Maybe Waldo Has It

I wonder if anyone was ever as annoyed with me as my sister's younger sister, as I am with your younger sister.

Do you ever find yourself irritated by feelings most likely delineated from jealousy, all because of someone you don't even feel all that strongly for?

Why am I possessive of certain individuals I often find myself disgusted by when I think of them in morning light? I guess I like to pretend - which essentially is a huge gash toward anyone's longing to call me a "stand up gal." Honestly, as I strive for genuinity, I often go out to social engagements knowing well ahead of time I'll be acting for the evening - acting for the sheer desire of the satisfaction one has when having a ball. I'll have a pretend ball, you see.

On another note, when I'm lucky, I'll end up on the same streetcar as this bearded man with a knit toque, and I admire him from a distance. He reminds me of another of my potential love interests who busts tables at the Roxton - but this gent works in some mysterious unknown destination down an alley off Queen W. He's the perfect height, and he's brooding without seeming whiney or adolescent, or "suburban." I think I could love him. Or at least, pretend to love him for kicks have we ever reach the point of "going" out somewhere fly on a friday. Or a Tuesday after work.

As for Benny. He can have his girl. They deserve each other - they do. I can tell she actually likes him, and he actually likes her. Evn though I know he wished I was being true, and it was more than flirty glances and warming smiles, he knew I was a liar. He knew my heart was somewhere else. No... he knew it was lost.

Now only if I could find it.

Lola.

Good Morning Libra!

After last night and last night's rather dramatic but no-less sincere post, I felt sensational waking up to the Globe and Mail's reading of my stars:

LIBRA (Sept. 24 - Oct. 23):
You are who you are and there is no point trying to be someone different. Each sign has its good points and its bad points and both have a role to play in making you a unique individual. Don’t try to be like others – they want to be like you.


Nice, right?

-Lola.

Botticelli says he's never seen an ocean like mine

I actively avoid measuring up other women because I firmly believe comparing one's own physical exterior with others, those I know and those who are strangers, connotes the most devastating of evils.

Regardless, life is not fair and I fall to the greatest of faults and I commit the one crime I try so hard to avoid. Moments when I've felt absolutely beautiful as if I could compare with the best of them, were fleeting... few and far between. Flash in the pan, fifteen minutes of fame.

Makeup and hair don't even hide the fact anymore that I am not a leading lady.

I am aware a lot of females I know believe that their major challenge in life is that they are seen as "just a pretty face" or "just a piece of ass" which I'm sure is at its worst a tad irritating. But at least they're being noticed in some way. And I take this moment to remind myself that this is not the way I should long to be noticed. However, I am but human. A hungry, hormonal human.

I snapped at a friend of mine the other night. I just hate it when my naturally thin friends act as if we're both on the same page - both the same size, struggling with the same issue. It's one thing that hurts me the most. I hate it when people play dumb to spare my feelings. I dragged her in my bedroom and showed her a painting hanging on my wall - "The Birth of Venus." I recently purchased two versions of the print - one of the original, the other a Warhol of just Venus' face in black and orange. And although I absolutely love both works, I favour Botticelli's tempura on canvas from the 1480s. It depicts the goddess Venus ascending from the sea as a full-grown woman. She's naked and her body shape is traditional of the curvy women portrayed in the arts of the 15th and 16th centuries. I hang it over my bed and I look at it to remind myself that great and powerful artists (those fucked by divinity) believed that this was beautiful... even if it was centuries ago. And I told her, "this is not what you look like." But when I undress, this is exactly what I look like.

lola.

- When I write, I almost always feel very strongly and positively about the quality flowing through my fingers and onto the blank page. I have tried many arts, but story and ideas feel most innate. When I write I feel honest and emotional and I do not look to any others to craft the way I compose because it's guided by something internal, spiritual. And in these moments I forget that I am conventionally ugly, because this talent... this attribute is most beautiful when it's no makeup, no hair, no clothes, just fucked right and natural.

Lowest saturation points

A couple of months ago I went off my antidepressants. Anyone who has been on any kind of medication that messes with your body chemistry (i.e. all of them) knows that the weeks after you go on and the weeks after you go off are hurly-wurly fuckin' shit storms of moods and flashes and discomfort in your own skin, which is the worst kind of discomfort. I got a lot of headaches. And moods. And piss-poor body image. And consequently a lot of people got hit with the bitch end of the Inari stick. Did they deserve it? For the most part, I think so (sort of). I won't pretend to apologize for the content because, lack-of-drug-addled as I was, what I felt was what I felt and I think I've progressed pass the point of apologizing for honest-to-goodness feelings.

Having said that, should I have swung as hard, harshly, indiscriminately as I did? No. To a couple of people, I felt I was unmerciful in my approach, displaying the kind of selfish brat behaviour I abhorr in other people. A lot of my negativity, I imagine, left residual damage. I went off on more than a few rampages to Lo about my sheer hatred for hipster culture and on people that we knew, when really what I should've done was narrow the range of my bombs and go off on inauthenticity, insincerity and the general lack of understanding and belonging I felt towards most things at the time. Hating yourself makes you look at the world through shit-tinted glasses so many of the judgments flying out of my mouth were reductionist at best, totally unfair and untrue at worst.

So why am I saying all of this right now, so long after the fact? Because, honestly, I didn't want to earlier. I'm not in the habit of being articulate and super emotional at the same time and sometimes I just don't know how I feel. But I look back on journal entries and blog posts and old conversations on MSN and I realize now that, for a long time, I was super reactionary and very unhappy and now, I think, is a good time to go back and give all of that some context.

The last thing I want to tell people that they have to change who they are. If there is anything I'm allowed to judge, it is actions alone and, in some of the cases, the people I've railed against didn't do anything that I wouldn't have understood had I been practicing the empathy that I like to preach. That doesn't mean that when someone hurts me, I turn the other cheek. I ain't Jesus Christ and you aren't lambs to the slaughter. Like I said before, this isn't an apology for the ends, just one for the means.

-I


Confused? Me too.

Guadalajara and my ceramic prayers.

When you Google image 'ceramic Elvis' among the search results of innumerable Elvis paraphernalia, trinkets and memorabilia of varying degrees of tack... there is an image of a Virgin Mary statuette. I find this rather interesting. But instead of clicking on the image to see just why it pops up for the search noted above, I instead decided that even though the two entities appear remotely different, Elvis and the Virgin are actually related in more ways than one. And I'm positive I'm right about this.

He is after all the King of sexy... and she the Queen.

Lo

Epilogue:

(...please note...my search became a success when I Googled 'Elvis Bust.' Then I founds what Is was lookin' for. Apparently they sell them at Honest Eds. For some ungodly reason, when I look at the image above I imagine the most perfect moment with me and someone I truly love. We're eating toast with jam. I can't ever really see his face, because for the life of me I don't fully believe I'm capable of romantic love... but... I feel an idea... and it looks vaguely like Shia Labeouf.)

Oh, to know "Normal" Social Integration

Your reaction: "Well, who wants to be 'normal' anyways. I don't."
Well neither do I. However, one can argue that desperation for acceptance and perfection technically is "normal." Note, there is a fundamental difference between being normal and being normal from a societally functional standpoint. I really enjoyed grade 11 soc. It was one of the most beneficial and informative of all of my high school classes. That, and growing up learning to function in a massive family has prepared me amply for the real world. It will no doubt continue to help me navigate, cope, adjust and proceed forth in the workplace, with friends and any other community of people I am surrounded by, through any such difficult, and possibly questionable terrain.


I'm just musing here... so bear with me. I think when the person you hate to love tells you something about yourself that's really offensive... I think it's probably the truth. The kind of truth that really rips apart one's character, one's humanity. The kind of truth that (hopefully) makes you question oneself and what one does (or don't even think to do). And consider if in fact what this person says about you (even though they are essentially the devil in the end and you shouldn't listen to them EVER for the sake of your insanity as a woman), consider what you are, how you are... consider if it's true. But what's worse is one who is so stuck in their own deluded vortex that they wouldn't even think to look inward. "Why?" I ask myself sometimes. "Why?" Maybe what I think is sensible, isn't sensible?

Luckily I don't hate to love anyone, so I'm usually just making these speculations about others.

I love waking up in the morning. And I love going to bed each night looking forward to waking up in the morning. I feel like finally I'm getting back on the productive, all around, track I was always meant to be escalating along. I hiccup here and there, but it's only "normal." Understandably so.

Having decided to sleep in an hour extra, and still manage to get completely ready in half the time (!!!) and still get to work with time to spare, I was feeling so excellent this morning. And then something stupid really set me off. And when I allowed it to resurface at the end of the night (and with one, comes all - remember every little thing) I just breathed in and breathed out and reminded myself that one of my greatest strengths is to block out the negative... I used to go a day without even thinking about one negative thought. I hope to reach that point again. Please let me reach that point again. Will. I want will.

I warn you. We are living in a masquerade. We rarely see what is real, but just a change of masks.

Think about someone who annoys you or has annoyed you in the recent past. Don't ever tell them they're annoying or that they've annoyed you because annoyance is not the fault of one person - it involves two parties - the annoyer essentially, and the (often radical) standards of the annoyee as well. I know this, because my own standards are often ridiculous to the point of radical. (I blame my insane Italian roots). Back to my point. Being told you are annoying is hurtful.

Another personal goal - I just want to be aware of those that are helpful and supportive and let them know they are wonderful people. I don't do this enough. That's it, I'm calling my sister right now. Fucking wonder woman.

Lo

And to all other women - whether wonders or wallowers - let's try and keep our panties untied shall we? If not for your own sanity and self respect, for the sheer benefit that after I wake up feeling great.... you don't dampen it with rain via txt msg. Thanks.

Donut Holes

There's a donut shop in Thorold.

It opened in '78 when a couple, new in town, purchased a boarded up soda-shop, installed an espresso maker, planted a garden outback, and hung some art.

They were hippie types. The kind of young lovers you'd expect to be eco-friendly, fair trade yuppies of the modern era. They drove down from Nevada in search of a cooler climate. In search of some personal freedom. They didn't have a structured plan, but a longing for something completely new. They weren't looking for reinvention, they were looking for a change of pace. "Whatever will be, will be" was just a long drive North.

So they left... Neil Young playing on the 8-track, as mile by mile, the couple sang along to pass the time. This wasn't about Vietnam, or their love-hate conflict for their birth country. They had a reverence for America, they did. But after having strange amounts of sex without ever getting pregnant... without ever using prophylactics ("skin on skin baby"), the couple realized their inability to conceive together - and what better celebration of their love then to bring a child into this world? This new America? And since this celebration could never be, the couple couldn't bear to be surrounded by the walls and the woods, the roads, the rivers and the bathroom stalls which they screwed in. Let's blame it on money hungry, industrial, fuel mongering polluted to shit white America. So they packed it all up for some new air. For some new Canadian life giving air.

And then came Molly Sees. Their diner.

Molly Sees (est. 1978 as it says under the antique sign) has become a local fixture among the Canadian townfolk. Thorold's very own Cheers, where everybody knows your name. She takes the orders, he cooks the food. They manage the menu together.

The couple never did end up giving birth. You can hear it in the man's acoustic lullabies played on Thursday Open Mics, and read it in the woman's quiet poetry splashed about her art. They are sad about their empty nest, but passionate that they themselves are living and breathing, that they themselves have each other. And they have their Molly Sees and all of the smiling, laughing children that come in each day with their gleeful Canadian families. In some way, they have given birth.

In true hippie tradition their diner, progressively so, was first to offer a light menu of alfalfa sprouts, whole grains, flax and vinaigrettes - nearly two decades before the mainstream did it - before McD's slated their vacuum packed alternatives for the 4000 calorie deal they normally boasted. And yet, where the irony lies in this tale, is that it is the hippie couple's reluctance to remove the "donut" from their menu, that has turned many Presbyterians in the town against them. The donut - which is culturally iconic of the religious overweight American - represented the devil to this small group of Thoroldians. They attended city council weekly to promote a "get fit - get healthy" citywide movement. It was after-all the 00's and fit lifestyle changes were the new black. The uprising happened after some special on Oprah about a 300 lb woman who wanted to sue Krispy Kreme for making her a monster. These protesting townspeople feared the same was happening to them. It’s funny how they targeted Molly Sees, which was potentially the healthiest menu in town. But the fact that, along with its sprouts, it continued to offer traditional diner specials - re: the donut, the donut hole (“timbits”, “munchkins”, “dew drops”, “country bits”) outraged the newly health obsessed townsfolk, and flagged Molly Sees a red zone. And it was all offered by American hippies, no less.

But the couple continued to resist. And the townspeople who expected the hippie-dippie granola crunchers to be all for the ban, were utterly confused as they were about most things that didn’t support or represent cliche.

See the couple themselves were not donut lovers... but they weren’t donut haters either. Removing the donut (BANNING the donut) represented a mentality they did not believe in... a mentality they did not “endorse”. They were inclusive human beings. The townspeople harassed them - calling them rebels. The couple had always been self-acclaimed peacekeepers; but in moments such as these, they were not rebels, but revolutionaries.

The donut was not the enemy; the couple truly believed this. The “individual” and their lack of control was the enemy. Half of those donut-hating wheelers, continued to pop in Molly Sees for an afternoon eclair, an old fashioned glaze, a tiger tail or evening cruller. So what defines a hypocrite anyways?

And so the couple continued to resist the pressures and the threats of being foreclosed had they not comply. They resisted to remove the donut and all donut-like products because they believed in balance. They believed that when something bad arises or something bad happens you do not run away from it, avoid it or ban it. You do not forget it or shun it and pretend it doesn’t exist. You do not remove the scar, or botox the wrinkle. Instead you turn and you look at it. You look at yourself and see if their is a personal change that can be made. And continue to live on - aware of the bad, embracing the good.

When the couple could not conceive a child they did not allow it to cause a rift in their relationship; they did not resent each other and part ways. They did not stop trying. They simply changed their way of life to allow themselves to heal. And even though there is no pain-alleviating cure...there is always love-making, there is always art, the outdoors, there is always vino and there is always marijuana

Eventually, after 16 weeks of donut drama, the “Molly Sees Donut Ban Proposition” was thrown out. The townsfolk were tired, and they were tried. They were also very... very hungry.

At this, the couple and their Molly Sees finally regained some peace and peace of mind. There are moments though... inevitable moments... where the man and the woman think to themselves whether they really did make a change, or whether they too were running away.

Stories in 15.

xoLo

Fact: Canadians consume the most doughnuts in the world, and Canada also has the most doughnut stores per capita.