tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51298318954323420792024-03-05T02:14:21.845-05:00strugglesaurusStrugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-73906022034638433832016-01-01T19:41:00.000-05:002016-01-01T19:41:26.800-05:002015: My Year Of Discovery (A Humbling Year)I'd be lying if I said I was sad to see 2015 go.<br />
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Was it a bad year? God no. But it's been an emotional year, a humbling year, a year of many, many ups and downs. And I can't wait to see what 2016 brings.<br />
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I've never made a big deal of the new year. I've never made resolutions. Maybe I've never had a year worth saying goodbye to.<br />
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But 2015 was different. January was the first time in 14 years that I was unemployed. It was the first time I wouldn't be able to rely on a paycheck. I left my job of 7 years. A company I had helped build, I was leaving behind. I packed up my apartment, said goodbye to my friends and family. I was starting a new journey.<br />
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Central America. Developing countries I only knew from my travel books. After my month of volunteering I had no concrete plan. I was truly on my own and it was exciting. I met some truly incredible people that first month. I let everything go: I napped in hammocks, I went to the beach, I climbed volcanoes, I ziplined, I went caving, I watched a million sunsets, a couple sunrises and went cliff diving. And that was only the first 5 weeks. I got certified for open water diving, went volcano boarding, snorkeling, hiked mountains, jumped off waterfalls, napped some more, hitchhiked, and went everywhere barefoot. I tried some amazing food and ate a lot of ice cream.<br />
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I also cried. I had a couple melt downs. I was at times extremely lonely. I felt insecure. I felt depressed. I was on the other side of the world from the people I needed a hug from. I didn't live every day to the fullest. Some days I stayed inside and read or watched movies. I realized that that was okay to do. Some people can always be on the go, I cannot. Some people easily make new friends, I do not. But the friends I did make? God I love them. I miss them so much. Funny how you can get to know so much about someone when you're on the other side of the world together. I missed home but I didn't want to go home.<br />
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I came home in May. To say that it was hard would be an understatement. I was an asshole. I was irritable and short-tempered. I lashed out at my family. I had no idea what I wanted to do next and kept changing my mind. My first thought was that I wanted save money and go right back out there, discover somewhere new. That dream quickly shattered as I realized how much debt I had and how long it would take me to save any money. I thought I wanted to save the world, go back to school, move to another country, I was lost. That is a terrifying feeling. I was applying to jobs and getting interviews and not getting hired. I questioned my skills, I questioned what type of job I wanted, I questioned myself. I had no idea what to apply to, what to look for. I was unemployed and angry. I didn't hide that from anybody.<br />
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Then came summer. Summer saved me. I got to see my friends again, I went to a music festival, and camping and hiking, visited my relatives in BC and ate lots of ice cream. Sound familiar? Being outdoors saved me. I made new friends and fell in love. I grew, I cared about who I wanted to be and was able to laugh and a little bit of the weight was lifted off my chest. I still felt lonely and depressed and not myself at times, but I saw a little part of me that I had missed. Sometimes when you lose yourself, you can't put your finger on what's wrong. It isn't until you have a moment of happiness that sort of takes you by surprise that you see the part of you that was missing.<br />
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In the fall I started working again. Still living at home, I was able to work for my old bosses at one of their stores. I am so grateful that they welcomed me back, knowing that I was still looking for a job in Toronto. This was only a slight comfort when I bumped into old friends: married, babies, career - while I was 30, living at home and working retail. I kept reminding myself that I had chosen this path, that I had chosen to leave everything to travel and experience the world. That was easier to say when I was on the other side of the world.<br />
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I guess I forgot to mention that I turned 30 over the summer. It's not as terrifying as everybody makes it out to be. Of course, by now I thought I would have a family, but things change and I'm not settling. I refuse to settle. Not in any aspect of my life. I might be crazy but it is a decision I will never regret. Still, being penniless, living at home and not being able to get a job does sting.<br />
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This is why I've always lived for the little things. Ask anybody, I laugh easy. I delight in the small things. A fresh baked croissant, a hug from a missed friend, a night in catching up on everything, scaring the shit out of someone by sneaking up on them. These things make me happy. Oh and poop jokes.<br />
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So what happened this winter? I had a low key, wonderful Christmas with my family. I accepted a job offer in Toronto that I am ecstatic to start. I start a new adventure.<br />
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2015 was full of discovery, learning, and experiences of every kind. I can't wait to see what 2016 holds.<br />
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<br />Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-27403676803918407062015-07-29T11:51:00.000-04:002015-07-29T14:13:55.443-04:00Heat of SummerThis summer has definitely been one for the books.<br />
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I have felt more lost and scared than I have in a very long time. Right now I am unemployed, after coming off of an incredible 4 month trip through Central America I have been trying to figure out what I want to do next with my life. And that's a big question. What do I want to do? I have no fucking clue. I have thought about working in a bar to enable me to go traveling again, or go back to school or work in not-for-profit or teach ESL. I have no idea and it is terrifying. There are days where I feel so lost that I don't want to get out of bed. Between that and trying to figure out where I fit in life, I get serious bouts of depression. I have lashed out at my family more times than is acceptable. I'm living at home after living on my own for 11 years and we've all been adjusting to each other.<br />
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But I have also had one of the best summers that I can remember. I love my family. They are so supportive of me and have put up with my shit. While I have often felt that I would like to be on my own and not disturbed, I find comfort in their support. I have seen friends that I hadn't seen in months and laughed so much that my stomach hurts. I've gone hiking, cycling, camping, cottaging, canoeing, swimming and most recently my first music festival. I am more tanned than I have ever been in my life because I have spent so much time outside. I can't get enough of it. I've read about 4 or 5 books. They have been my therapy. It has been 5 days since I've read and I'm itching to start a new book. I've also had a lot of ice cream. Ice cream is delicious.<br />
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I met a boy too. He's pretty great and has brought me so much happiness and opened up my cold heart that hasn't been trusting in many many years. Even though our time is limited since he will be moving across the globe in a couple of weeks, he will always hold a special place in my heart for allowing me to be me and being someone I can trust and open up to and have the absolute best time with. You guys would really like him.<br />
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So much has happened this summer and I feel like I haven't even touched on half of it. I am also going to BC next week to see my family. I haven't seen them in a few years and the mountains are one of my happy places. I will be seeing my nana for probably the last time. She is in a hospital full time and has serious dementia. She won't recognize me. But I am glad that I will be able to say goodbye. She is an incredible woman with the best laugh and sense of humor. Even though she won't be the same person when I see her, she'll still be my nana.<br />
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And in a couple of weeks I will be turning 30. Quite the milestone and I think I'm okay with it. Let's leave it there so that I don't overthink it.<br />
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I've been on an emotional roller coaster. Many of my ups are tied in with my downs, and sometimes my heart feels like it will explode. But I can't change any of it. If you took away those downs then you'd be taking away my highs. And those highs are amazing. And they are accentuated even more because I know that not everything is perfect and I'm lucky to have what I have. I am very very lucky.<br />
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So thank you, I love you dearly.<br />
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<br />Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-27525362199288160192015-05-08T13:57:00.000-04:002015-10-19T18:31:02.794-04:00Sometimes<div dir="ltr">
Sometimes there is an anger or sadness or fury inside that wells up out of nowhere. No, it is not from nowhere, probably the exhaustion from nonstop travel, but it doesn't come out of the blue. That is for sure. It is dizzying and consuming and somewhere recently you have wanted to cry out for attention. <br />
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Help. Love. Love me. Accept me. Hold me. Why aren't you worth it? Why do you not believe you're worth it? How can you ever heal and move past this and feel comfortable in your own skin? <br />
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A moment of bliss. Pure happiness. Where there is honestly not a single shred of darkness. You hold onto this moment dearly and enjoy it, do others enjoy these moments as you do? <br />
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That is the root of it, though, isn't it. The pursuit of happiness and longing for acceptance. The nagging fear of being laughed at, not with, not in the way you want. You make a fool of yourself to see a glimpse of a smile. You withdraw when you feel a moment of exclusion. You run.</div>
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You want them to notice you are no longer there. See the emptiness. Is it them or is it you? Who are you more angry with anyway, yourself for not being good enough or them for not loving you.<br />
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It started at an early age, before you can really remember, but most likely around 5. You, the loner. That marking, ugly word. The girl on the swing. Oh, you idiot. It probably started from not being invited to play a game and you never fucking got over it. You replayed every fucking word that came out of your mouth, of theirs. What should you have said differently. Who should you have been instead. <br />
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You show your true self, that dark, quirky, giddy side. That total oddball weirdo that you are proud of. One second of doubt and you recoil. Don't they know how hard it is to be yourself. It is a daily conscious decision.<br />
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Sometimes it is easier to hide. To cover yourself in darkness and self pity. <br />
You want to cry out, pay attention to me, love me. You fear the worry of your family. You fear the others will tire of you. Nobody wants to be around someone who craves love. <br />
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You question everything. Did you run. Will you ever be whole. Will you ever be loved in the way that you crave. What could you have done to be included. What should you have looked like to keep his attention.<br />
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To be wanted. Oh to be wanted.<br />
A song runs through your head. I want you to want me. I need you to need me.<br />
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But you refuse to change. You are proud. Proud of who you are. Aren't you? Fuck you for not seeing me for me. It is a paradox. You are submerged in a life of contradictions.<br />
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Are you attracted to danger, or are you genuinely curious? Can it be both? When you walk into the the lion's den, does it matter why you're there? Only that here you are, half hoping you will see something terrifyingly beautiful and eagerly awaiting that feeling of your heart in your throat. Will it see you? Will it recognize a lost soul wandering? When it rips you apart, do you regret romanticizing all of this?<br />
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And finally, that nagging question: would you, the one I hold onto so fiercely, have turned out differently if I had been better?</div>
Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-48878786484311321252015-02-05T13:39:00.001-05:002015-02-05T20:17:42.243-05:00Day 25: All the Farewells<p dir="ltr">Last week was my last (official) day at Vida, and I have been missing them dearly ever since I left. My last day was perfect and I would like to tell you about it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am always delighted to come in to Vida and see Shari and her little brother there (they aren't always able to make the trek) and I was happy that I would be able to say goodbye to her. There is something so bright and magical about this little soul that drew me in from day 1. About 30 minutes in she bumped her head pretty hard and rather than me stick around the classroom as I usually did, I scooped her up in my arms and sat with her until the tears subsided. Even though I knew her head hurt, I was content to just sit there with her on my lap and I started to sing her the lullaby that my mom sang to me when I wasn't feeling well. I found it very fitting to sing Que Sera Sera (Doris Day) and sure enough she settled. We talked about siblings and boyfriends (myself, no, but there was a very tall and cute boy she would like to be her boyfriend) and she asked where I was from. She asked if there would be any more gringos coming (white people) and I told her I hoped so.<br>
We made our way over to the swing and as I slowly pushed her she leaned back, closed her eyes and smiled up at the sky. I will never forget that moment. Partially because it was so perfect and also because I have always done that same thing. I smiled from the bottom of my toes.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Oliver then asked me if I'd like to accompany him to the market to grab the day's lunch food, and while peeling away from Shari was hard I've always loved my conversations with Oliver. He speaks with such passion and love and sincerity that you know that he loves what he does more than anything. On our walk there we noticed two children pulling at someone.<br>
It was one of the kid's mothers. She was drunk, past the point of being able to open her eyes or stand and her child was trying to get her home. It couldn't have been later than 3 pm. Slowly the kids pulled her up but she soon collapsed with her underwear around her ankles. The pain in that boy's eyes ran so deep, he should have been coming to Vida but instead he was forced to make sure his mother didn't find her end in the streets.<br>
It's these sights that pull you back down to reality and force you to see how much work needs to be done. But it can be done and slowly but surely, Oliver, Daniel and Marcos are changing the lives of the children in Dueñas. We soldier on.</p>
<p dir="ltr">When we get back to Vida, Oliver and I make the kids sandwiches and I find myself quieting. I am sad to leave and it is getting nearer. After lunch I notice the kids huddling outside and Oliver asks if I'm ready. I'm not. They yell my name and I'm greeted by a giant farewell sign with drawings and messages from all the kids. They thank me for my love and patience but inside I want to cry and only hope that I have left solely a positive impact on Vida, for they have changed me. Each one of them comes up to give me a hug and kiss goodbye and many of them have made additional cards. They are beautiful and perfect and I am full of pure love. <br>
The money that we all raised, you and I, is going to pay for the salaries of the teachers and helping staff. Many have not been paid in awhile, and they have lost some amazing teachers as a result. The teachers are so important here, with their love and patience and generosity and I knew that they couldn't lose another. </p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>Thank</b><b> </b><b>you</b>, Marcos, Daniel, Oliver, for showing me what pure love looks like and how to be a champion for children.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Always yours,<br>
<i><b>Ale</b></i> 🌷</p>
Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-70560360542344892482015-01-28T10:40:00.001-05:002015-01-28T11:05:44.093-05:00Day 16: All the Vida<p dir="ltr"><u>Last</u> week I went on "house visits" with Oliver, one of the founders of Vida, and Meg, my volunteer companion and friend.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I had been warned and prepped for what I was about to see. I knew what to expect. I knew it would be difficult. And then I experienced it and realized that no matter how much someone tells you what an experience will be like, whether it is someone close to you dying or falling in love, the actual experience is completely different.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I didn't take pictures. I didn't feel comfortable invading their privacy. I didn't want to be the girl with everything who was passing through wanting to take pictures of a life she couldn't imagine living. </p>
<p dir="ltr">We visited 5 homes. They were all very different. Everything is built from aluminum laminate, some had laminate "roofs" others had bamboo holding up plastic sheeting. Some had cement floors, others had dirt. Some had been tidied and made to feel somewhat homey, others were littered with garbage and other matter. There was normally 1 bed, a sunken mattress, for 3-4 children and the mother. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The children, when I saw them at home, were completely different from when they were at Vida. I was used to their never ending smiles, squeals of laughter and boundless energy. Here they were shy, quiet, reserved. Many children spent the entire day, every day, on the streets. Their parent(s) rarely know where they are and this is the norm. Some children didn't know where their parents were. Some have an alcoholic father or a mother who prostitutes.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am so thankful to Oliver for taking me here to see the reality of these children's lives. These kids, who jump on me and wrap their arms around me, they don't have happy lives at home. They barely have a home. But every day they come to Vida for a piece of happiness and a moment away from reality. I am so thankful that Oliver, Marcos and Daniel found each other and built Vida. Last week they didn't have the money for rent for next month, but Daniel says he is not worried. This is God's plan, He will help them find a way. This is their calling.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I only have a couple of days left and I am wracked with guilt. I do not want to leave these children. But I also need to find my own way. I need to follow my own path, that may lead me back to them. Of this I am sure. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I would like to find a way to help them fundraise for different things; whether it is their lunches, rent, paying the teachers, buying more desks, or new toothbrushes or vitamins, I would like to gather sponsors. Their work is never done. They will soon be building a new house for a family thanks to a volunteer's contributions. They are opening a second location in a neighboring town for children with down's syndrome. They are tireless. They are warriors and angels and saviors and very humble. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I only have a couple of days left with them, but I know my work with Vida is far from over.</p>
<p dir="ltr">(I would also like to add that while writing this post, My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion was playing in the background. I can't make that shit up. I don't know where it came from.)</p>
Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com1Antigua Guatemala, Antigua Guatemala14.558541 -90.73902tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-14014417525978457452015-01-21T10:19:00.001-05:002015-01-21T11:04:06.986-05:00Day 10: All the Kids<p dir="ltr">When I signed up to volunteer in Guatemala I knew that it would be tough and rewarding. It is so much more. It is humbling, tiring, fun, taxing and sometimes frustrating. My feelings of frustration are always at myself. It has been hard to pick up Spanish, even with classes. My brain keeps telling me to speak French. This is not helpful. I want to be able to communicate better with the kids. One girl, Shari, she must be about 6, teaches me words in Spanish and I love it. I love when the kids teach me because I hope that it makes them feel important. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Let me tell you about Vida. I have wanted to write this post for awhile, but knew it would be hard, and needed to prepare this post. And myself. Vida started off as a safe haven for children with down syndrome and is now a place for kids with any mental disabilities or who don't have a parent at home. People with down syndrome in Guatemala (and I am guessing many other countries) are discarded. That is putting it simply, and that is how I will leave it. People with other mental disabilities are at risk of being treated the same. Then there are kids with absent parents, alcoholics, drug abusers, or 6 other kids to take care of. There is a 9 year old who parents his 7 younger siblings. So Vida opened up its doors to them as well. It fluctuates from between 25-45 children. The kids that go come on their own volition and by themselves. Nobody brings them or picks them up.<br>
Vida is their safe haven. It has been built from spare parts and they have been amazingly innovative. The people that work there only get paid when there is extra money. There is never extra money. They have lost some amazing teachers because of this. There is a makeshift playground, a dining room where they eat their snacks, and right now lunch three times a week, 2 small classrooms and a work shed. My first day there I was told that Vida was now my home. Forever.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Vida let me into their home and I let them into my heart. The kids run up to me every day and greet me, "Hola Ale!", with a hug and a kiss, or a high five and a fist bump. <u>They</u> climb all over me and chase me and smile the most beautiful smiles up at me. My face hurts from smiling back. I'm always smiling and determined to only ever bring love to Vida. Vida's first project was called the Love Syndrome, Síndrome de Amor, which is the perfect name. Vida is run down and in need of everything, but it is full of love and acceptance.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I want the money I raised to be beneficial in the most beneficial way possible, if that makes sense. Right now someone is sponsoring 3 lunches a week for the children, but that is not a long term thing. They are also always in need of vitamins. They could always use more craft supplies. The clothes the children wear are stained and torn and always dirty. Their homes are tiny and have nothing in them. I have limited amounts of money and I want to use it for everything, which isn't smart or realistic. You see my dilemma. So I am in the process of strategizing what they need most, what will be most beneficial, and what will have a lasting impact for these children. I will be speaking with the people who run Vida about how they would like me to contribute but I know they will tell me that it is my decision.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And so, for a short amount of time, I will give them my love.</p>
<p dir="ltr">XO<br>
A</p>
Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-50757041834512497902015-01-19T21:21:00.001-05:002015-01-19T21:21:16.859-05:00Day 8: All the Adrenaline<p dir="ltr">This weekend 15 volunteers went up to Semuc Champey, and let me tell you, it was the most surreal weekend I have ever had.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Semuc Champey is about 8.5 hours away from Antigua. We piled in, 10 per shuttle bus/van and hurdled through the mountains, weaving through narrow roads, around potholes and fallen rocks and staring down beautiful cliffs and valleys and small towns. That was the first 7.5 hours (including stops for food). We were then dropped off on the side of the road where a pickup truck waited for us and we piled in the back for the next hour. It was 9 kilometres, however since it rains most mornings, the amount of mud, winding roads and rocks makes it an extremely bumpy ride. We managed to get to the hostel, El Portal, unscathed and in awe of our surroundings. The power is only on from 6pm - 10pm. There is no hot water. But man is this place beautiful and how else do you add character? </p>
<p dir="ltr">First on the agenda on day 2 is wake up at 5 AM because there is a rooster outside your window and some lovely men who are renovating the hut next to ours. 🙇 But alas, it is a new day. After bumping around in the dark and breakfast we make our way into the small rainforest and up the mountain. I use the terms rainforest and mountain lightly; the mountain, although not the easiest thing I've climbed, didn't take us more than 2-3 hours to climb. And then we hit the pozas, the natural pools, where a river flowed down the mountain and through the pools, over a waterfall and back into the river. The view is surreal. We are in awe, giddy that yes, we are here breathing in this air and jumping over mini waterfalls to the next pool. I tried to slide down the last, larger waterfall at our guide's suggestion. He was joking and I was thoroughly disappointed. </p>
<p dir="ltr">After we are all chilled a little bit too much we hike home (most of us in our bathing suits and barefooted as our muddy shoes are definitely not appealing to put back on) and grab some lunch. Then it is a five minute walk to the caves where we are handed candles that we will need to use the whole time for light. Most of the way through the caves we are either waist deep in water or can't touch. A candle will go out and someone will help them relight it. Honestly, it is hard to describe how thrilling and adrenaline inducing the caves are. We climb a waterfall using a rope, end up in pitch black when most of our candles go out, jump from a high spot in the caves into a pool below, slide down a mini (very mini) waterfall (that is pitch black at the bottom) and the whole time the stalagtites throw shadows and look like prehistoric teeth, waiting for their next meal. When we end up back out into the light it feels like it couldn't have been real. We were given tubes to float down the river while kids tried to sell us beers from their tubes. The water was cold but when the sun cme out it brought me right back to summers gone by in thr Slocan Valley in BC, mountains on either side. Our last adventure to end the day is to jump off the bridge into the water below. Only 4 of us worked up the nerve, and I think my heart restarted.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Our walk back to the hostels resulted in being covered in mud (and probably poop, let's face it) and being very grateful for a (cold) shower and dry clothes.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So yes, that was my weekend. Actually that was all done in one day. 2 days of driving for one day of pure adrenaline and excitement and beauty. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I would love to upload photos but Blogger won't let me, so the ones on Facebook and Instagram will have to do.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Here I am in week 2 and very excited for the adventures that await.</p>
<p dir="ltr">XO Ale (Alex in Spanish is Ale, pronounced Al-eh)</p>
Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-76864042880988757922015-01-15T20:32:00.001-05:002015-01-15T20:32:30.496-05:00Day 4: All the Chicken Buses<p dir="ltr">Before I came to Guatemala I was warned about the <i>chicken buses</i> - they are school buses that have been painted in bright coliurs and blast music, and it's common to have 3 people per seat. Muy squishy. They are super cheap and people <u>pile</u> in and can be daunting if you're not prepared for them to hurdle down the streets. But that's Guatemala, and it is actually a great ride. Which is great because to get to and from Vida, where I'm volunteering, it takes about 30-50 minutes each way. Luckily I have Meg with me each way so I'm not alone.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Here is a break down of my day each day:<br>
7:00 AM: breakfast is served! <br>
9:00 - 11 AM: Spanish class.<br>
11:15 AM: head to Maximo Nivel (the volunteer HQ) to find other people for lunch<br>
1:00 PM: head to the bus station<br>
2:00-5:ish PM: volunteer with some of the cutest kids at Vida. There is quite the language barrier still, but I play a lot with the kids in the yard, and try my best to help them with their crafts and anything else they need. <br>
6:00 PM: dinner is served and I am always late!<br>
The rest of the evening is Spanish homework and often meeting up with other volunteers for a drink. EVERY night is ladies night at different bars. I've done 2 so far and I danced my butt off last night!</p>
<p dir="ltr">I have met some truly amazing people this week. From the other volunteers to Olga, my house mom, to the people at Vida to the locals, it has been great so far and everybody welcomes you into their life.</p>
<p dir="ltr">This weekend I am going to a place called Semuc Champey. There are waterfalls and hiking and caves and swimming and it all just sounds amazing. It is a 10 hour bus ride each way but I've been told it is worth it. !!!! </p>
<p dir="ltr">That's all I have for today, Mr. Moose lost an antler. On day 1 I think. I'm pretty sad, not gonna lie. Don't worry though, I won't let it ruin my trip.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Hasta luego!</p>
Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com1Antigua Guatemala, Antigua Guatemala14.558541 -90.73902tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-61620560349271026272015-01-12T12:13:00.001-05:002015-01-12T12:13:24.746-05:00Day 1: Learn All the Spanish<p dir="ltr">So here I am, sitting in a garden with WiFi on day 1 of my adventure. Let me tell you, Antigua is such a beautiful town. There are cobblestone streets and restaurants and shops everywhere. My house mom is very friendly but I feel awkward with the communication barrier. I have enrolled in Spanish classes that will start tomorrow at 9am and I will definitely take them every day that I am here. <br>
There are a lot of dos and don'ts. The hardest for me is that we shouldn't eat fruit that is cut up and sold on the street because of how dirty it is and the word parasites was thrown out there and hell no. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The other volunteers are friendly and young. I am for sure the oldest newbie, but they are sure to keep me young!</p>
<p dir="ltr">This weekend I plan on taking a trip to Lake Atitlan. It is supposed to be one of the most beautiful places and I have been looking forward to it for awhile! I think it will be the perfect first tour.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Someone said that they hoped to be able to shop at Target. So there's that. Also, I've been told I <i>have</i> to go to the McDonalds here because it is the fifth most beautiful McDs in the world and you could get married there. (Next week's post will not be about me getting hitched in a fast food chain.)</p>
<p dir="ltr">Hasta luego!<br>
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Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com0Antigua Guatemala, Antigua Guatemala14.558541 -90.73902tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-7956871861830632712015-01-05T02:39:00.001-05:002015-01-05T02:39:49.907-05:00Going On An Adventure<p dir="ltr">In 6 very short days I will be heading to Guatemala where I will begin the, er, beginning of a once in a lifetime trip. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I have so many feelings coursing through me right now, hence the insomniac post I am about to write. I am excited, nervous, scared, anxious, impatient, and a million other things. I'm not ready and yet I want to be on the plane already.</p>
<p dir="ltr">First off, I will be volunteering in Guatemala with children for 3 weeks. A month ago I held a fundraiser to help offset some of the volunteering costs and to raise money for the community. They have asked me to wait until I get down there to give them the money and see if I'd like to put it towards any projects I become involved in. In total I was able to raise $1200 and I am pretty proud of that.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Unless I stay longer to volunteer, after I'm done I will be looking for other backpackers to start my travel with. While I know I won't want to stay with the same group the entire time, I want to travel with people, partly for the experience and partly for safety. I'll be heading south from Guatemala and hitting up as many countries in Central America as I can: El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama. Then I'll head down to South America to tour Colombia, Peru, Ecuador and Chile. That's the plan, but I know things change and that's part of what I look forward to. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Honestly I can't wait to get started on this journey and I will definitely be updating my blog. Finally, a reason to write again. I can't wait to take you all with me. </p>
<p dir="ltr"><u>XO</u></p>
Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-72954273017234746692014-01-05T23:58:00.000-05:002014-01-05T23:58:29.107-05:00Musings of a Muser Without a Muse: 2014Hello internet.<br />
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I never know how to start these things. Should I apologize for not writing earlier? I meant to, it's just that, you know, I got busy, I didn't know what to say. I started to write something, a hundred times, but every time I hit delete, delete, delete.<br />
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Shall we start with some small talk? How was your New Years? Mine was great actually, went out for dinner and a couple drinks with some friends. I didn't stay home this year, like you heard me proclaim I was going to do. How bout this cold front?<br />
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I know, I'm being a terrible conversationalist. I've rewritten every paragraph, and it's still terrible. You are a kind and patient listener. I promise that I will reward you with a GIF at the end of this monstrosity of a post if I can figure out how to make one. You'll love it.<br />
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I wish I had something to rant or rave about or even something to make you laugh. LOL, at the very least. I'm writing this just to get myself back in the mode of writing. It's been awhile and I miss it so, and one of these days I will please you with a random rambling and make you giggle.<br />
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One thing that I will leave you with, my goals for 2014:<br />
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1. Pay off my credit card.<br />
2. Organize my apartment so that it's more of a home.<br />
3. Date more.<br />
4. Volunteer.<br />
5. Read 12 books.<br />
6. Fall in love.<br />
7. Connect with friends and family on a weekly basis.<br />
8. Work out twice a week.<br />
9. Give cooking a shot.<br />
10. Keep blogging, write every month.<br />
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Okay, <strike>so I couldn't figure out how to make a GIF (I spent all of 30 seconds), so here is a video</strike>. I tried uploading the video 5 times. Figured out how to make a GIF instead. Love it. Cherish it.<br />
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Merci beaucoup mes amis, je vous adore.<br />
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À bientôt! xoStrugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-31587047701268894912013-08-08T00:09:00.000-04:002013-08-08T00:09:34.628-04:00Semi-Sober: A Journey to AdulthoodSince I started drinking, I've had a problem knowing when to stop. There's been a couple of years (more specifically the summers of 2003 and 2007, especially 2007) where I was a heavy partier. It's gone up and down throughout the years, but I vary from being a bit of a hermit to an out-at-all-hours party girl. I'm good at extremes.<div>
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Recently, I've realized that I've designated myself as the "fun girl". I don't know if other people share this same notion of me, it's completely all in my head. I realized this in the car yesterday. That's how recent this actualization was. I'll spare you the manic train of thoughts that led me to that AHA moment. Anywho, being this fun girl, well a lot of the time it involved Drunk Alex, and I would let loose another part of myself. She laughs, she dances, she's bold and she falls. I'm also like that when I'm sober, but to a lesser degree. I still fall. Trying to be a fun girl is exhausting; I rarely said no to going out, was always up for more, more, more. Was I genuinely having fun? Most of the time, yes, I was. I was having a blast. </div>
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But then it went from being funny to being reckless. My shenanigans stopped being cute. My hangovers became more of a nuisance because I actually had plans the next day. I'm not in my early twenties anymore and 30 is staring at me like, "buddy, get your shit together before you hit a wall." And I've hit many, many a wall. </div>
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I'm sure many of you have had one too many drinks, forgotten to say to yourselves, "hold on, this tequila shot will probably result in my singing to the porcelain gods, no thanks." And it's not that I only binge drink. I don't. I can easily have 1 drink, or none, but more and more when I've gone out on weekends I've gone hard. Too hard. I skinned my bloody knees recently. Or rather, skinned them bloody. My friend's mom pointed out that I should have stopped skinning my knees when I was six. (At first I thought she said that I should only be skinning my knees during sex, and I was pretty shocked.)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm still nursing that one knee back to health.</td></tr>
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Staring at all my reckless behaviour and stupidity over the past couple of years, rather than laughing it off as I've done, I realized that I need to change something. Anybody remember that scene from Sex and the City where Carrie's friend is still partying hard in her late 30s and falls out a window and dies? Yeah, I don't want to be her. (Also her name in the show is Lexi and yeah, I was all shit, son!) </div>
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So here begins my 4 month journey of semi-sober. I put some guidelines down so that I couldn't cheat, especially because I have no self-control. I have only allotted 4 occasions, 1 per month, that I am allowed to drink, and only 2 drinks those nights. I could have allowed myself to drink a glass of wine or beer at dinner, but I think this will be a good test of character, will and self-discovery for me to go semi-sober. Why allow the 1 night each month then? Well it started because I have some big events coming up, such as my birthday and my friend's wedding, and because I think that it is way more likely that I will succeed if I make it realistic for myself. It's also a good test. Can I only drink 2 on my birthday when people want to buy me drinks? I 100% know that I can, and it will be cheaper for everybody. Win-win. Another reason why is because I can be a bit of an extremist, and that it never a good idea. This is in the middle, and it feels good.</div>
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With all this money that I'll have saved, I'm definitely buying myself a pony.</div>
Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-32765615835239919462013-03-17T19:32:00.000-04:002013-03-17T19:32:54.118-04:00Do You Face Your Attacker?I know, it's been awhile since I've written. Awhile? A long time.
And I'm not sure when I will write again after this.
However I felt that this was important to share, and it's taken me awhile to work through this. You may remember my post a couple years ago about a rando that I met at the bar whose name was Awesome. I posted a sound clip of numerous voice mails that he had left for me, as I had thought they were extreme and funny and wanted to share them with my readers. All of 30 people read that post. A couple of days later someone posted a nasty note on Reddit linking to my blog, claiming to be Awesome and making up random things behind the phone calls that they supposedly left. I knew beyond a doubt that it was not the person who left the voice mails and had an inkling that it was someone I knew that posted it. This didn't stop the hundreds of hate comments I received, death threats and my picture and personal information (Facebook account, email address, and other links to my personal information) being posted on other trolly websites. I received emails and Facebook messages and ended up completely blacking out all of my accounts.
And then it ended and the trolls moved on to someone else to attack.
I never thought that I would out who felt the need to do such a malicious thing. However a few weeks ago my brother told me that he was told who it was.
I screamed. I screamed bloody murder for about 10 minutes. It was someone who I went to high school with. We were never friends, nor were we enemies. To my knowledge, I never did anything to him. When I found out, all sorts of revenge ideas were streaming through my head, I wanted him to pay, I wanted him to know what hell he put me through, I wanted to see his remorse. And I wanted to punch him in the face. With my fist. The next day, I wanted to contact him and meet him in person to let him know that there are consequences for your actions. And then the anger subsided. Nothing I said would change what happened. It was years ago and it doesn't matter any more.
I'm not writing for anybody to get angry for me. More of a lesson. Every action has a consequence, and just because you can't see the person's face, they are human and they have feelings. Also, don't name your kid Awesome. Or Wispy.
So, Jeff. If you are reading this I hope that you never do what you did to me to anybody else.Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-40083099075376989872012-02-26T21:45:00.001-05:002012-02-26T21:45:00.661-05:00I was born with multiple personalitiesMy mother had my name picked out before she knew that I was a girl. <br />
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Alexandra etymologizes* from Ancient Greek. They didn't mess around back then, and I believe that there was a lot of thought put into this name. Let's break it up into its syllables. First, we have 'Alex', how do you do. Then we have 'and', a connector. Lastly, we have this tiny little 'ra'. Where does ra come from? More importantly, who is ra? <br />
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Keep up with me folks, I'm going somewhere with this. I believe that the Greeks knew that whoever was born an Alexandra, wouldn't just have some humdrum personality. They would have personality and a LOT of it. Alex would do for every day personality, but every now and then ra would come out. You wouldn't be able to put your finger on it, but when talking to Alexandra, at times something would seem just slightly ra-ish. <br />
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ra would like to say that she wrote this post. She is fairly quirky, and mostly crazy. She spins from one idea to another, and Alex apologizes if you couldn't keep up. <br />
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Yeah, I wrote a post about have more than one personality and have now convinced you that I am certifiably insane. Love it. Just love it.<br />
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After Skyping with my parents the other night, I ended with "love you both", to which she replied "love you both... err.. both your personalities." Proof that she knew I'd be deserving of the name Alexandra.<br />
<br />
*I made up that word.Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-7667960523542188072012-01-07T00:17:00.000-05:002012-01-07T00:17:35.072-05:00Brain Word Fart Block ThingI miss writing. I miss being able to write, and sitting down and telling a story. But then this evil writing word fart block monster came and it hasn't left. I have all these drafts sitting here, completely unfinished and very lame. Did you know that there is one about life as a male poodle? And one about how I should probably become a lesbian? Oddly enough, I chopped off all my hair recently. Step 1, check. But that's beside the point. Point is, WHERE ARE MY WORDS AND STRINGING TOGETHER OF THEM CAPABILITY? <br />
<br />
I've lost you now, haven't I? Well, if I haven't, I will tell you a little ditty of a story.<br />
<br />
This New Years I decided I wanted to do something different. After spending a month actively trying to remember what I did last new years eve (I was home on antibiotics and was passed out before midnight), all I could think of were past years of disappointment. And hangovers, so many hangovers. Year after year, without fail I would wake up on January 1st with an overwhelming sense of blahhhh. And then remember how much money I spent and look over at the hooker next to me and think, "was it all worth it?" The hooker was of course worth it, the rest of the night... meh. I love me a good hooker. <br />
<br />
So this year I actively made no plans. Instead I watched kick ass Criminal Minds marathon. It was amazing. Of course, no new years is complete without a hooker, and I have a special new years eve harlot. <br />
<br />
Ok, so I lied. I don't have any hookers or harlots. I didn't want to alarm anybody with my lame sober new years. Even though it was the best new years ever. Really. Even without drunk Alex. New Years drunk Alex is a meanie. She doesn't like the hoopla either. <br />
<br />
Sober Alex also has some slight anger issues that she needs to deal with and is unsure of how drunk Alex will handle them. It's all fun and games until someone pisses a bitch off. <br />
<br />
Maybe there will be less drunk Alex stories, but don't worry kids, there will probably be some angry Alex stories. Do you think they will let me write in prison? Can you imagine the stories I'll have from prison?? "Alex Gets Searched", "Alex Drops Soap", "Alex in Chains", "Alex Gets Her First Bitch". I'll have to rename my blog lexintheclink. Catchy, no?<br />
<br />
I think I found my inspiration. <br />
<br />
I apologize for the nonsensical post. <br />
<br />
Oh and here's my short hair. Perfect for both becoming a lesbian and going to prison.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjokWDNyhVqHXATm7BX07hffBSLQ7l6QgtKqkZRG14ADiOK60PAFFMxYa5_hHFAr2zNhLcsySy_1rF42pYuXHMsXZUDUlAo87h4iZ6Mq27h03zlN2U6j3Rtn-LYR7geGdM0XZzcJSYaJXaC/s1600/short+hair.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjokWDNyhVqHXATm7BX07hffBSLQ7l6QgtKqkZRG14ADiOK60PAFFMxYa5_hHFAr2zNhLcsySy_1rF42pYuXHMsXZUDUlAo87h4iZ6Mq27h03zlN2U6j3Rtn-LYR7geGdM0XZzcJSYaJXaC/s400/short+hair.JPG" /></a></div>Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-77056979538668268302011-09-02T00:00:00.000-04:002011-09-02T00:00:28.640-04:00Best Places to Hide...I was going to title this post "Best Places to Hide if You're a Rapist"... but I just don't have time to be questioned by the police right now. But yes, let us all assume that if you are a rapist, these would be excellent places to hide. You should leave your scorn at the door for this one.<br />
<br />
Oh, so this idea came to me not while planning an attack, but while talking about how much I love to hide. Always have. I am the most patient person in the world if I am anticipating a good scare on my prey.<br />
<br />
So here are my top 12 (because I had more than 10) places to hide:<br />
<br />
1. In an alley way. Preferably one with dark corners and random cut-outs.<br />
<br />
2. Behind a tree. However, if it is at night, you need to make sure that your shadow isn't showing, it totally gives you away.<br />
<br />
3. The back seat. Crack a window.<br />
<br />
4. Behind a door. This is one of my favourites. If you are anticipating someone coming through a door, hide behind it, then when they open and close it, BAM there you are right on the other side.<br />
<br />
5. Basements. This requires the utmost patience. But is well worth the wait.<br />
<br />
6. Laundry baskets. This only works if you are under 10 and can fit in one.<br />
<br />
7. In the shower. Unless they are about to poop.<br />
<br />
8. In a clothes rack in a large store. Preferably one that has long garments hanging to hide your feet.<br />
<br />
9. Under the bed. Unless you had a low bed, because even if you do fit under it just snugly, when someone lies down on it, the joke is on you. Especially if you suffocate and die.<br />
<br />
10. In a cupboard or closet. Make sure there is nothing potentially toxic spilling onto any body parts if you are hiding under the kitchen sink.<br />
<br />
11. Outside a window. This one is best pulled off with a build up of rapping lightly on the window and hiding. And then just appearing.<br />
<br />
12. If you have perfected the stalker walk (walking quietly at the exact same pace as your prey), then just sneaking up behind them is often a marvelous little kick.<br />
<br />
I think I will stop there before I sound too creepy. Too late?<br />
<br />
Well, let me leave you with this advice. Do not hide anywhere too high, like in a tree, where you could fall and seriously injure yourself. Know your prey. Do they punch when frightened? Prepare to duck. Do they carry pepper spray? Wear a mask. I mean, just avoid them all together. Do they have a heart condition? Know where your nearest defibrillator is.<br />
<br />
And when times are tough, just picture their reactions and faces when you scared them. It always cheers me up. Am I messed up a little in the head? Dark and twisted? Slightly. But do I giggle like a child when I have executed the perfect hide-and-scream? Yes. And there is nothing like a child's laughter. Ok, so my giggle sounds more like a cackle, and it's more like an evil hag than a child. But there's nothing like that either.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMAJxqO1p6hqNGI813lD79TxUnrGgjzKUDNgCWqoTuZD7uvbWpsLks3mcoyYichAw-h_v9Msqclulkrh9rzdHDKZuvAQxXr2e2ehse5_QLKC5PvuFk1ttxGwtABZJMIqRQfl7YqcVOfJN/s1600/P1000634b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMAJxqO1p6hqNGI813lD79TxUnrGgjzKUDNgCWqoTuZD7uvbWpsLks3mcoyYichAw-h_v9Msqclulkrh9rzdHDKZuvAQxXr2e2ehse5_QLKC5PvuFk1ttxGwtABZJMIqRQfl7YqcVOfJN/s320/P1000634b.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perfect tree to hide behind</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-10150499958492839022011-08-09T10:00:00.001-04:002011-08-09T10:00:12.651-04:00A hate-hate relationship..First off, let me apologize for going MIA, yet again.. I feel like I've lost my mojo. I'm not sure where it went, or why, but it's gone. I blame it on a wire misfire in my brain, but that's another story for another day. This little ditty is something that I'm pretty passionate about.<br />
<br />
It's about my hate-hate relationship with my computers. I vehemently hate both my personal computer and my work computer. I have a daily urge to pick up my laptop and SLAM IT INTO THE WALL AND WATCH IT SMASH INTO SMITHEREENS. Yeah. That's how strong my feelings are. All caps.<br />
<br />
Anywho, where were we?<br />
<br />
Right, anger management classes.<br />
<br />
So here is a little conversation between my computers and I on a regular day.<br />
<br />
ME: <i>Good morning computer.</i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>5 more minutes, it's not time to wake up yet.</i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>What? No, the sun's been up for at least 4 hours, wake up please.</i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>5 more minutes.</i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>Wake the fuck up. I have work to do.</i><br />
<br />
COMP:<i> 5 more minutes..</i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>It's been 5 fucking minutes, now stop showing me the "Windows is Starting Up" screen and get your shit together.</i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>Ughhhh... Fiiiinnneeee. Why you gots to be like that? I am tired. I am old. These legs aren't what they used to be. It takes time to get out of bed.</i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>What? You don't have legs. You don't have a bed, you - </i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>I DON'T HAVE LEGS?! OR A BED?! Cannot compute. Cannot compute.</i><br />
<br />
Me: <i>This is not happening. You did not just freeze because you realized that you're a freaking computer. Hello?? Where are my programs? Why aren't you connecting to the internet??</i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>Cannot compute. Too sad. Stop tapping my screen.</i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>I might have to throw you against the wall today. Today is going to be the day that you meet your maker.</i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>Hewlett?? Packard?? Which one? Oooh please let it be Packard!</i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>My computer might be retarded. How did you pass the test? I'm going to have a stress ulcer.</i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>Test..? Why are you drumming your fingers? What is that look in your eye? Is that.... pop? What is that soda doing hovering above my keyboard?</i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>Connect. To. The. Internet.</i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>I surrender! Here! It's connected! Oh god I can't work under these conditions.</i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>Don't fucking freeze again! I haven't even opened up one single program you piece of shit. It's been 20 minutes since I turned you on.</i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>1. I am not a piece of shit. 2. I'm tired. 3. You do not turn me on at all. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
ME: <i>I'll replace you with a mac.</i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>That is an empty threat, you and I both know that. </i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>Maybe instead of talking to me you should be starting up my programs, like I asked about 5 minutes ago. I have emails to respond to.</i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>I'm lonely. </i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>I'll find you a good dating site.</i><br />
<br />
COMP:<i> Dude, I'm only 3, I'm too young for a dating site. You, on the other hand, aren't as plucky as you used to be.</i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>Just start up my browser. I have emails to respond to.</i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>Touchy subject? I mean, you are talking to a computer after all. (Which, I am still trying to compute.)</i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>Shut your face. Wait, why is my page not responding?! I didn't do anything!!</i><br />
<br />
COMP: <i>You made a face joke. I don't appreciate your sense of humour.</i><br />
<br />
ME: <i>Swear to fucking god, you are about to see the white light.</i><br />
<br />
COMP: BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH.<br />
<br />
ME: ... at this time user is unavailable. User is currently seizing and may possibly have experienced an aneurysm.<br />
<br />
COMP: <i>Back to sleep for this computer.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
This is the shit I have to deal with. Every morning. I have 2 of them too. Not just one. Two computers that drive me up the wall. They drive me to drink.Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-59726378859835186702011-06-02T22:55:00.000-04:002011-06-02T22:55:51.776-04:00How to Stay SingleFirst off, where did I go? It started off that I was going through some shit that I didn't want to write about, and then I lost my motivation to write. I went "blah". I had a few post ideas, but didn't feel they were publishable. Basically I went into my little closet and shut the door. Anyway, here's something that came to me the other day.<br />
<br />
I've always been aware of the fact that I'm very single. But I have a horrible sense of time passing. So the other day when I realized that I've been single for 3 1/2 years, I was slightly shocked. It was an "oh....." moment (not to be confused with an "aha moment").<br />
<br />
I'm sometimes asked, "How are you still single?" - in a flattering way. But those who know me best, know why. They're the ones that say "THAT'S how you're still single". They're the ones that politely suggest that maybe I should lower my standards. (Never!)<br />
<br />
So here's a list. Well, my list. If you'd like to stay single, follow the list. And the white rabbit.<br />
<br />
<ul><li>Be strong-minded</li>
<li>Be bold</li>
<li>Be sarcastic</li>
<li>Be disgusting</li>
<li>Be crass</li>
<li>Sit with your legs open</li>
<li>Be witty</li>
<li>Know your shit</li>
<li>Pick your nose</li>
<li>Tell really bad jokes and/or stories</li>
<li>Become a Flames fan (I believe this is directly related, most men have no taste in hockey)</li>
<li>Cry spontaneously, in front of a guy</li>
<li>Have a big mouth - WITH WORDS people, with words</li>
<li>Snort when you laugh, and laugh really loud</li>
<li>Lean over when you fart</li>
<li>Be suspicious of any male that talks to you</li>
<li>And if he shows signs of flirting, raise your hackles</li>
<li>Win at flip cup</li>
<li>Start a clown collection (I haven't.. yet)</li>
<li>Start a cat collection (of live cats..) (also something I haven't done yet) (live or stuffed)</li>
<li>Be loud</li>
</ul><div>Don't worry, you can have a backup plan. Mine is to move in with my home girl, and get the sperm of our gay friends. True story. At her birthday the other night I was talking to a young fellow, very good looking, unfortunately I'm not his type, unless I grow a penis... Anywho, after marvelling at his good looks and his smarts, here is how I introduced myself "Hi my name is Alex, you might be my sperm donor one day". He agreed. Score! Oh, and we're going to use the sperm for artificial insemination. Not anything weird like face cream or anything.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Also, side note, there are only 35 sperm donors left in Canada. CRAZY right? Side side note, in a "Baby Animals" book that my little 2 year old cousin was looking at, I pointed to the tadpoles and said, "Look! Sperm!". Ya gotta teach the kids young these days. Or confuse them young.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Soo I hope you enjoyed my little ditty. I apologize again for being MIA.. I'll try to write more than once a month (and a half)... </div><div><br />
</div><div>You should also take pictures like this...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIGPg-gLvM9ia278XnxGr6tR4pLTskoWgEMygPkD8xrMmu1VWUVh79lBBdDYvdKDcTVih2Zc0gx11d0dOCVQ_qTk2DRoL_CQdHb-2QmEadB15_Wp_BqL0MVPud5IERH1BPUDm-ivc8qvA_/s1600/thumbs+up.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIGPg-gLvM9ia278XnxGr6tR4pLTskoWgEMygPkD8xrMmu1VWUVh79lBBdDYvdKDcTVih2Zc0gx11d0dOCVQ_qTk2DRoL_CQdHb-2QmEadB15_Wp_BqL0MVPud5IERH1BPUDm-ivc8qvA_/s320/thumbs+up.JPG" width="261" /></a></div><div><br />
</div>Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-82981196346592165502011-04-21T20:38:00.000-04:002011-04-21T20:38:25.126-04:00Acceptance SpeechThe amazing <a href="http://www.thoughtsmusingsandbrokenpromises.blogspot.com/">Lady Antimony</a> recently gave me an award. Not just any award, but "<i>One Lovely Blog Award</i>"!! AND to top it all off, it's my FIRST EVER BLOG AWARD! I was tres excited. Awards make me happy and bashful and humbled and all that jazz. And then I brag. This is why you give your kid gold stars when they do something right. Then they become over-achievers and competitive and yearn for awards and recognition. Right? I'm right, right? Can you tell I got gold stars as a kid? We put them on my headboard.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGWrZdMXxEhWar9jjbXL3g3MvxEf4LE6JgwNLdglgUFlvieto46Wybt_ith9LOC8aD_9_pUPdOT0DgVDg1fAXFeATDqAn3kZcyA2yTeevziBYy_mS2OTWlVdnKOi9XPmR0mdYuaiwE5BP/s1600/OneLovelyBlog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGWrZdMXxEhWar9jjbXL3g3MvxEf4LE6JgwNLdglgUFlvieto46Wybt_ith9LOC8aD_9_pUPdOT0DgVDg1fAXFeATDqAn3kZcyA2yTeevziBYy_mS2OTWlVdnKOi9XPmR0mdYuaiwE5BP/s1600/OneLovelyBlog.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
So anyway, this week was not a blogging week for me. My creative juices were, well, in sludge form. Heck, I was in sludge form. (Also, I wish that the word "<i>I</i>" was longer so that people would know when I was emphasizing it.)<br />
<br />
So, to make up for my lack of presence this week, I have an absolutely embarrassing admission to make. I'm kind of excited to see <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fast and Furious Five</span></i>. WAIT! Let me finish. Not that I expect it to be a stellar movie, but you know there will be sick action scenes and 3 half naked bodies that really should not be missed. Vin Diesel, Paul Walker <i>and</i> Dwayne Johnson... <i>oh my</i>. Rawr.<br />
<br />
Oh, I guess it's my turn to pass this on to some lovely bloggers. There are some seriously talented writers out there, and I thoroughly enjoy reading these:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.crazywithasideofawesomesauce.blogspot.com/">Andy à la Crazy With a Side of Awesome Sauce</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.eatliveshop.com/">Renee à la Eat.Live.Shop.</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.humansarefunny.com/">Laurenne à la Humans are Funny</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.jewelsturning30.com/">Jewels à la Jewels Turning 30</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.randomgirlblogs.blogspot.com/">Random Girl à la Random Girl Blog</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.katsidhe.blogspot.com/">Kat à la Tapetum Lucidum</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.meangirlgarage.com/">Mean Girl à la Mean Girl Garage</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Happy Easter my pretties. I'm looking forward to quality time with friends, family and ham. (Hint to parentals: Get a ham if you haven't already planned on it.. and I'd like some scalloped potatoes too.)</div>Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-54972632549538639612011-04-14T11:01:00.002-04:002011-04-14T11:13:44.379-04:00I forgot to name this one.. my badIn case I haven't over shared with some of you yet... here is me from A to Z! (And if you're Canadian, that rhymed). I stole this from <a href="http://mytornadoalley.com/">Jen O. from My Tornado Alley</a>. She is also Canadian. And ridiculously awesome.<br />
<br />
A. <b>Age</b>: 25 and 3/4<br />
B. <b>Bed size</b>: Double. If a queen could fit in my bedroom, and I could afford it, I'd get one. Because I think even then I could take up the entire bed.<br />
C. <b>Chore you dislike</b>: Dishes. Actually, I dislike most chores. But especially dishes.<br />
D. <b>Dogs</b>: I love them. I've had a couple of big dogs and would love to get a small-medium size dog. Nothing that could fit in my pocket or that I could roll over and kill though. (It's a deal breaker for me)<br />
E. <b>Essential start to your day</b>: Coffee coffee coffee. It's all I think about until I get one.<br />
F. <b>Favorite color</b>: I think it's teal, but maybe I just think that because I used to like it. More likely, it's grey. Ohh, I think that maybe it could be a bluey grey.<br />
G. <b>Gold or silver</b>: Silver, but I wear some gold, and also love brass.<br />
H. <b>Height</b>: 5'5". I seem taller though don't I?<br />
I.<b> Instruments you play(ED)</b>: You will love this: Keyboard, recorder, ukelele and hand bells (yes, really). I think I still have the uke. <br />
J. <b>Job title</b>: Brand manager. Baby wrangler on occasion.<br />
K. <b>Kids</b>: I'd like to think that I'm not a kid anymore, but I do revert back to when I was 10 sometimes. Oh, do I have any? No.<br />
L. <b>Live</b>: Toronto. If you couldn't already tell by my blog image.<br />
M. <b>Mom’s name</b>: So many mom jokes, so little time. <br />
N. <b>Nicknames</b>: Alex, fow, LF, Lex, Lexington, Lex Luther, Lexi, Zandra, Sweets. To name a few.<br />
O. <b>Overnight hospital stays</b>: Less than 5 I think. I was in the hospital a few times as a kid, but haven't stayed overnight since then.<br />
P. <b>Pet peeves</b>: <a href="http://www.lexinthecityblog.com/2011/04/what-really-grinds-my-gears.html">Read post below.</a> <br />
Q. <b>Quote from a movie</b>: "Who wants a mustache ride?" <br />
R. <b>Righty or Lefty</b>: Lefty! What whaat.<br />
S. <b>Siblings</b>: A younger brother. I can't say little brother because he's been taller than me for more than half my life. I also have friends/family that are like sisters to me. But he is the only one that came out of the same va-jay-jay. :)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-fMBirfyYtjVXoKtmdr2OajZyYpKZSUyZf9WoWD95yttRLEZBN_giN9U0Vyn_WEH9H9I59MNRwZUVZuW4tvHWXIWDGfy5dwXc_YMpkmWE9IjPQQcTJWFk3BSE94yob9F8reR4nrE_3r0T/s1600/z+and+i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-fMBirfyYtjVXoKtmdr2OajZyYpKZSUyZf9WoWD95yttRLEZBN_giN9U0Vyn_WEH9H9I59MNRwZUVZuW4tvHWXIWDGfy5dwXc_YMpkmWE9IjPQQcTJWFk3BSE94yob9F8reR4nrE_3r0T/s400/z+and+i.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look how tall and handsome my brother is!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
T. <b>Time you wake up</b>: 9am. Bitches. I would prefer an 11 am wake up though. I don't do mornings.<br />
U. <b>Underwear</b>: Thank you for not using the "P" word. Yes, I wear them. Every day.<br />
V. <b>Vegetables you don’t like</b>: Zucchini. Or is that a "fruit"? Brussel sprouts.<br />
W. <b>What makes you run late</b>: I do. My lack of organization.. And my mom. <br />
X. <b>X-rays you’ve had</b>: Chest, <a href="http://www.lexinthecityblog.com/2011/01/donating-my-body-to-science.html">skull</a>, back - that I can remember.<br />
Y. <b>Yummy food you make</b>: 5 layer nacho dip. And oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. That's it.<br />
Z. <b>Zoo Animal Favourites</b>: The lions. RAWR. Pretty much anything furry actually. Especially polar bears. I did a project on one named Snowball one time. He died. I was sad.<br />
<br />
TA DA!Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-46889602448146753892011-04-11T10:00:00.006-04:002011-04-13T15:14:48.681-04:00What Really Grinds MY GearsI go through different phases of "hate-ons". If I were you, I wouldn't want to be hated-on by me. My family can attest to that.<br />
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The past couple of months there have been a couple of things that have developed into full pet peeves. I loathe thee. Steam comes out of my ears. My eyes bulge. Veins pop. And if I could, I would Hulk smash. (Oh man, I really wish I could Hulk smash..)<br />
<br />
1. Dog shit. Hey guess what? DOGS SHIT. Every day. Shocker, I know. It's too bad there wasn't some way of picking up after your dog. Sorry, hold on a second, I'm getting some news from headquarters. You can use BAGS? No fucking way. This, folks, is a game changer.<br />
<br />
Except it isn't. Not only will any old bag do, but they even have dog shit bags. And special dog shit bag holders to attach to your leash. So that you don't forget them when you take your dog out. What, you don't like picking up shit? Then why did you get a dog? It's like buying a plant and not watering it. Or having kids but not taking them out for walks.<br />
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I have walked by pile after pile of shit every single day. And when the snow melted I saw even more. Did ya think that the snow would hide it douchebags?<br />
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Here is what I hope. I hope that you step in it. I hope that you step in a dog's shit, and not only that, that the dog is bigger than yours. Maybe you'll be wearing white sneakers or new heels. I hope it ruins them. You, asshole, are an asshole.<br />
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2. Taxis that honk at you. I'm talking about as a pedestrian. Unless I know you, you have no reason to honk at me. Or maybe if I'm about to walk into traffic, then you can honk at me. But otherwise? You get grouped with all the other scumbags who honk at passersby. There's nothing more irksome than walking down the street and having some slime ball honk at you and cat call.<br />
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Sooo why are you taxi drivers honking at me? Oh, you think I didn't notice you? Maybe I need a cab? If I needed a cab, you would know. In case you're new to this, someone who would like a cab will do the following: raise arm, either all the way up in the air, or out at about a 45 degree angle; make eye contact with cab; whistle if one is so talented as to be able to loudly do so.<br />
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So, next time you honk at me, don't be shocked if you see a bird. (No, not THAT bird you perverts, the one that you flip!)<br />
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3. Actually, that's all I have for now. These 2 things really piss me off. So if you partake in either. Watch yo back. And your step.<br />
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Otherwise, carry on. I probably like you. And if you see someone leave their dog shit behind. Yell at them. Fling dog poo like the monkeys do.<br />
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Yes this post is full of broken sentences. Deal. With. It.Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-4856002692936581602011-04-07T10:00:00.013-04:002011-04-13T15:11:48.550-04:00I'm basically like ArielSo, we've all been there right? You find something you love and suddenly you have 100 of it. So you call it a collection. My nan collects spoons and owls. It just so happens that my favourite utensil is the spoon, and I also love owls. If she ever tired of her collections, she'd be screwed, because every year she is bound to get more owl paraphernalia and spoons from family members.<br />
<br />
Then there's me. I like collecting things just to have collections. Seriously. The idea of having a collection really excites me. It's like I'm in my own little club and I have a cool collection. I also love clubs. Sure, the dancy bar kind, but more so the kind that you join membership to. Like a craft club (note: I am not yet part of a craft club, but I have a name for myself if I ever join one.. Crafty Cat*), or a book club (which I am a part of and LOVE).. or a cool kids club. Those exist, right? If someone ever wants me to sign up for anything, just call it a club, and HECK YES I will join. Can we take attendance?<br />
<br />
Whoa. Anyway, sorry for getting all excited there. Back to collections. More specifically, my collections.<br />
<br />
I've had many, many collections over the past couple decades.<br />
<br />
1. Rocks. I still collect rocks. I have some rocks from France on my bookshelf right now. How cool is that? Way cooler than when I used to steal rocks from other people's front gardens. Also, I wish rocks would stay the same pretty colour as when they are wet. For a child there is nothing more disappointing than taking her rock collection from the stream out and realizing that they are all dull grey. Not shiny and pretty. However, I did have a real rock collection. With amethyst, fool's gold, tiger's eye, quartz, marble, amber and so many others. I loved it. And I still have it. I used to love going to this one store when I was a kid and picking out my next rock.<br />
<br />
2. Tabs from cans. What? Why? I don't remember. But I collected them. Maybe they used them to make wheelchairs? I had a shit ton of them and then threw them out when I was tired of them. But I'm pretty sure I held on to them dearly for longer than I should have.. and I didn't make wheelchairs out of them. I also spent a summer collecting beer bottle caps. We won't talk about how many I collected, or what possessed me to collect them. They smell bad.<br />
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3. Nail polish. First off, when I was a kid I loved garage sales. Others' junk was my JACKPOT. Much to my parents' chagrin. So, after I bought a bike at a garage sale ($15 bitches) I started going to even more garage sales. Mind you, my memory from my childhood is skewed (I blame it on competitions my brother and I would have to see who could hit their head on the wall harder.....) so I could have only gone to like, 3 garage sales. But I doubt it. So, nail polish. I bought 49 bottles and 2 things of nail polish remover from one lady. Forty nine bottles. And I kept them. And I bought more over the years. I went through a mini phase where I bought mini bottles of nail polish. I still like to collect nail polish, but I also throw old colours away. Maybe some kid can buy my collection some day. And the cycle shall continue.<br />
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4. Shit from White Rose. Anybody else remember this place? It was like Michael's on crack. It was this massive crafty type of store and I was in heaven. There was always something I wanted. Like boxes, any type of box - wooden, glass, woven, paper. Or old school candle holders with wicks and oil. Or candles, or even beeswax to make candles. What didn't I need from that place? I wanted everything!<br />
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5. Stuffed animals. There's a picture of me as a baby surrounded by a collection of stuffed animals. It was like Where's Waldo. And that's where my teddy collection began. My dad would occasionally bring me back a teddy bear from his business trips too. And then those damn Beanie Babies came around and I was all gaga over those. But there was one condition to this phase - the stuffed animal could have clothing, as long as it was removable. Because duh, bears don't really have tee shirts. They also don't have tags, so those came off too. I still have a couple of stuffed animals in my cupboard: AJ the green bear, Stitch (my old roomie gave him to me), and a tiny dog that my mom got me after I begged for a dog one year.<br />
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6. Keys. This started when I was a kid, and I still collect keys. I have always been fascinated by them. Big, small, old, new. I love them all. I recently bought some jailer's keys and adore them!<br />
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You thought that was it? No, here are more of my collections: lip gloss (I even made my own), clown faces (not my best moment), stickers (who didn't collect stickers!), photos, denim, perfume and starburst wrappers (what?!). <br />
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* When you say Crafty Cat, you have to say it like a Cool Cat that plays jazz. Get it? And do a little head bob and wave your hands.Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-29144126958338303252011-04-01T10:00:00.001-04:002011-04-01T10:00:07.509-04:00Men.. Can't Ever Win AnymoreTo the men, I'm sure they're all throwing their arms up in the air right now and shouting "I KNOW!" Sorry boys, but this whole equality thing means lose-lose for you.<br />
<br />
There are moments when I get really frustrated with the lack of chivalry in today's society. More often than not, doors are not opened for me. I can count the number of times on one hand that my chair has been pulled out for me. My last foot rub? High school. <br />
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I was once seeing a guy who was very chivalrous. I was so shocked and blown away that I didn't know how to handle it. He insisted on opening doors for me, went to my side of the car first to open the car door, and shut it. <i>(No, mom, you never met him. I'm sorry, yes, he was very nice, but you have to know I would have scared him off eventually.)</i> Had we ever gone out to dinner, I'm sure he would have pulled out my chair for me. I thought it was an act at first, but then realized that it was genuine. Clearly he had a good mama that raised him right! Then he said that I didn't act very lady-like, and that I had a trucker mouth, and could I please not use such foul language? And that was the end of that.<br />
<br />
So clearly, having a guy who is eager to please, always at your beck and call, the type of guy you'd love to bring home to the parents.. well we're just not into him either.<br />
<br />
Then there's the other side of things. I can build my own furniture, shovel the driveway, kill spiders, do the heavy lifting, and even take myself out for dinner. And I know that it's partly the "tough guy" in me. For example, I'm not one to ask for help when carrying something heavy. In fact, I love carrying heavy items just to show off my muscles ([mus][kles]). They're huge... I never outgrew the "I can do it myself!" phase. And I'm sure you know where I stand on sex. Sorry parentals if you're reading.<br />
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I don't need a man to support me financially, I was raised to be independent. I was brought up to shatter glass ceilings. But does that mean that I should pay for all meals out? Or not get spoiled? (Hypothetically of course..) Just because women are now making as much money as men, doesn't mean that they don't want to be wined and dined. I feel as if in the process of women gaining more power, more control over their own lives, and being able to have a say in society, we forgot to demand respect as well. Or maybe that's the problem, we demanded. Apparently men aren't huge fans of "being told". Clearly while training them we need to be more discreet about it.<br />
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<br />
<ul><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgypj3H0JqiiImo24hp_qnNRn9luvIl9c0SREoZjPEXlEQWnqUvsJC_SR1-KAYF5zyUB6bvtSgDIE5csr88vRdf4mZ6xDM6D6AJYTFxhIYKQFEZcTDVjcaB3nAqKrQSiDkxP6PY6c0YikfU/s1600/women+rule1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgypj3H0JqiiImo24hp_qnNRn9luvIl9c0SREoZjPEXlEQWnqUvsJC_SR1-KAYF5zyUB6bvtSgDIE5csr88vRdf4mZ6xDM6D6AJYTFxhIYKQFEZcTDVjcaB3nAqKrQSiDkxP6PY6c0YikfU/s1600/women+rule1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="color: #cccccc;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://framedfathers.blogspot.com/2009_11_01_archive.html">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table></ul>So, men, you can't:<br />
<ul><li>Be too nice</li>
<li>Be an asshole</li>
<li>Offer your help</li>
<li>Not offer your help</li>
<li>Be the little spoon</li>
<li>Not spoon at all</li>
<li>Offer to carry her purse</li>
<li>Not offer to carry her groceries</li>
<li>Be her bitch</li>
<li>Call her a bitch</li>
<li>Call all the time</li>
<li>Not call at all</li>
<li>And the list goes on..</li>
</ul><br />
For more sage advice, you can always email this single gal who hasn't been in a relationship in.. well a really long time.Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-36979635752700457052011-03-29T09:53:00.000-04:002011-03-29T09:53:01.326-04:00It'd be weird if it wasn't meWarning: The following post is not recommended for pansies with weak stomachs. <br />
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Friends and family and blog followers are by now, never shocked with any of my body misfires. It's most often TMI, but I really do enjoy sharing these little tidbits with people. I should feel sorry for the recipients of my pictures and details, but I don't. I relish their reaction. Yes, I document everything with pictures. It often takes a few pictures if it's at an awkward angle, so sometimes people get more than one. LUCKY!<br />
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One recipient described a picture as looking like an "alien fetus". We'll not get into what that image was.<br />
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Another, more recent picture was described as "AMAZING!!!". (Is this starting to feel like a movie review to you? It should.) Do you want to know what picture was described as amazing? A green pimple. Yes, friends, a green one. You can try googling it, I did. And find no information. Maybe I should be worried. But it's too late for that because I popped it. I had to clean up the blood spatter from the wall with wet paper towel. Are you grossed out yet? I hope so. I'm so lucky to have such supportive friends who enjoy receiving pictures of these anomalies. <br />
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I told my dad the other day that he's really lucky that my mom lets me send her pictures and tell her stories about my body misfires, because otherwise he'd be scarred. There's no such thing as "TMI" for my family. They get to hear all my gory details. Hmm.. maybe that's why nobody skypes with me anymore...<br />
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From <a href="http://www.lexinthecityblog.com/2011/01/donating-my-body-to-science.html">swollen masses of bone, to penis shaped bruises</a>, to alien fetuses, to green pimples, my body is not a wonderland, but an enigma. I'm ok with that, because it's not like John Mayer's ever going to tell ME that it's a wonderland, and enigmas are much more interesting. <br />
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I feel the need to add that I was going to add a picture to this post, but couldn't. First I googled "body misfire", then "body enigma" and nothing interesting came up. Then I googled weird body. DO NOT EVER DO THAT. Unless you want to be scarred. It got worst as I scrolled down. So now I can't add a picture. I just can't.Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5129831895432342079.post-58269825921349007032011-03-26T21:33:00.000-04:002011-03-26T21:33:35.603-04:00Not Quite Dead Yet..Is anybody still there? No? Ah well, I deserve it! I didn't mean to abandon my blog, it just... happened. I went from being busy, to having the stomach flu (Norwalk... AGAIN!) to having zero creative energy. Excuses, excuses, I know. I hate me. I'm working on a stellar piece about why men can't win, but in the mean time... ok, so I haven't started writing it, but it's in my head. Anyway, in the meantime, here's a poem I found on my old hard drive. I wrote it 4 years ago. I used to write a lot, and this one found its way onto my computer! I like this one. It's called "My Dreams Betray Me" and I could have a hundred different pieces with the same title.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">My dreams betray me with visions of you</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">I want to be her, that girl that you look at</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">To feel your eyes on me, cover me completely</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Denial will keep my feelings at bay</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">It’s not that hard when I refuse to get hurt</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">A hard shell has formed</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">To keep you away</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">To keep me in</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">To mask the weakness that grows inside</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Too embarrassed to let it show</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">I hate the girl who cries at night</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">I hate the one who abandoned me when she needed to stay</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Where did I go?</span></i><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG6IkSwLaaSystx8Dm0sBHxWUGXBX5BFcscOTXRxMOaLo2KRd8T9iIDXvHqRktfXQx_8rHykdBET-BNfajIlka8FVsgWYeLkHqT0e5MfFOUyeWFKqwDSHJp4Y865SaQWmrhMwdBen58fDb/s1600/pic+from+4+years+ago.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG6IkSwLaaSystx8Dm0sBHxWUGXBX5BFcscOTXRxMOaLo2KRd8T9iIDXvHqRktfXQx_8rHykdBET-BNfajIlka8FVsgWYeLkHqT0e5MfFOUyeWFKqwDSHJp4Y865SaQWmrhMwdBen58fDb/s320/pic+from+4+years+ago.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a picture I took 4 years ago. I know. Blonde.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><br />
Now.. to get cracking on this piece.. Who wants to climb into my head and write it out?Strugglecityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11976677930341387075noreply@blogger.com8