Hair She Is.

{life}

I have come to terms with my appearance, and am generally speaking fairly happy with it. I made peace this summer with my slightly equine smile, and while I would prefer to be achingly translucently thin, I am not upset by the fact my cup over-floweth and trickles downwards to spill, somewhat despondently, over my waistband.

While certain parts of me have followed a particular love/hate cycle, I am, and have always been, exceedingly vain and pleased with my hair. I have an unabashed love affair with the tangled mop of relatively thin but abundant strands that sit, usually piled, upon my head from day to day.

I have treated it badly; I have cheated on hairdressers, I have held wet strands of jello like hair falling from my scalp over the kitchen sink after a bad bleach job. Somebody should have taken that poor abused shoulder length mop to the halfway house of hot oil repair, but it stayed.

It stayed through the tumultuous virginial period of going from my naturally pale blond locks to an epic deep auburn bob. It stayed through dozens, litterally dozens, of fruit salad like boxes of Feria “Black Cherry”, streaked through with shocking strips of “Raspberry Beret”. It rushed with me to the salon, damaged and orange under a cloche hat after an attempt to go from “Black Cherry” to “Midnight Blue” with one fell swoop of bleach, landing clumped and sad somewhere around “Calico Stray Cat”. It stayed, like a hopeful partner, untouched, untreated and uncut in California blond territory for years, until a particularily bad breakup prompted a date with my neighbor (a woefully unskilled but adventurous best friend) a pair of kitchen scissors and a box of “Dark Chesnut”. After mending the same broken heart with the same broken man, he took me to a salon to restore my crown of blond hair, creamy and white, beige and righteous.

So it sat, untouched and swearing that this, this was the last time, even through that final breakup, until I tricked it last year into a stunning, shocking and entirely too high maintenance red that made me feel beautiful and wild and strange. After settling down with J, a man who is only too happy that I still have hair, I begrudgingly and it happily returned to a dirty blond, waiting for the next whiff of bleach to entice my nostrils, stealing itself for the next heartbreak, the next upheavel.

This summer, as I prepared to embark on an adventure that I was not ready for, not looking for, and frankly, so incredibly scared of, I realized for the first time I wanted to change my hair – not out of angst, or sadness or madness, but for fun. I walked out of the salon with pink and blue and purple hair, thick and shiney and fun and wild, laughable and so entirely not me that I could be anyone that I wanted. To embark on an adventure that wasn’t me, as not me.

Being as vain as I am, and as poor as I am, such high maintenance hair required a dual effort on behalf of Jared and I. Being as vain as I am, and as poor as I am, is how I ended up standing in the shower, naked as the day I was born and as fuscia from head to toe as some mythical creature born of Narnia and raised in an alternative strip club.

We had decided between us that it would take four hands to really tackle the bright pink fringe with Manic Panic dye, arming ourselves with scads of saran wrap, tin foil, dollar store paintbrushes and hair clips. We carefully painted, clipped, massaged and pinned my hair into My Little Pony locks of awesome, one painstaking section at a time. After dutifully waiting the prescribed ammount of time, and flipping the remainder of my hair in a Cindy Lou-Hoo style top pony tail, I doffed the tinfoil and jumped in the shower.

Dear sweet Joico in Heaven, it was a disaster. FUSCIA water streamed down my shoulders, staining my breasts pink, my nipples violet, the fine hair on my arms retained a patina of powder-puff, my earlobes hanging cherries of psychedelic hue. My fingers, attempting madly to scrub at the mess pooling around my now more than blush feet, had turned a perfectly scarlet shade of ridiculous. Screaming and cursing as I peered through now definitely rose colored eyelashes, Jared peeked into the stained shower and turned my screams to hysterical laughter.

“You,” he gasped, “Look maaaggiiic.”

Over a week the pink wore off my skin, was filed out from under my fingernails. The stripe down my back faded, and my torso returned to it’s usual pale and un-magic state of porcelain. Our grout is still the color of a highlighter, and the shower curtain will never be the same.

Last week I ducked into the salon to sit for 5 hours under 2 lbs of powdered bleach, returning once more in color and spirit to a dusty, beige blond. I am content, for now, again, in knowing that the stories that my hair holds in its past are much like my soul – they make me who I am, even if you can’t see them. Magic.

An Open Letter: To the Brothers of MacPherson

Dear Douche Nozzles.

I will, with some reticence, keep this as simple as I can. Perhaps it was one too many concussions on the football field, perhaps it was that extra keg stand, perhaps it was just one too many rounds of clap killing antibiotics that made you and your brothers go soft in the head. Regardless of the reason you behaved so abominably last night (and the fact that I am indeed being far too generous with any assumption of your intelligence as you went to “Shake Hands with the Devil” that night at the theatre assuming that Romeo Dallaire was a Shakespeare character) you need to be taught a lesson. You are never too old or too cool to be spanked, and gentlemen, consider this letter my fucking knee.

It was bad enough that you showed up late to your reservation, perhaps a bit worse that you chose to quibble with the location of your seats, squashing you and your table of 15 into the corner farthest from the kitchen and bar. To be honest, given the color of your language and the stench of the ditch weed you’d previously been smoking before gracing me with your presence, having you sequestered in a corner where the only senses you could assault were my own was probably a blessing.

It was worse when you all acted like newly minted 18 year olds, insisting that I repeat each item on tap for each group of your self aggrandizing frat brothers, as if I didn’t have anything better to do after already working for nine hours that day. But I plodded through, gave you my three token boy jokes, made you laugh. I even stood up on a chair with the butter knife attached to a broom handle to change the TV to football for you.

As your group of mongaloid knuckle draggers began to dwindle and, I can only guess, stagger through town whacking women on the head and dragging them back to your communal cave, three of you decided hell, “I’m only in Supply Chain Management! I still have to find two pennies to rub together to make a cohesive thought in my sloping forehead. I might as well just stay here, harrass what is obviously a tired waitress, and continue to drink bad pitchers of beer.” (Though I’m sure in your mind that only translated as “Me thirsty. See titties. Stay here.”)

So, despite my thorough attempts to encourage you to do basic math and pay your fucking bill, I left you and your fellow onanists to play with each other in the corner. I checked in with you regularly until, stupid me, I had to deal with another group of poorly trained young adults tossing potato skins at each other and drinking Coors Light. (What is WRONG with you people?)

And you left. Without paying.

Brothers, a pox on you and your entire hall. I hope that each and everyone of you suffer the indignity of severe erectile dysfunction every night of your life, left as limp and sad in your hand as your unpaid bills in mine. I pray that you try to return to the only pub in town when I’m working so that you may suffer the wrath of my very tiny, very angry fists upon your protruding brow ridge. I hope that you are driven to distraction by the sound of your own pea brain rattling around in that giant pre-historic skull of yours.

But I am not without grace you disgusting ass sniffing dick weeds. I do want to thank you. In fact, I want to thank your mothers for ostensibly smoking, drinking and sticking their thumbs in your soft spots and causing you to be so blind as to tell me not only where you live, and leaving your phone number for a reservation, but to inform me that one of you not only used to work at the pub, but may be working there this Saturday. When I will be waiting to go positively medieval on your pimply jock strapped asses, and attempt to doll out the same embarrassment, disappointment and sadness upon you that I felt when I had to take money out of the ATM at the end of the night to cover your bill.

Do not think for just one moment that I will hesitate to put you over my knee and spank you for your bad manners and questionable personal hygiene. Assholes.

xo.

ps – To the other sweet young men from various other halls in the pub that night who tried to make up for your bad behavior by scrounging through coat pockets for extra change – May you be blessed with many large breasted women and free chicken wings for the rest of your lives. You are sweet and kind.

Just the Tip

Truth be told, I feel a little deceitful, like a girl walking around with tic- tacs in her Wonderbra and Bump Its in her ponytail. But mostly the tic tacs.

Ya’ll really liked the nipples hey?

I can’t lie, it was almost the best part of my trip. The other best part was coming home to tell you about it.

It’s a busy week here in this sleepy little town, I’m learning about electronic taps (pretty much the worst idea at a pub ever – the power goes out and so does the beer? That, my friend, is what causes riots, not a lack of clean drinking water) healthy hepatic functioning and a good dose of Arabic. No matter which way you look at it, the trifecta of blogicide.

I did want to stop in quickly and welcome new readers. I promise more nipples and bad metaphors a plenty. What more could you want?*

xoxo

*more nipples.

a slice.

Happiest Monday darlings. We’ve returned windblown and smelling like the ocean from beautiful Cape Breton, secure in the knowledge that there really is a reason they call this “God’s Country”. We drove out on Saturday with my mum and dad, all four of us completely shocked at how incredibly stunning it is. We stopped in Baddeck on the huge and beautiful Bras D’Or lakes for fish n’ chips and visited the Alexander Graham Bell Museum; and I have to say, the man is incredible. (We also visited the incredible “Baaaddeck Yarns” – c’mon.. how awesome is that?) We took a ferry to Ingonnish, stuck our hands in the Atlantic Ocean and ambled along the beach, snuggled in the chilly ocean wind and drove along switchbacks filled with woodsmoke and magic. It calmed my heart and made me smile with my soul.

ps – To completely ruin a heartfelt post, Alexander Graham Bell did extremely hilarious breeding with sheep. He had drawn some conclusion that there was a relationship between the number of nipples on a sheep and their propensity towards bearing twins. So he bred sheep ostensibly for twins, and ended up with a whole town of sheep full of abnormal amounts of nipples.

they’re coming!

{via}

Lovelies – my family is coming. I’ve been cleaning and arranging and thinking about bribing our hillbilly neighbors and generally ensuring that I’m a neurotic mess. I’m so very excited to see my Mum and Dad, we’re taking a bit of a road trip this weekend, so they’ll be much to report back on Monday! Thanks for understanding! xo

“a love affair”

I’ve had a Billykirk bag bookmarked for about 2 years, as one of those bags I will have “when I am grown”. When I have more money than a waitress makes, when I have more important things to carry in my bag, when I have a nice pen… Those totally conditional adult markers in your life. Watching this incredibly beautiful video of Chris and Kirk Bray only further confirmed that it is something worth waiting for. xo

Monday Monday…

Hello strumpets! Many decisions made this weekend – one in fact to replace Monday Must Have with a Music Monday. Due to the cash flow slowing to a torturous drip, we’re looking for more economical ways to be happy, be fun and enjoy the incredible place we’re living. More on this later. I’ll keep Wanted Wednesday’s around, because lets face it, a girl has got to dream.

But for today, please take a listen to the incredible Clare and the Reasons and say a special thanks for MySpace, one of the last true bastions of free music. xo

The Movember Mix Tape

{via}

The Movember Mix Tape – Some tunes to put hair on your chest. And then smoothly remove it. xo

Wanted Wednesday

{AESA}

Yowza. This are so talismanal and awesome, I’d feel like a warrior.

Monday Must Have – Bereitschaftstasche Bags

{Bereitschaftstasche}

Chiropractically, I should probably consider downsizing my purse. I have an enormous sac that seems to accumulate “stuff” which usually results in me lugging around dozens of tampons, three apples, tonnes of Band-Aids, two books and a miasma of tangled pens, jewelry, sunglasses assumed long lost, receipts and ok, that one time there was an airplant stuck inside Monocle Magazine at the bottom.

That being said, I feel I would be able to downsize slightly if given the chance with these incredible German leather bags. The name “describes a practical and robust bag for transporting a choice of important instruments”, a category I feel may not include a crushed snack pack of Teddy Grams covered in a patina of smushed lip chap.. Beautiful.

a slice

Hello boys and ghouls! Hope your Halloween was a howling success! We had a fantastic time, thouroughly enjoying the first time in at least 5 years that there hasn’t been snow on Halloween. Not only was there no snow, but it was 15 degrees! I have a feeling that that weather may be what is keeping this super-sized spider outside our living room window in flies. He’s so enormous, to scale that photo for you his body is about the size of a quarter. We have named him Peter, and Jared greets him every day by remarking on the size of the “junk in his trunk”.

J and I dressed up as a slightly funereal Don and Betty Draper, though by the end of the night we were copping to sexy undertakers. *chuckle* We went to an enormous houseparty (100 people at the height of the night!), drank good beer and I managed to complete one of my life goals – getting up on stage and acting like a bad ass. If there is a video dear bloggers, rest assured you will see me rapping Jay-Z’s “Show Me What You Got” with a 7 piece funk band post haste. After all, if on Halloween Betty Draper can’t drop it like it’s hot, what’s the holiday for? *

*aware it is not a holiday. Yet.

show me what you got.

{via}

I’d just like to let y’all know that by some strange twist of fate, I will be singing – nay, not singing – rapping – at this evenings Halloween house party with the illustrious funk band “Mustache Pony”.

I will, somewhat hilariously, be dressed as Betty Draper.

Bloggas, think of me. Perhaps, if you’re of that persuasion, say a prayer that I don’t fall on my perfectly coiffed ass and spill Colt 45 on myself.

campus colors

I still can’t get over the colors of fall on campus… It makes me think of leather boots, blazers and riding crops. Beautiful.

Wanted Wednesday – Give it to me straight

{Tiny Toadstool}

Alright my lovely keg standers – give it to me. Is this adorable and slightly funky (think oversized black cardigan, pointy black flats) or so Oktoberfest that you can’t help but think of lederhosen and two different kinds of jugs? I love it so, but I’ll take your advice, I swear.

Monday Must Have

{via All Modern}

When I miss home, it is more the feelings that I miss than the places exactly. The coffee shop that J. and I would bike to in little Italy had these beautiful Miller/Eames chairs, the smoothest little pieces of architecture you’d ever slide into. It was a Sunday ritual that we’d bike there, early, slowly and laughingly, meandering and quiet. It is not the coffee shop that I miss, not the amazing espresso or the cannoli, but that feeling when you slipped backwards into this chair. It was the feeling of Sundays, of hand holding and love and warmth. I miss those chairs and the spell they cast over your heart.

I came across them while browsing All Modern; the lovely and most talented Anabela over at Fieldguided is having a phenomenal giveaway. Make sure that you check it out and put your name in, everyone needs a little more beautiful in their life. xo

a little slice

It was a pretty quiet weekend lovelies! I worked Saturday and then had a few drinks with J. at the pub, Sunday we walked into town in the spectacular 16 degree weather we had, and then had a lovely dinner with friends. The night was lovely, there is something about sitting around a table of homemade food with good, smart, funny people that makes me truly believe that that is where wealth lay. Though having good vanilla ice cream never hurts either. How was your weekend dumplings?

for being there.

{via}

sometimes there is not much more to say than thank you. And most of the time, thank you doesn’t quite cut the mustard. to each of you, for your phone calls, your emails, your comments and above all your words.. thank you. for reminding me that i am stronger than that, tougher than that, for telling me that yes, it sucks and you are there too, for kicking me in the ass – thank you. in less elegant words, would that i could kiss you each on the side of the mouth,  whoop in your ear and break into the electric slide. y’all fuckin’ rock my world.

Fill ‘em up!

{gone to pot}

{quote}

to be hopeful.

{via}

There is no post that I can write that can properly convey the lump that is in my throat. There is no way to look at you and turn my pockets inside out, bow my head, put a hand over my eyes and let tears leak through my fingers. This is a post that I wish I could put in brackets – I know that things will change, I know that I will be ok, but right now – this is what is slipping through that space between my knuckles and running down my wrists.

I walked through the grocery store last night twice, once to pick up everything I needed, and once more in reverse to put 75% back on random shelves as I was pretending to look at something else. Slipping cheese behind the apples, putting soy-milk in with the corn pops, porkchops with the frozen juice. I added everything up in a notebook standing between tampax and toilet paper, painstakingly calculated the 16 % tax.

I looked at my hands, at my notebook, at my cart, at my things, at my purse, and it was all I could do not to sob. Since when is this where I pictured myself? Since when did I think that at the age that I am that I would be standing crying in front of cheap panty liners wondering if they’d be more cost effective than buying eye makeup remover pads? Exactly where was “dodgy deli meat” in my life plan? When did I forget to learn how to cobble a life and three square meals for us out of a paycheck that was in total, (to the  ironic penny) the ammount of tax I had taken off my last paycheck before I left?

There hasn’t been a night of late where I haven’t had a bankers ledger running through my mind, shifting money here, paying bills there, planning and scheming for saving ten dollars here, five dollars there. Constantly plotting for when I can get another job for the evenings, so that we’re covered for rent and can have our cupboards full too.

When did this stop being fun? When did “I’m broke” start meaning so much more than just not having any money, but referred to the actual state of my heart when I look at my bank statement, night after night? I remember when I would laugh about having no money, laugh about scrounging change and digging in coat pockets. Exactly when did being broke refer to my fractured ability to provide for my tiny little household?

I have this constant feeling of late of having made incredibly bad choices. That if only I had gone right to university. If only I had a degree that was somewhat more functional at making me money and not just the worst drinking partner in the world. If I had just not bought those boots a year ago. Choruses of ‘if only’, and ‘had I only’, and ‘I should have just’ cloud my brain and drown out the silence as I lay in bed balancing mental checkbooks and mania with a stupid hopefulness that it will turn around.

The truth is, we’re going on luck. I was lucky that somebody hired my pierced, pink haired self to do anything but work at Wal-Mart in the stock room. We’re lucky that if I don’t go back to school and I just keep working, we won’t have to move home. We’re lucky that right now, our fridge is full and we have each other. These are not things that I have forgotten or discounted or misplaced amongst the wealth of sadness I’m feeling. They are, however, strange and impotent salves to smooth over the incredible burns that reality is brandishing. When I have time to think about it, I think that this is not where I thought I’d be in my life right now.

This is the worst, when the tabulating and shifting and pandering stops. When the ‘could haves’ fall away, when I can’t see the electricity bill in front of my eyes as if it were there, when I’m not planning each meal down to the late bite. It is the worst when I have time to think about what I’m doing. About what I could be doing. About what I’ve done. And how when I think of all of those things in a moment of silence, I wish for all the mental math, ledgers and bills to come rushing back. Because the only answer I get to that question seems to be the same as paycheck at the end of the month. Nothing.

Despite. Inspite.

We throw blog parties, and we hope.

Ladies? Anyone?

eep! I need to have a little virtual blog party. I am in need of a laughing, screaming, dancing evening where we squeeze each others shoulders and step on each others toes in  blatant and ecstatic acts of spontaneous electric slide.

will you come?

what will you bring?

xo

the slice

That’s all she wrote folks. Honestly, there were little to no photos taken this weekend, save a few of the second great hair dying fiasco, which will be posted about later, I assure you.

Jared and I both took the weekend off of .. well, everything. We run on fairly opposite schedules, and rarely get a lot of time to spend together. Saturday morning Jared informed me he’d taken the whole day off to spend with me and I just about collapsed in paroxysms of shock and awesomeness. We went to the farmers market, meandered to the grocery store, we ate olive and feta croissants. We went to a party and left early, giggling, like responsible teenagers, huddled in the pizza parlour at midnight eating bad pizza and watching wrestling. I made apple/pear/vanilla/cardamom pies, knit and laughed more than I have in a long time. I went to yoga and we took naps, and though frankly unremarkable in the picture taking department, was exactly what I needed.

How did you spend your weekends? What lovely things did you do?

xo

Inspiration – David O’Brien

{David O’Brien}

These pieces from David O’Brien are so simultaneously chaotic and orderly..

a long weekend slice

We spent the rest of the long weekend being perfectly irresponsible and doing nothing but eating, trompsing about in our adventure boots and kite flying by the river that runs behind our house. The apple trees everywhere smell wonderful, everyone is burning wood in the fireplace and the air is so crisp and cool. If nothing else, I love this place for the weather, it’s been ages since I lived somewhere with a real fall, where girls actually go from mini skirts to woolly tights and not mini skirts to snow pants. *Sigh* Bliss.

Monday Must Haves

{via Snappy Fish Vintage}

{via Erica Weiner}

The obsession with geometrics continues. I love that dress so very much, though I have a feeling it may clash with my pink hair. The sacrifices we make. xo

a slice

Happy Monday cupcakes. We have a long weekend here due to Thanksgiving, but I couldn’t resist sharing a few photos from our weekend. The colors around here are just so incredible here right now that I feel like I’m living in lush kodachrome pack of film. Everywhere you turn the trees are just shockingly bright. The weather is so nice however, that fall roses are still blooming, there are wild violets everywhere and the apple trees smell so rich and beautiful. I hate to brag.. but it recently snowed where we came from… *ahem*. Yeah.

We spent the weekend working, wandering about town taking photos, and eating, oh the eating! We had our own quiet Thanksgiving this Saturday night, which left Sunday morning to make chicken soup with leftovers, and Sunday afternoon to make piles of pies. Sunday evening we headed to friends house for a huge and incredible Thanksgiving potluck with much laughter, much food and that feeling of happiness that comes from being surrounded by warm bodies, plates of food and the reaching out of one to another. It made me happy. Happy, and in a turkey coma.

Hope you’ve all had a beautiful fall weekend – xo.

all together now.

{via via via}

Monday Must Have

{Henrik Vibskov via Creatures of Comfort}

Hello and Happy Monday lovelies! Let us all wink and nod and pretend that while I was away I was doing far more productive things than kegstands, gorging on chinese food and reading trashy magazines. Which, while not all I did, was fairly close.

However, I did manage to get the job I really truly wanted that will make us financially stable enough to stop our nightly ritual (opening our online banking, ringing our hands and snifffling), I’m into the swing of things at the paper, and I’ve even managed to make a few friends here and there. The adoreable quaintness of this town is wearing a bit thin – it’s still a 45 minute walk to the grocery store and we don’t have snow yet, our neighbours still (for lack of more grown up words) suck horribly, and sometimes we play a game with the cooking smells in the hallway called “Dead Person or Cheap Fish?” where to be honest, sometimes we hope for the former.

But yesterday was officially my last day of wallowing in self pity (which surprisingly doesn’t make one lose a lot of weight – wallowing apparently not being hard work) and today I brush myself off, put my big girl pants back on, and get back to work at being something more than a gal who is caught up on all seasons of Weeds, True Blood, Californication, Fringe, CSI and the Office.

I am just hoping that when I get those first pair of tights in the mail that they are flattering enough to hide the wallowing thats attached itself to my knees. xo

flux

{via}

I know, right?

I’m in a dubious process of adjustment. I’ll get there, then I’ll get here.

I miss you all, I do. I will be back soon, as long as you’ll have me.

xo

nerves, part 3.

{via}

She was not so sure what time it was. Or day. If she thought hard enough, she was fairly certain that it must be Friday.

She was standing on a roof overlooking Main Street. There was a menthol burning sickly sweet and caustic in one hand, the smoke curling up and into the humidty of her breath above her. She smiled at the sounds of the party beneath her, the sounds of breaking glass and slamming oven doors, clicks of lighters and the crashing waves of laughter and talk.

She didn’t feel like a princess anymore, the loneliness hadn’t passed, and her hands smelled like chili cheese fries.

She thought, “Maybe I am too old for this.”

And then realized it was Monday.

Inspiration: Katy Horan

{katy horan via all the mountains}

holy.

Wanted Wednesday – Louis Reith

{louis reith via Design Dig}

I’m really liking these works by Louis Reith – we haven’t put up any art on the walls at the new house yet, and we’re trying to decide what exactly we want up and where. Perhaps I can get one of these into the mix… 

It’s raining hard again here for the 3rd day in a row, which while making my skin as plump and happy as a new grape,  is making my spirits as soggy as toast in a puddle. There is a delicious little cafe here with the best feta/olive/cucumber/sprout sandwhiches and tasty chai, I may just hide there all day!

Some really nice news – I got the features editor position for the paper, which is very exciting. AND I have an interview today at 2 for a real job ( the paper will pay enough to cover tuition, so I need something else to cover our rent)! Things are coming up roses…Maybe because of all of the rain. *smile* 

xo lovelies.

Belated Monday Must Have -Sunja Link

{sunja link}

I think these are just the right colors to go from summer to fall. I have a beautiful olive colored Sunja Link jacket that I bought at Nokomis this summer, but what I wouldn’t do for the grey one in the first photo. Lovely, and beautiful styling too. 

Wish me luck today blogettes, I’m interviewing for the Features Editor position here. It seems a bit like a closed circle, but I’m doing my best to crack it. *nervous smile*

things unsaid.

{via catherine kennedy garrett}

I really did have full intentions of posting about our trip, about our adventures. I wanted an excited three part story that detailed the fun, the restaurants, the mishaps. But the farther away it got, the longer I waited to write about it.. the less I wanted to. 

Once when I was little, really young, I found a black triangle shaped rock in the playground. I was convinced that it was an arrowhead and I carried it around all morning in my pocket until lunch when I unveiled it to a circle of friends who promptly told me that it was definately a triangle shaped rock, and not an arrowhead at all. I was crushed. 

Sometimes I think that I need to keep more in my pocket. The hope that this vacation would reconnect me with a man that I love so much, the ridiculous laughter in a bar in the middle of Maine, the hilarity of J. getting all kissy when I order coffee in French in Quebec.. They seem so much more precious, so much more.. more.. when I don’t struggle to put them in the right words or find the right pictures to go with them. 

So suffice to say, it was beautiful. It wasn’t perfect, it may not have been what I envisioned months ago, but it was exactly and surprisingly what should have been, tears and laughter included. I will keep it in my pocket, and hope you understand. xo

Inspiration: Gwonosang

{Gwonosang}

These 3d sculptures are photo collages… they are also blowing my mind.

home slice

Hello ladies and gents! A few little snips from our new home, filled with airplants and the most incredible sunlight. We only have a few boxes left to unpack, but recently discovered (to our delight) that behind one of them was a dishwasher! This is exciting and exhilarating news. *smile* I am recuperating slowly from a bout of the nasty-mean-negatives, and learning to deal with our awful neighbours in increasingly passive aggressive ways. (See: Jared nudges the shoes they leave outside their door down the hallway, a little bit at a time. I may adopt this, as standing angrily behind the peep hole and whipping the door open to glare at them when they pass is not making me any friends.) Now that we’re a little more settled, and seeing as how I’m still unemployed, expect blogging to resume at it’s regular, if not more fervent, pace. xo

smoted.

{life}

Remember when I was all excited about internet? Remember how that was days ago and then I disappeared? I have no internet.

What I do have however:

- three floors of hillbilly neighbors intent on killing me with cigarette smoke, j-Lo circa 1999 and screaming children.

- new cabinets that swing out way farther than I anticipated or my muscle memory from my old house recalled, thereby smacking me in the nose and giving me a three day headache and a semi black nose/eye

- a crapload of broken dishes and hands that look like they went through a meat grinder

HOWEVER, lest you believe that this is a dark and gloomy place, I also have an invitation to a beer-b-que, a backgammon partner at the BlackBird Cafe, and one completed application to WalMart Super Centre.

xo my darlings, I will be back when the internet man finishes moving in the other 4000 students that descended on this town.

Inspiration: Richard Barnes

I’ve been trying to choose just one series from Richard Barnes‘ work to show you, but I just can’t. So I’m taking two from each to show you – it really is worth it to peruse the rest of the photos.

Richard Barnes’ amazing photos of thousands of starlings “murmuring” over Rome.

The images in the “Refuge” series of nests are so beautiful, and complimentary to the above…

The series “Animal Logic” investigates behind the scenes at museums etc.. Eerie and incredible!

And on the 6th Day

Darlings, you must have been praying/drinking extra hard, because we have internet. Given, we still don’t have stuff, heat, food, and I’m still going to bed fully dressed to stay warm during the night – but we have internet. Which makes me feel just a little more connected and a titch bit happier. I start my couple classes tomorrow on the new (and beautiful) campus, so in light of the fact that the first class is near the frat house with a banner that reads “Stud Farm”, I offer you this scholastic site: “What’s for School Lunch?” discovered via the NYTimes this morning. On the internet. That I’m on. Hallelujah.

 

Camping.

{ray fenwick}

Hello lovelies. I am currently pressed as closely to the wall as I can with my trusty computer attempting to keep my internet connection with the “McFerguson Family” network who has so kindly forgotten to password protect their internet. Bless you. Just stopping in – the last few days were a bit like a whirlwind. I’m well aware I’m behind on being any sort of inspiring/talkative/interesting/trendy blogger lately (or ever) but we’re currently camped (I’m not even shitting you) in our new apartment. We arrived on a long weekend, and since this handy town we’ve moved into provides it’s own power , which you have to receive by signing up at city hall… We have no power. Only warmish water. No internet. No TV. And we’re not entirely sure when the movers get here. SO. Dear McFerguson Family – thank you for letting me send this SOS over the interwebs seeping through your walls. Dear bloggers? Commence the praying. Just joking. Drinking. Commence the drinking. xo 

PS – Ray Fenwick is a really REALLY incredible illustrator originally from Halifax, I highly recommend checking out his flickr. I bought a stack of his postcards, and some of you will be receiving them in the mail soon… 

Inspiration – Thomas Nozkowski

Jared and I went to the National Gallery last night to see the Nozkowski exhibit, and it didn’t disappoint. The man has been making these incredible abstract paintings for over 20 years, and the collection of 60+ curated and exhibited works was simply awesome. See a neat little five minute interview with him here. 

No Full Stops – Bus Blinds

{economica}

I really like these vintage bus blinds from Economica. They were featured in this weeks News, and I can’t stop going back to look at them. They’re a little out of my price range, but still incredible inspiration. 

through the fog

{miel et cannelle}

An incredible fog rolled onto Old Orchard beach as we went for our final dip in the salty ocean. The lights of the midway behind us lit everything up – it was eerie and beautiful and magic. xo

the maine event – part one: an assumptive junkie

{miel et cannelle}

While my belief in a higher power at all is suspect, that belief is exponentially stronger when it comes to thinking of a vengeful higher power. At least, these were my thoughts as I was struck down with the most vicious sinus cold I’d ever had, and was left unable to taste anything – fruit, vegetable or crustacean, for the first 8 hours we were in Maine. Given that this was ostensibly to be a gustatory vacation (vacationing, I can only assume, from plebeian foods like…chicken?) I was beside myself. So I did what anybody stricken with a mere 4 other inferior senses would do. 

Ate everything in sight until I could taste something again. 

This included, but was not limited to: deep fried oreos, deep fried clams, bagels with scallion cream cheese, chunky monkey and a variety of other “can I taste this” adventures. The answer unfortunately, was no. At this point, furiously gaining weight calorie by calorie and having no sweet, sour, umami or otherwise taste revelation to speak of, I headed to RiteAid to self medicate. 

Now, far be it from me to point out my obviously naivety in the ways of the U.S.A., but the majority of the information I gather about that fair and tasty country (everyone knows proximity breeds blissful assumptions coupled with ignorance) comes from three sources: Rachel Ray, CNN and the occasional Jeopardy category. Jared’s sources of information being primarily  COPS and Intervention, we discussed in the car the suspect nature of my appearance: bleary eyed from sneezing, red dry nose, shaky and high strung natural state akin to a small Chihuahua and how this could possibly appear when coupled with purchasing a large variety of cold medications all containing a key ingredient to clearing my nasal passages and making crystal meth.

Oh, and because I was unable to eat and breathe at the same time ( my sad and traitorous nose not letting taste nor air to pass) I was covered in a plethora of drippings, crumbs and stains. And never mind the desperation that being thisclose to eating my way to ecstasy and relaxation and being thwarted by a virus smaller than a grain of delicious sea salt paints all over a girls face and eyes. 

But taking the high road, I laughingly admonished the both of us for making such ridiculous and baseless assumptions about such a charming and sweet seaside town full of sweet and charming people, and indeed, assumptions about an entire country. Crystal Meth! Come now. Ridiculous and baseless until moments later after perusing the umpteen boxes of various cold medications and staring deep into my watery sad eyes, darling cashier Karen relieved me of my drivers license  stating “Oh yeah I’m gonna need to see some ID, the kids boil this down and make the crystal meth. We need to know who buys it.”

Thankfully she didn’t notice my burningly pink and embarrassed cheeks covered in chunky monkey chocolate as she gazed at my license and exclaimed (in a Maine accent I can only describe as perhaps New Jersey soaked in a lobster tank, swarthied up a bit by cheap cigarettes and Cutty Sark and dusted with a love of Boston?) “Ooooh, Alberta! I’ve never met anyone from Alberta before! You guys have a lot of cowboys and indians there right? “

Why yes dearest Karen. Yes, we do.

***

Intrepid travellers, what assumptions have you made while traversing the great wide wonders? Have any of them served you well? Any gone horribly sideways? Do tell, and stay tuned for The Maine Event: Part Two – It’s Hard to F’wig Up a Lobsta! 

 

 

Carrier Pigeon Wanted

{miel et cannelle}

Darlings – interwebs are not so good at reaching our little cabin through the fog and melted butter of Maine. I have many stories to tell you (The Real Housewives of Kennebunk County anyone? Accidentally trippin’ the light fantastic at the only gay cocktail lounge for.. um.. states?) but they will have to wait until I get home. Buttery kisses to all of you. xo

There are so many puns with Maine in them.

{life}

Hella yes, we are in Maine. I just spent 5.12$ on a six pack of miller high life and 9.25$ on a pint of fried clams. Things are so good, that I kind of feel like that fine lady up there in her strapless, backless, wireless bra adhered with glue – free, slightly delirious and not at all worried about the camel-toe possibilities of high waisted shorts. Life is good ladies, life is good. xo

Hello/Bonjour!

Greetings from Ottawa/Montreal! 

It really is no secret that almost the entirety of every decision I make is based upon the probability of food, and preferably good food, being availible to me. Lest it be said that “good food” is an objective statement, today was spent in the pursuit of stacks of smoked meat sandwiches from Schwartz’s deli in Montreal. Actually, I’m not going to lie, everything I ate today came in either ice cream or sandwich form, and in one delightful cosmic twist on the car ride home, an ice cream sandwich. 

{Schwartz’s Deli counter – it’s a little bit gross, all the piles of meat. I tried not to drool.. I mean.. look.}

{I don’t know why I’m so excited. Oh wait. I do. Sandwiches.}

{Mine had about 1/3 of the meat taken off. I couldn’t stuff it into my face. Pity.}

I’d really like to tell you all about the exciting things we’ve been doing…But we’ve only been here for a day and a half and I am simply reveling in good food, my mummy’s soft hands and kisses, sleeping with my puppy on my feet and having somebody else make coffee. We leave for Maine in a day, but that seems so deliciously far and dreamily distant, six meals, a millions kisses and a day of wandering away. xo lovelies

ps – Can I thank you all, dudettes, for being so wonderful and filling in for me in my craziness? For all your great comments? Beers and smoked meat on me babes. 

and away we go.

{miel et cannelle}

 

String Theories

With my winding steps, with each push of my bike pedals, with every cab ride I have taken, with every car I’ve gotten into, this city has knit me a story; it’s streets no less than needles, it’s alleys no less than looms. 

There are reinforced stitches around pubs and coffee houses, there are quiet and soft blankets around hills and parks where I’ve spent so many hours asleep or reading or holding hands. There are fresh threads, tender and vibrating to parts of our cities west and east and north to new friends, there are old, dusty and fraying strings to lost and forgotten loves that I only ever trip over and shake my head at. 

There are dropped stitches near those places I don’t go, by choice, by memory, by fear, by sadness, there is heightened tension in the stitches and the pattern where I work, where I stress. 

My city has knit my memories,  my story, into it. I wondered as I drove about this week how exactly I would leave such a city, a city that has made me and my memories so much a part of it’s knit and pearl, how the drop stitch and double crochet of this city could every be recreated anywhere else. 

Sitting across from a friend I love on Saturday morning,  she tied a veritable string to my finger. She handed me a blanket crafted of granny squares, made across this city, this province, and others; made over months, over moves, over triumphs and accidents and with love. And she told me with her hug that that string around my finger stretched very very far. And I could travel, and I could stray, and I could leave in 3 days; but this city and she would still be here, knitting, waiting; it’s streets no less than needles, it’s alleys no less than looms.

a last slice.

{miel et cannelle}

This last week was spent with one foot in the old and one foot in the new – packing and packing and incessantly packing everything we own,  canceling utilities and opening new accounts. We went to the Fringe Festival to see the same act we seem to see every year and sit in the same dusty spot and drink the same amazing lemonade and eat the same amazing green onion cakes, but for the first time with my brother. I drove about town with my him and J pillaging boxes from every “cardboard only” box we found while listening to Marvin Gaye and eating ice cream, I sat in a jazz club and watched J and his friends play “just one more song” before everyone disperses this week all over the world. I couldn’t stop shopping even while packing and came across the mother load of dishes and this too cute lamp. I fell in love with our tree lined streets and city market all over again, and I held the hand of a new old friend for the last time for a while. It was moving forward and letting go, while solidifying everything I love about this city one last time. xo

Guest Post – Kyla Roma

Hello lovelies – This is the last guest post! I have to thank you all for being such amazing caretakers of Miel et Cannelle – you all made me a bit weepy with your talent. It was a much needed week off, and I’ll be back to posting tomorrow! But for now, one of my favorite bloggers, and dearest friends – Kyla Roma.

***

{nancz}

I’m often amazed by the little moments in our lives that feel as epic as anything we could watch on stage. I remember how small we can feel when we take on the big moments without crowds gathering to applaud our successes and hiss the villains we encounter. I know how large this world, this country, can feel when I’ve tried to decide where to set my feet down- east or west? Suburb or downtown? How do we decide where home is? Who home is? Sometimes, as in Andrea’s case, when home is a person, being close to home means packing your bags and moving halfway across the country.

I wish that all of those decisions meant only new beginnings, new horizons, new friendships- but the reality is that these moves mean endings too. There are last boxes to pack, last hugs, and last meals at favourite restaurants. There are moments of doubt, of anxiety, and of waking up in the night wondering where this will lead you. Of who you’ll meet, who you’ll stay in touch with, and what your city will look like the next time you visit.

I believe in acts of fearlessness and bravery.

I believe that Andrea is one of be most fey and exhilarating people I’ve met in my little life.

I believe that all of her wishes should come true.

You are a warrior, little girl. Have an amazing adventure out there, and please come back to write us about it sometime.