In Defense Of Roommates
-Instant friends! Even if you don't leave the house all weekend, it's justifiable since you were "hanging out with friends". So what if said friends live with you?
-When you throw parties, you never have to do the awkward wait for the first guests to arrive alone.
-Furniture. DVDs. Kitchenware. Household repair equipment.
-Usually at least one person has a car. Grocery trips become easier.
In Defense Of Living Alone
-Sleep naked, eat naked, watch T.V. naked, do crossword puzzle naked...
-You never have to double-check before you have people over.
-Nothing of yours will ever "disappear" from the freezer again.
-That mess is your mess and you knew it would be there when you got home.
I'm apartment-hunting.
Trying to find something relatively affordable in a student town with no rent control is, well, painful. I want privacy but also companionship of the non-feline sort. I want somewhere nice but don't want to have to sacrifice my first-born to get it. I want windows that open, a toilet that flushes, doors that lock and a bedroom free of flesh-eaters. Really, you'd think that would be easy to find... then I add that I really don't want to pay more than $700 a month.
Right, and where would you like to keep your unicorns and dragons?
Monday, June 30, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
True Patriot Love
Would you dress as a mascot for $20 an hour?
The government of Canada called to ask me this. It woke me up at 11:30 on a Wednesday and brought my sad existence sharply into focus. Not only was I still in my underwear at noon, mid-workweek, but I was debating dressing as a GIANT MAPLE LEAF for the princely sum of $18/hour. Five years of university and I am qualified to say “Hello, bonjour” dressed as our favourite perennial. My life felt like it hit a new low. I went back to sleep.
In a desperate plea for cash I applied to several temp jobs, one of which involved greeting tourists over Canada Day. My days of late night partying have been replaced with uniform golf shirts and bilingual greetings. And yes, I may have to wear a mascot suit, although I told them I would rather not, at all costs.
It felt a little like rock bottom. Even my sixteen-year-old sister gets to wear cute clothes when she scoops ice cream. What did I do wrong to end up with a job that puts me at risk of being attacked by drunken mobs and frightened kids?
Note: I can honestly say I was too mortified to post this before it happened, in case people read it and saw me and I was never able to go out in public again. People don't forget things like mascot appearances. Thankfully, this did not happen. I showed up for my first day of work and was too hungover to stand, let alone dance for children in a giant heat box. Someone took pity on me, maybe they were scared by the bloodshot eyes. I avoided mascot duty all weekend. Anyway, I kept my dignity, to an extent. I will totally re-tell this story when I have a career and the threat of having to dress as a mascot to pay the bills isn't so ominous. That'll happen, right?
The government of Canada called to ask me this. It woke me up at 11:30 on a Wednesday and brought my sad existence sharply into focus. Not only was I still in my underwear at noon, mid-workweek, but I was debating dressing as a GIANT MAPLE LEAF for the princely sum of $18/hour. Five years of university and I am qualified to say “Hello, bonjour” dressed as our favourite perennial. My life felt like it hit a new low. I went back to sleep.
In a desperate plea for cash I applied to several temp jobs, one of which involved greeting tourists over Canada Day. My days of late night partying have been replaced with uniform golf shirts and bilingual greetings. And yes, I may have to wear a mascot suit, although I told them I would rather not, at all costs.
It felt a little like rock bottom. Even my sixteen-year-old sister gets to wear cute clothes when she scoops ice cream. What did I do wrong to end up with a job that puts me at risk of being attacked by drunken mobs and frightened kids?
Note: I can honestly say I was too mortified to post this before it happened, in case people read it and saw me and I was never able to go out in public again. People don't forget things like mascot appearances. Thankfully, this did not happen. I showed up for my first day of work and was too hungover to stand, let alone dance for children in a giant heat box. Someone took pity on me, maybe they were scared by the bloodshot eyes. I avoided mascot duty all weekend. Anyway, I kept my dignity, to an extent. I will totally re-tell this story when I have a career and the threat of having to dress as a mascot to pay the bills isn't so ominous. That'll happen, right?
Cliff Hangers
Last weekend I dangled over a cliff and laughed.
I may have conquered my fear of heights, 40 feet above sea level on a very barren cliff at the aptly titled Cape Enrage. Not indoor rockwall, not guided hike, but a slippery, knuckle skinning cliff. Expected reactions notwithstanding, it was one of the most satisfying things I have ever accomplished.
In the absence of a lot of structure, I'm trying to find goals. In the absence of sex, I'm looking for other highs. When life starts to flatline, it can be helpful to up the ante.
Last weekend I took off for Fundy National Park. With an old friend from my Pony Club days (yes, it exists and I was a member), I braved two days without phone service. I also climbed an honest to goodness cliff.
As a child on Prince Edward Island, sandstone cliffs yielded malleable clay that baked into earthenware. They were occasionally used to jump off of, into sufficiently deep water. Cliffs were decidedly not for climbing.
When I heard “rock climbing” my common sense blurred to a romantic vision of sun dappled 45 degree angle jaunt, the mountaineering equivalent to an indoor exercise bike. Admittedly, this was after a few martinis. Late night cliff jumping probably would have been equally appealing.
I may have conquered my fear of heights, 40 feet above sea level on a very barren cliff at the aptly titled Cape Enrage. Not indoor rockwall, not guided hike, but a slippery, knuckle skinning cliff. Expected reactions notwithstanding, it was one of the most satisfying things I have ever accomplished.
In the absence of a lot of structure, I'm trying to find goals. In the absence of sex, I'm looking for other highs. When life starts to flatline, it can be helpful to up the ante.
Last weekend I took off for Fundy National Park. With an old friend from my Pony Club days (yes, it exists and I was a member), I braved two days without phone service. I also climbed an honest to goodness cliff.
As a child on Prince Edward Island, sandstone cliffs yielded malleable clay that baked into earthenware. They were occasionally used to jump off of, into sufficiently deep water. Cliffs were decidedly not for climbing.
When I heard “rock climbing” my common sense blurred to a romantic vision of sun dappled 45 degree angle jaunt, the mountaineering equivalent to an indoor exercise bike. Admittedly, this was after a few martinis. Late night cliff jumping probably would have been equally appealing.
To be honest, my subconscious had little intention of ever successfully completing a climb, if it proved difficult. I am the kid who used to hate climbing ladders to our tree house and avoided stairs where you could see between the planks.
What I found was a cold, inhospitable rock face. Mist swirled overhead and the foghorn blared every twenty minutes. It evoked visions of British mystery paperbacks and murders on Cape Cod.
The first time I tried, I quit, full stop. I got 15 feet about the algae covered rocky brain-busting shore and started shaking so badly that my feet wouldn't stay in place. I begged to be taken down.
Then, after witnessing my friends surmount what still looked like sheer rock, I tried again. It took forever as I had to calm myself down each time I took a step. “Stop shaking please foot. That's it, calm down. I said, calm DOWN.” I was clinging to one centimeter of rock with my feet and hands. Terrifying, even with the ropes. Taking enough time to coax my body into moving, I made my way up.
After the unexpected jubilation of kissing the purple fastenings at the top, I even tried the harder, second route. By that time, my body ached (it still does actually) but I pulled myself up, knees to chin out of sheer determination. Cue empowering music or whatever. For all the insanity, it was really cool. I may never do it again, and kind of hope I don't have to, but I fought a cliff and I won.
So far this year I have travelled to four continents, with plenty of harrowing and thrilling experiences to leave me laughing for a while. Little wonder with all this adrenaline pumping through my system that going back to a domesticated lifestyle would be frustrating.
Since cliff climbing I have gone riding, sailing, signed up for an online half marathon clinic, and took a boxing class. Yes, I know now how to jab and I kind of like it. I'm manically trying to cross things off my list of things to do in my life because I can't go to the places I want to. What's next? Who knows. I'm not about to jump out of an airplane. But, flying an airplane? I could handle that...
What I found was a cold, inhospitable rock face. Mist swirled overhead and the foghorn blared every twenty minutes. It evoked visions of British mystery paperbacks and murders on Cape Cod.
The first time I tried, I quit, full stop. I got 15 feet about the algae covered rocky brain-busting shore and started shaking so badly that my feet wouldn't stay in place. I begged to be taken down.
Then, after witnessing my friends surmount what still looked like sheer rock, I tried again. It took forever as I had to calm myself down each time I took a step. “Stop shaking please foot. That's it, calm down. I said, calm DOWN.” I was clinging to one centimeter of rock with my feet and hands. Terrifying, even with the ropes. Taking enough time to coax my body into moving, I made my way up.
After the unexpected jubilation of kissing the purple fastenings at the top, I even tried the harder, second route. By that time, my body ached (it still does actually) but I pulled myself up, knees to chin out of sheer determination. Cue empowering music or whatever. For all the insanity, it was really cool. I may never do it again, and kind of hope I don't have to, but I fought a cliff and I won.
So far this year I have travelled to four continents, with plenty of harrowing and thrilling experiences to leave me laughing for a while. Little wonder with all this adrenaline pumping through my system that going back to a domesticated lifestyle would be frustrating.
Since cliff climbing I have gone riding, sailing, signed up for an online half marathon clinic, and took a boxing class. Yes, I know now how to jab and I kind of like it. I'm manically trying to cross things off my list of things to do in my life because I can't go to the places I want to. What's next? Who knows. I'm not about to jump out of an airplane. But, flying an airplane? I could handle that...
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Patio Umbrella-Ella-Ellas...
It's been awhile. Sorry. We'll be better.Summer is descending upon Halifax slowly but surely. The giveaway? Patios are cropping up like crocuses did a few months ago. Restaurants that I never would have pegged for the beer-and-plastic-chairs type are suddenly sprouting sun umbrellas like they're going out of style. Even my own place of employment (not pictured), a place which runs a bit on the starched and snooty side, is jumping on the patio wagon.
If you want to make some money in the city this summer, you needs you a patio.
Nowhere else have I experienced this same love of eating al (fake) fresco. Other cities I've once called home have other summertime food rituals; in Toronto, it's picnics in High Park. In San Francisco, it's churros on Market Street, and in Boston it's fried dough and Italian ices by the Charleston River. It's not that these cities don't have patios, but they lack the... obsession of Halifax.
Actually, it's kind of nice. It makes people-watching easier and it's a fabulous way to while away an afternoon. Speaking as a server, it's nice to have someone to serve during the 3-6 PM lull, even if all you're doing is topping up their drinks.
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