered up under layers and layers of blonde hair, lip gloss, and piss and vinegar rants. Yes, they are still bound to occur - because - well - all of it is a part of me really. But just a part. I'm mostly the girl with brown curly hair, freckles, and tonnes of emotion that I cover up with sarcasm and anger. Which is silly really - because it's not being true to myself.

I have spent the last year...2 years...30 years...living the life everybody wants me to. And it just feels - empty. I have never thought about what I want, rather - just what will look good to others in a never-ending attempt to win approval. And I'm tired of it really. Tired.

I will be another year older in 12 days, and it amazes me how fast the time is going...I am not where I want to be right now - hanging in limbo - waiting for the hurts of a relationship past to go away. I want to move forward. And I need to do just that...because life is so short - I already have so many regrets, and there isn't much point to living life backward really.

So with that said, Chapter One comes to a close. It will always be there to look back fondly on, to learn from. But I was no longer happy there...and need to get on with a new chapter in order that this book might have a happy ending.

Indeed.

And So it Begins...

2005-10-17T17:59:00.000-06:00

Post One. Chapter Two.