POST: The Sixtieth

Post the sixtieth: wherein the author of the blog must acknowledge her own vajayjay and the fact that it sometimes makes her do stupid things. Or shall I say, it ENTITLES her to do stupid things.
Let us start at the beginning.

I was up early today to take Kacy to work, and then to go to work myself. I haven't seen 7AM since the run, or my last morning shift, but I don't REALLY remember. Imagine my dismay when I cruised into work at 8 and my manager told me that I was two hours early. That I wasn't supposed to start until 10! D'oh! Since they're trying to keep hours under control, working early wasn't an option and I wasn't about to drive back to my house only to come back. Instead, I popped into the Starbucks down the street, got a latte and sat out on the patio in the early morning sunshine. I sipped it and enjoyed and read the Runner's World magazine I had gotten from the library. It kicked me in the butt and inspired me with running inspiration.

That's when I made the ultimate mistake. I went shopping. On a day when I felt everything was taking a downward slant, I decided sunshine therapy was just NOT enough, and retail therapy might help out. I wandered into a nearby Winners, and since I've been on the prowl for a nice larger bag for a little while, so I went right to purses before anything else caught my eye. That's when I was sucker punched by gender clichés. I saw THIS bag. Subtle, classy, a little badass and a little hippie. Matt and Nat, although two weeks ago were completely unknown to me, make their bags out of recycled materials and vegan leather. It was PERFECT. It was GORGEOUS. The snap open and close hinted at something classic. It was also 74$ on sale, something I never in my LIFE would have spent on a bag. But girls, if the media is to be believed, have many vices, whether it's bags or shoes or hats or...anything. This bag was different. SPECIAL, OKAY?


(Source.)I left without it, but I went to work trying to find ways to justify it to myself. I started thinking about how I WOULD be working two jobs soon. About how I graduated recently, and maybe, just maybe I could buy myself a little gifty-wift? I started working out a system of how many dollars a kilometer was worth, and paying it off to myself by running those kilometers at the gym. This bag was literally following me around as I went about my work day. I don't know why. All I know is that when I clocked out, I drove right back to that Winners, made a beeline for the bags and GASP. My prize was gone. It was GONE-- oh. No wait, someone had just moved it onto a different hook. I was both thrilled and horrified that it was still there. Because the idea had taken a mind of it's own, I had no choice in the matter, I was buying the gaddamn bag.

I marched into the line with some kind of resolve, a grim look on my face, like I'd been issued a dangerous task. I was actually in the line for a few minutes, giving me a few chances to bail. But I couldn't bail, no. I was a woman, fulfilling my destiny. Buying the most expensive bag I'd ever even CONSIDERED purchasing. On the regular, I am a cheapskate. I have trouble spending 25$ on ANYTHING, let alone one measly bag. This was three times that.

When I got up to the counter, I regaled the story of my saga with the bag to the cashier. How I had seen it, loved it, been stalked by it, and then had returned to claim what was mine. It had to be some sort of ancestral story shared by my fellow vajayjays, because the other cashier looked over at me with big, sympathetic eyes and nodded slowly. "I had the same problem," she confessed with a wistful smile that made me think that HER bag was her one true love and they had been married last summer and now have a couple of lovely coin purses together.

When I swiped my credit card to pay for it, I didn't feel a thing. The guilt I usually associate with spending any money on almost anything was nowhere to be found. Girl sees bag. Girl loves bag. Girl sells soul for bag. I'll be sure to style it into an outfit so y'all can weigh in on my latest investment.

What've you treated yourself to/splurged on lately?

The Summer List

I took a big step in becoming a writer: I got a second job as a barista at Starbucks. Rebekah told me about the opportunity-- I am a coffee addict, but she is a 'Bucks veteran, and one of the baristas at her usual store told her about a job fair happening yesterday. My plans for doing nothing before work were cracked clean in two. Before I knew it I was dressed, painted up real nice like, cruising the highway listening to Oingo Boingo and trying not to freak out. Jobs make me anxious. The first time I ever had a panic attack, I was cowering in the back of the pizza section of my local cinema, in tears for no reason. I told them I had painful monthly lady problems, went home and curled up, terrified as to WHAT WHAT WHAT was happening. Needless to say, interviews set me on the edge.

When I pulled into the parking lot of the hotel where the job fair actually was, I saw balloons and people in signature green aprons. I showed my resume to one of the aprons, who said, quite ominously that I had passed phase one and told me to go inside for phase two. As I entered into an elegant looking lobby through a set of automatic double doors, I felt like a spy or a secret agent. They took about seven of us into a side room for a group interview, something else I've never done. Long story short: I'm officially going to be one of those people with two jobs. That's fabulous because that's two paychecks, but it also made me hit the panic button.

Not only is there ONE MONTH OF SUMMER LEFT (not officially, but with my internal school calendar, summer ends with August) but I'm going to have TWO JOBS. Which means, of course, less free time. Suddenly, I want every last drop of summer.

I always imagine and want to be one of those people who is perpetually DOING something. The girl who knows everyone, who goes out every weekend, whether it's on a camping trip, to an amusement park, a hike, a film festival, the beach, dancing in a bar, or sipping sangria on a patio. The one who goes crazy (well in my case, more crazy) on a random weeknight, just because the air calls for it. In my daydreams, I am an above average, well rounded wild child with a touch of charm and a full schedule. I always think that maybe when I move to Montreal, that's who I'll get to be.

Every summer I intend to get all sorts of things done, and I never quite seem to get them finished. I intend to run wild, do what I want, live free, but...it doesn't work that way. It now seems more important than ever to use the spare time I have in a constructive way. So here's the revised summer list of things I want to do in August.

THE SUMMER LIST (REVISED EDITION)
• Get to the beach
• Canada's Wonderland
• Take 1 picture a day in August
• Run 7K
• Roast marshmallows
• Go dancing (MORE!)
• Read a book in French
• Bake something yummy+healthy!-- to prove it CAN BE DONE.

What're some things you want to do this summer? What are you looking forward to about fall? Why am I asking so many questions?!

Blanket Burning

Awhile ago, I read a great post about the F word over at Bonjour Gazel. That's right, we're talking about FAT again. (If you haven't checked out Gazel's blog, do it. She has stellar taste and she writes eloquently about everything.) Basically, the summary of the post was that your weight and health is YOUR business, not anyone else's. Anyone who thinks it's their right to ask you how much you weigh, or judge you, or give you advice deserves a flip of a big different kind of F word.

I'm hoping to make something clear, because over the next couple of months, I'm going to be working out and losing some weight, building myself some healthy ass-kicking habits.
This is just what I need to do, personally.

I have come miles and miles in terms of understanding who I am and accepting myself and thinking I'm beautiful, but I still feel the need to get fit. This isn't because I want to look like a billboard or a girl in a perfume ad (bitch, please, curves are where it's at!), but I want to be more like me.

If watching TV teaches us anything, it's that apparently ALL fat people would be more beautiful if they lost weight. That they all secretly yearn to be thin, that they ALL eat badly. They all want to be saved by the church of skinny and cry on TV. Well, I'm calling complete BULLSHIT on that.

I have met and seen SO MANY amazing, beautiful, stylish, gorgeous people who just happen to be plus sized. They are loud and proud and they rock the world. These wonderful people have made me realize that being FAT isn't the issue. Personal confidence is the issue. If you want to be large or small it doesn't matter, EMBRACE yourself. Do what you want, no matter if that's running a 5K, eating a cupcake (or two!), or wearing horizontal stripes.

If I could walk around and NOT care about what other people thought about me, I wouldn't feel the need to go to the gym and work out. But that's not the person I am. I am glad I grew up fat, for all the pain it caused me, it also taught me a bunch of things I might NEVER have learned. I would be a different person. I learned compassion, humility and I'm sure it sparked a passion for writing in me, but there are some things that are still holding me back. Being fat also taught me anger, and bitterness and resentment, things I never want to feel towards people I truly care about. It brings out the worst in me, and the worst now needs to be taken care of. Now that I have realized the beauty that fat has given me, I need to handle the darkness it has given me too. Wow, cue the dramatic music...

I can't get over this idea, that what is holding me back from living my life is my own body. What's holding me back, is me. I've been told I have a bold personality, but there is a difference between volume, and action. I can live now, but I'd be hiding inside myself, wrapped in my security blanket. So that's what is going to have to happen now: bear hunting and blanket burning.

What do you love about yourself about today? What do you wish other people could learn to embrace more?

Keeping Your Cool

Today was HOT, in climate and on the panic meter. It started off mild. I got up, did some laundry and printed off my resume. Last night, Rebekah and I went thrift shopping and bubble tea-ing, and I discovered that my go-to bubble tea place was hiring. We had been talking about life plans, and while I'm not sure where I'm headed, whether it's Montreal or back to school, I know I'll need money to do it. So the focus is trying to get more work. I decided to apply to the bubble tea place, and went to do it today. I put on a nice floral dress, printed off my paper, touched up my make up and went off to impress.

When I walked in, I was thrilled to see that the girl behind the counter was someone I knew from high school. We had taken vocal classes together and were friendly acquaintances. We chatted amiably and I left with a really good feeling. I was in such a good mood I decided to stop at Starbucks before work. The good mood lasted as I pulled into the parking lot at work, sipping my iced green tea lemonade like everything was going my way! ...Then I realized that I had forgotten my uniform pants at my house. My fifteen-minute-drive-away-house.

After checking the breakroom to see if they had any spare pants (they didn't) I told my manager I was going to be late, sprinted out across the blistering parking lot, hopped in my car and raced home like I was in the Indy 500. Or I would have if I hadn't been stuck behind some guy who thought that MAXIMUM 60 meant GO JUST UNDER 50 KILOMETERS. When he finally went to turn left I turned to see if he was a senior citizen as I blazed by. I locked eyes with a middle aged man, who was glaring at me for making my car have bumsex with his. Sorry buddy.

When I got home I ran inside, accidentally shutting my finger in the front door. As I began to strip off my dress I could feel the pressure in my head rising, my finger throbbing, my nerves fraying. That's when I almost started to cry. Whether it was because I was in pain or because I was stressed about how important it was to get these stupid pants, which REALLY only give me granny bum, I was going to breakdown. Changed, I ran back, and began the race to work.

As I was driving, I thought: calm down. It's JUST work. In 50 years, this won't matter. I thought: keep calm, and carry on. I took a deep breath, my panic temperature went back to zero. It worked. I kept it cool.

Other ways to keep your cool? Wear LESS clothing. I can't seem to avoid layering in the summer, I just like it too much. So I tried to keep them minimalized, but add interest and colour with a vest (thrifted) and a scarf (gift from mama's trip to New Zealand.) Also, I have a really hard time making pleasant, regular person faces when I take these pictures.
Shirt: MODA International
Shorts and Vest: thrifted
Scarf: Gift from NZ
Purse: Gift from EnglandStay cool, kids!

RANT: The Bear

Lately I've been in a bad mood: I've nicknamed the bad mood The Bear.

The Bear hibernates for long periods of time, only to show up at random, during that time of the month, when I'm sleepy, or when it smells something it might like to feed off of. When a friend shows up looking fabulous and gorgeous to the max, I'm happy, but The Bear snarls and grumps with jealousy. When my older sister invites me for a night out, dancing at the bar, The Bear reminds me that all her friends are skinnier than me, and people will be judging me. When there's a long shift at work, The Bear will sleep for the shift and come out afterwards, angry for no reason whatsoever. Basically, The Bear is out to massacre my good moods, my nights out, my confidence, my relationships with the ones I love or the the ones I could love. The Bear, when it's around, gives me guilt and fear for just wanting to do things that I want to do.

I've been fighting with The Bear lately. I've been struggling to workout, to find some peace with myself, but I've also been struggling really hard with the art of letting go. The art of not giving a [cover your ears kids] fuck. When someone hurts me, I don't tend to get over it, I hold on to it and forget about it, until something brings back the pain or frustration. I've seen this quality in other people and it's not flattering or healthy. In fact I think it's neurotic, my social phobia rearing it's ugly head. A big lumbering beast, following me around in my day to day life, making everything generally worse.

Milliseconds of painful time seem to be branded in my memory. I remember all the words people used to tease me when I was little. I remember my birthday, 17 or 18, making my own cupcakes while my friends and best-friend-at-the-time played video games in my basement. I remember one night last year having too much to drink, having a wild panic attack and being given the silent treatment the next day by my roommates, for one reason or another. Not a month ago, I was stretching in my driveway after a run-- a car cruised by with some young guys in it. One of them yelled something, but I couldn't hear it because of my headphones. I assumed the worst and couldn't put it out of my mind.

I keep all this stuff locked up when really, all I want to do is get rid of it. Lose the luggage, fly somewhere else. I really can't wait to start exercising again, because in lots of ways, running is good for my mind and my body. I'm stronger and I'm more stable, and I don't let the little things get to me as much. That being said, I'm making a public statement: to give less of a fuck, and to GET BACK INTO THE GYM because it fixes all sorts of things. The people who love me will encourage or forgive me for whatever actions I might have to be ashamed of. The people who judge me or hate on me without knowing who I am don't deserve to be a part of my life.

It's hunting season, and I'm out to get The Bear.

Note: Arcade Ragdoll does not support hunting of actual bears with actual weapons. We're hunting The Bear so we can tranquilize it and release it into the wild.

Pins and Needles

I've been meaning to update but I didn't have the energy or the willpower until now. (1:41AM? Why not?) Keep calm and carry on is my motto whenever I feel an oncoming panic attack, when life throws me a curveball, a hard run, a bad day. It's my personal mantra. It was only a matter of time (and a matter of life slapping me across the face a couple of times), before I had the epiphany to get this permanently done.

The original Keep Calm posters were all over England during WWII to encourage citizens to let calmer heads prevail even in emergency situations. Apart from the amazing message, I love the historical reference and I'm British on my dad's side, so this one has enough background behind it.The handwriting featured is my dad's.

This tattoo was designed and done by Anabela at Way Cool Tattoos in Kitchener, Ontario. I based it off of clip art I found of British Crowns. She drew it up, made it look pretty and then kicked ASS.

I highly recommend her, I love her work, she's personable and hilarious, and she's great at what she does. She did this entire tattoo standing up and hunched over my shoulder for two hours. I didn't want breaks, and neither did she.

All the pictures were taken by my darling Rebekah, who was there, along with my sisters, to see the whole process and the faces I made during it. They talked to me to keep me away from the pain for the most part. That didn't stop it from hurting, of course. I just helps to have people close by to keep you company.

Inkling

GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS TODAY! Welcome to the first Fresh Ink Friday here at Arcade Ragdoll.



Yes, I'm finally getting my third tattoo today! FINALLY. (My artist was sick the date of the original appointment, so we had to reschedule to now!) My little sister left this card on my bed for me when she left for work this morning. I'll update with pictures and news later! USING MORE EXCLAMATION MARKS!!!!

xo

A Matter of Pride

PRIDE 2011

Day 1
Driving to Toronto with Scott McKenzie's "San Francisco." Belated birthday gifts. Shopping at Forever 21. Dinner in a little diner with my ladies. Starbucks. Getting ready to rock Church Street in their townhouse on Carlaw. Can't decide what to wear. Fluorescent pink belt. Squeeze five into a cab downtown.Meet a large turquoise house, and the party on Church Street. Run into old boss from internship. See boys holding hands, girls entwining their fingers. See colour everywhere. Beautiful. Night starts to fall. Fluorescent orange beautiful. See a boy try to sweep my friend off her feet- amazing. Get into line for a little pub and sit inside. Ice water and sangria from a waiter in a toga. Watch the rain pour on nobody's parade. Laugh. Talk. Drink.
Out into the streets with the rain and the celebration. Drag queens and boyfriends and stickers everywhere. True fact: all trannys have really nice legs and work heels better than I do. Feet hurting, people are tired. Return to the apartment. Talk until 2AM about life and everything else. Conclude things about past lives and revolutions. Sleep soundly.

Day 2
Wake up and dress- slowly. Blasting Lady Gaga at 10AM. Wear rainbow suspenders and walk to Shopper's Drug Mart. Decked out in rainbows, the cashier asks if we're headed to the parade. Buy six 1.5 litre water bottles. 10:30AM and already hot and sweating. Catch a cab to Yonge and Church. Interviewed by CBC News. Breakfast of pancakes with blueberry syrup and bacon. Rush to volunteer check in. Marvel at the masses of people and the energy and joy in the air. Almost moved to tears by it...almost.

Get badge, and t-shirt-- it's pink! End up at wrong information booth, hurry to other booth. Meet Dustyn, begin getting people to sign petitions. Rights for LGBT in Turkey. Abolish the laws that make homosexuality illegal in Cameroon. Protect LGBT activists in Mexico. Temporary tattoos and lots of signatures. Idle chatter and the blistering afternoon sun. Bottles of water, lots of passers by... some completely naked. Totally free. Teenage girl with big brown eyes asks where all the hate for gays comes from. A man tells us about his sexual assault in Egypt. People thank us for doing our work, say there ought to be more like us. Fall more in love with the community as it opens up.My friends stop by the booth twice, but soon leave for other activities. Begin yelling out to the crowd to get their attention and their signatures on the paper. "Support the global LGBT community! Give others the rights you already have!" Feel like a part of something bigger, accomplished. Go on break, wander around. See queens, kings, jokers and super soakers. Return to the booth, beginning to tire out. Double shift is 7.5 hours long. Take down booth, check out at volunteer station. Meet my friends at Church&Wood, head to Fran's for dinner. It's the same Fran's my dad used to eat at when he lived in Toronto. Sandwich dinner, coconut cream pie for dessert. NOM NOM NOM. Change into obnoxiously loud and colourful outfit, and head back to Church. Cruise around. Look at underwear in the Stag Shop. Look at buttons as souvenirs-- buy one for the family at home. Night is falling and dance parties are breaking out in the streets. Our bodies tired but powered by happiness and love and beatsbeatsbeats. We dance too- spontaneous. Walk around a little more. Admire, breathe in the night air. Cab back to the apartment. Pack up and drive home. Stop for caffeine and water on the way.

Day 3
Wake up feeling exhausted despite sleeping like the dead. Wear rainbow t-shirt, see the world in a totally different light. Watch Milk, a post-Pride tradition. Cry at the end, like I always do. Feel happy. Look forward to next year. Write blog post.