Monday, May 31, 2010
connect the moments
Crazy, I just put two and two together and realized I hung out with the singer of The Smalls once as a teenager. I was just kind of listening to random songs I like on the YouTube instead of doing work, and the face belonging to the voice I know so well brought back a super random memory from high school.
My friend was driving down dusty back roads in central Alberta one summer day. We were with a random guy whose name was Mike. I remembered him all these years because my friend and him were smoking a joint and she was emphatically trying to convince him to get his band to play at some outdoor music festival and he wasn't sure about it. I was just sitting in the back trying to act cool, like I didn't care that this guy was in some band or whatever. And I'm pretty sure I was either deathly hung over or drinking at the time. He was older than us and I think maybe her and him were an item of some kind, but I'm not sure. That was in her terrible drugs 'till you drop phase...I wonder if she would even remember this.
But I do. The scene is really clear in my mind. I even remember somebody saying 'The Smalls' but back then I didn't know who they were and didn't care. I actually only really started liking them in my mid 20s. Which I am still in. That is to say, recently.
I don't know, just felt like sharing. I love it when a moment finally makes sense. It's like "Oh, those THE SMALLS, yeah, I totally know that band.'
Neat.
My friend was driving down dusty back roads in central Alberta one summer day. We were with a random guy whose name was Mike. I remembered him all these years because my friend and him were smoking a joint and she was emphatically trying to convince him to get his band to play at some outdoor music festival and he wasn't sure about it. I was just sitting in the back trying to act cool, like I didn't care that this guy was in some band or whatever. And I'm pretty sure I was either deathly hung over or drinking at the time. He was older than us and I think maybe her and him were an item of some kind, but I'm not sure. That was in her terrible drugs 'till you drop phase...I wonder if she would even remember this.
But I do. The scene is really clear in my mind. I even remember somebody saying 'The Smalls' but back then I didn't know who they were and didn't care. I actually only really started liking them in my mid 20s. Which I am still in. That is to say, recently.
I don't know, just felt like sharing. I love it when a moment finally makes sense. It's like "Oh, those THE SMALLS, yeah, I totally know that band.'
Neat.
Google yourself.
Well, I went ahead and googled myself the other day. Luckily I have never really been one to use my full real name on the internet. Except for here and here. But as for my most common pseudonym (novarella)...it's pretty out there. You can find this blog, my old travel blog that I don't know how to delete even though I erased/moved all the photos years ago, my blog catalog account and an interview thingy that I made years ago for my other old blog, my (totally boring crappy) youtube channel, my flickr account (which has barely any public photos), my fairly inactive book crossing account, and...someone else's facebook account. Who is apparently a sex doll.
What the hell is this? Somebody has MY FAKE NAME? The name I made up when I was three years old? And they're an inflatable sex toy? The fuck?
Have you ever googled yourself? Do yourself a favor and try it. I wish the photos on my travel blog from 2005 were still up, it would have been like reading my old diary or something from my train trip/living back at home as an adult days.
Why am I blogging after midnight? There's gonna be gremlins in the computer for sure!
What the hell is this? Somebody has MY FAKE NAME? The name I made up when I was three years old? And they're an inflatable sex toy? The fuck?
Have you ever googled yourself? Do yourself a favor and try it. I wish the photos on my travel blog from 2005 were still up, it would have been like reading my old diary or something from my train trip/living back at home as an adult days.
Why am I blogging after midnight? There's gonna be gremlins in the computer for sure!
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Work stuff...
This phoenix Colin did at work the other day is so great, just thought I'd share it here as well. And it was her first tattoo! Wow. She sat like a champ.
just a rainbow, because I get a four day weekend! WOO!
To all you suckers in Alberta, haha it's not snowing here. Just ... grey. Except for this pretty rainbow!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Mo' music.
Whenever somebody says to me that they 'love all music...except country' I wonder if that also means bluegrass ... you can't not love bluegrass.
(The guy in the overalls look so much like my friend's little brother!)
I used to think I didn't like any rap or hip hop but the guys at work are really changing my mind about that as well. You can't limit yourself, music-wise. I have found I even like (some) bollywood stuff, turkish folk music, russian pop, crazy south african hip hop*, classical music and yeah, even some pop country songs.
*If you have never heard of DIE ANTWOORD, well, you have now. They're from South Africa and sing in English, Afrikaans and Dutch, and they're crazy. In a good way. Plus, that guy's tattoos are fucking sweet.
Monday, May 24, 2010
favorite song of the day
I'm pretty sure anybody who doesn't get feelings when they listen to Maynard James Keenan sing has no soul.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
the fair
Techno music: bass bass bass bass bass bass
Flashing lights giving me a seizure, not literally but I did find myself swaying and going cross-eyed watching the sidewinder go round and round.
I stood there in the wind waiting for two of the three kids we brought to the fair. They were on some ride with some ridiculous name. They were sitting in a kind of metallic egg on the end of a gigantic arm of a machinated octopus. And spinning. Spinning at the end of the arm while going in circles around the base of the thing. I was standing, trying not to get pick-pocketed and thinking about maybe putting my hood up. Was that rain or just someone spitting off the ferris wheel?
The guy running the ride wasn't on any obvious drugs, not like the guys at the Himalaya ... hello cocaine! Nah, this guy looked cold and bored.
But then along came the fun guy, another carnival worker who proudly shouted 'I'm only nineteen!' as he made sure everybody's safety bar was locked into place.
He was obnoxious, flirting with the high school girls and shouting and high-fiveing the guys. The ride started up and I couldn't stop watching him. It was a pretty great act. Again, not like the guys at the Himalaya, who shouted "Everybody scream!" and "I can't hear you screaming!" and "Do you want to go backwards?" As if it were a recording on a loop.
This guy, mister nineteen, when people went by he went "RAAAAAAAA!" and scared them. He had every single person laughing as he (dangerously) chased after them with an inflatable hammer and tried to hit them. He pretended to high five the girls and then did the 'psyche' thing at the last second. It all fit in to the carnival atmosphere perfectly.
When the ride was over and the kids got off, they were practically climbing over each other to tell me about him.
"...and he was trying to give us a high five..."
"...and like, he like, said his name was mister awesome..."
"...that guy was cool huh?"
"...and he scared us..."
We were standing there waiting in the cold after the ride, because Ryan and his oldest boy had decided to go on the Zipper.
Dun dun duuunnn.
The Zipper was the kids' arch nemesis ride this year. Last year it was the Ferris Wheel. And the oldest guy finally decided he wasn't scared and he would totally go on it. But only if his dad came too.
We stood there, and I tried to keep the conversation about mister nineteen going so they would forget the wind and rain.
A group of cowboys walked past, fresh from the rodeo beer gardens by the smell of them.
"Hey guys, those are real cowboys!" I whispered in my best imitation of awe.
"WOW! COOL!"
"REAL COWBOYS! WOAH!"
"Did they ride horses to get here do you think?"
The boys watched the leather jackets and cowboy hats walk by with wide eyes and slack jaws. The cowboys didn't notice.
Ryan and the oldest boy showed up soon after and were surprisingly quiet about the whole Zipper thing. Luckily the other two had plenty to say about mister nineteen.
Ryan hung back and whispered to me that the kid had chickened out but didn't want anyone to know. They just watched the Zipper and went on another ride instead.
At the end of the night when the park was closing, we headed to the car. A drunken cowboy and his tight-jeans-not-skinny-jeans-but-wranglers stopped us.
"Hey"
"Hey guys!"
We stopped. I was suspicious.
The cowboy gave the kids a stuffed animal he won on the midway.
They still can't shut up about it.
I didn't go on any rides this year...thirty bucks for a pass? No thanks.
But you know what I did do? I took four hundred and something photos.
Which, to me, was just as fun.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
what was under the floor...
We tore up tile after tile by hand with a big heavy scraper thingy at the shop. And by 'we' I mean 'everybody else' because ... yeah that thing was heavy. I did try it once and thought I was excellent at it until I later found out I somehow found the only part of the floor that had hardly any glue holding the tiles on.
Most of the floor underneath was regular old cement with regular old insanely sticky black glue stuck all over it. But then we discovered ... this:
(The boss, working hard)
(Chris, probably working hard)
(Me, taking pictures of myself at work)
Too bad we had to cover it up. Maybe? Or too bad it didn't cover the entire floor. We couldn't leave it like this, that's for sure.
Now the floor is almost finished, finally; it's painted black and it's all like, classy and junk. We're closing the shop down for two days (Sunday the 30th and Monday the 31st) to make it ultra awesome.
And that, my friends, is what we found under the tiles.
The end.
Most of the floor underneath was regular old cement with regular old insanely sticky black glue stuck all over it. But then we discovered ... this:
(The boss, working hard)
(Chris, probably working hard)
(Me, taking pictures of myself at work)
Too bad we had to cover it up. Maybe? Or too bad it didn't cover the entire floor. We couldn't leave it like this, that's for sure.
Now the floor is almost finished, finally; it's painted black and it's all like, classy and junk. We're closing the shop down for two days (Sunday the 30th and Monday the 31st) to make it ultra awesome.
And that, my friends, is what we found under the tiles.
The end.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
ICP is not for me
Well, Facebook has done it again. It connected me with somebody I never ever wanted to see after moving away from my home town.
Again.
This guy...I'm just gonna say it: He sold drugs to my friends. And I'm not talking a little pot. He was kind of a mule, I suppose, as he was always coming straight from Edmonton to whatever party I had snuck out my bedroom window to attend that evening. (sorry mom)
He was the first person I've ever known who carried a gun, and he was the first person I knew who had forearm tattoos. He was also the first person I walked in on while he was shooting heroin in the other room. I was completely oblivious to what kind of people my friends were. Looking back I think 'what the hell were they doing hanging out with teenage girls?' but then I don't want to think about that. Gross.
Anyway this guy ... he was scary. Still is, as far as I'm concerned. He's extremely tall, and has a voice like a giant. I can't separate rumors from truth about him...he's the bad guy of legend in our home town, and so I am pretty sure he has done it all. All the bad stuff.
He requested to be my friend on Facebook a couple days ago.
Whatthefuck?
Are we 'friends'? Like...at all?
Like...
really?
REALLY?
no.
I honestly kept the request waiting for a couple days to let it sink in. First of all...he has a facebook account. I didn't realize fucking frankendraculas were allowed to use the computer.
Secondly, he remembers who I am even though I haven't seen him since I was about fifteen years old, which is weird.
Third...he's still alive? Not in jail? Shocking stuff.
So I thought 'meh, might as well check out his profile.'
There were pictures of KIDS (he has children?!?!?!?!), dogs, oil rigs, really cold looking winters, ...typical Alberta stuff.
"okay," I thought, "he seems like a normal human after all."
And then I got to his 'about me' section ... the best part was the 'favorite books'...there was only one, entitled something like: Violent J: behind the makeup
Do you know who Violent J is?
Ever heard of Insane Clown Posse?
HAHAHAHAHA
Listen to the lyrics in this song. This is not a joke song. It's serious. In fact, I'm gonna post the lyrics below so you can read along. I'll put the awesome parts in bold so you can really appreciate their ... depth and intelligence. My comments are in red.
We got a theory, see like, we got a theory about magic and miracles. That’s right…
If magic is all we ever known then it’s easy to miss what really goes on, but I have seen miracles in every way and it have seen miracles every day, (awesome rhyme, guys) Oceans spanding beyond my site, (this isn't ICP's fault but whoever transcribed this song was clearly a genius) and a million stars way above em at night, we don’t have to be high to look in the sky, and know that is a miracle open wide. (what does that even mean?)
Look at the mountains trees the seven seas, and everything chillin under water please, hot lava, snow, rain and fog, long neck giraffes, pet cats and dogs. I have seen 85 thousand people all in one room together as equal, pure magic is the birth of my kids I’ve seen shit that shock your eyelids, (hahahaha!!!)the sun and the moon even mars the milky way fuckin shooting stars, ufo’s, (really?) a river flows, plant a little seed and nature grows, Niagara falls and the pyramids, everything you believed in as kids, fuckin rainbows after it rains, there’s enough miracles here to blow your brain, I fed a fish to a pelican and Frisco bay and he tried to eat my cell phone he ran away, (um...what?) and music is magic pure and clean you feel it you can hear it and it can’t be seen.
Are you a believer in miracles? (Music it’s all magic, you can’t even hold it) Do you notice and recognize miracles? It’s just there in the air, are you a believer in miracles? (Pure motherfucking magic, this shit will blow your MF mind.)
Music is a lot like love, it’s all a feeling and it fills the room from the floor to the ceiling, I’ve seen miracles all around me, stop and look around its all astounding, water, fire air and dirt, fucking magnets, how do they work? (Hahahahaha!! I think this is my favorite line)I don’t want to talk to a scientist, ya’ll MF lying and getting me pissed,(yeah, scientists are lying...it's all just magic) solar eclipse and vicious weather, 15,000 Juggalos together (I hope I never have to see 15,000 Juggalos at once...ew) and I love my mom for giving me this time on this planet, take nothing for granted, I seen a caterpillar turn into a butterfly, miracles aint nothing to lye (?), shaggys little boys look just like shaggy and my little boy looks just like daddy, miracles each and everywhere you look and nobody has to stay where they put, this world is yours for you to explore, it’s nothing but miracles beyond your doors, the dark carnival is your invitation,(sorry 'dark carnival', I'm busy that day) to witness that of there our explanation,(?) take a look at this fine creation and enjoy it better with appreciation, (really?) crows, ghosts, the midnight coasts, the wonders of the world, mysteries, the most (the most? what?). Just open your mind and in no way to ignore the miracles of everyday, that’s real.
Are you a believer in miracles? (Magic every in this bitch, it’s all around you and you don’t even know it.) Do you notice and recognize miracles? It’s just there in the air, are you a believer in miracles? (Pure motherfucking magic, this shit will blow your MF mind.) (I don't think the transcriber really paid attention here at the end...it totally doesn't match up. Whatever.)
Saturday Night Live recently made a video parody of it...it's awesome.
What the fuck is a clock? hahahahaha
So thank you, terrifying guy from my past, for making me realize just how much I've changed and what I escaped when I left all that behind.
And if you find this blog please don't kill me.
:)
I also found this guy, who is totally taking the piss out of 'juggalos'. Nice one.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
check 'em out!
MIKE TERRY just might be my favorite photographer of all time. Then again, there is also my friend RANDOM SAM...
inspiring, to say the least
Thursday, May 13, 2010
an open letter to my asshole of a cat
Dear asshole cat,
Sometimes I really enjoy your company, as you can be almost thirty pounds of raw snuggle power. You're just big enough that I can full-out hug you without damaging any of your internal organs too much, and when you purr, it rattles the walls. In a good way.
Why can't you always be sweet?
I overlooked the exercise-phobia. And the outside-phobia. And the child-phobia. And the stranger-phobia. And your weird leaky eyes that look like you're crying blood.
We eventually got over your almost attacking and killing one of Ryan's kids a few times. You were just frightened I guess, and I mean, he was...walking quietly past you minding his own business. Terrifying, I know.
I got used to being bit and scratched randomly. I learned where to pet you (and more importantly where to not pet you).
We weaned you off ruining all the furniture with your seemingly un-retractable claws and got used to living with the bedroom door never fully closed to avoid the destruction of the carpets.
But this?
Waking us up at 5am every morning because your food dish is empty?
Yeah. That has to stop. Sure, I started it last year, by getting up at that hour in order to get some work done before leaving to catch the 7:40 bus, but it's over, cat. School-time is over. Get it into your stupid head.
Nobody likes 5am.
Your techniques for waking me up are becoming ruthless. The meowing was to be expected. And the little mini-marathon between the bed and the dish, back and forth, back and forth. I could sleep through that. And if you tried the old claws to the face or the cute little headbuts I could easily push you off the bed.
But then the vomiting came.
STOP FUCKING PUKING ON THE CARPET WHEN YOU DON'T GET YOUR WAY.
It is such a dick move, cat.
But even that wasn't enough for you, was it? No, because we would just shout at you from the bed to get into the kitchen or something, throw our pillows and then fall back asleep.
But this? Your final solution? It's the worst of all. Where did you learn your impressive torture methods?
The licking. AAAGH I CAN'T STAND THAT SOUND. And hiding under the bed where I can't easily kill you and maintain my comfy warm position in the blankets? Well, that's genius.
How did you know mouth noises are my only weakness?
You got me this time, cat but you're not going to win forever. I will prevail, and I WILL sleep until six or maybe even seven in the morning!
Don't be surprised if you find me with ear plugs. Then what will you do?
You're screwed, cat. Just let me sleep.
p.s. Don't expect any lap cuddles this evening. You're on notice.
Sometimes I really enjoy your company, as you can be almost thirty pounds of raw snuggle power. You're just big enough that I can full-out hug you without damaging any of your internal organs too much, and when you purr, it rattles the walls. In a good way.
Why can't you always be sweet?
I overlooked the exercise-phobia. And the outside-phobia. And the child-phobia. And the stranger-phobia. And your weird leaky eyes that look like you're crying blood.
We eventually got over your almost attacking and killing one of Ryan's kids a few times. You were just frightened I guess, and I mean, he was...walking quietly past you minding his own business. Terrifying, I know.
I got used to being bit and scratched randomly. I learned where to pet you (and more importantly where to not pet you).
We weaned you off ruining all the furniture with your seemingly un-retractable claws and got used to living with the bedroom door never fully closed to avoid the destruction of the carpets.
But this?
Waking us up at 5am every morning because your food dish is empty?
Yeah. That has to stop. Sure, I started it last year, by getting up at that hour in order to get some work done before leaving to catch the 7:40 bus, but it's over, cat. School-time is over. Get it into your stupid head.
Nobody likes 5am.
Your techniques for waking me up are becoming ruthless. The meowing was to be expected. And the little mini-marathon between the bed and the dish, back and forth, back and forth. I could sleep through that. And if you tried the old claws to the face or the cute little headbuts I could easily push you off the bed.
But then the vomiting came.
STOP FUCKING PUKING ON THE CARPET WHEN YOU DON'T GET YOUR WAY.
It is such a dick move, cat.
But even that wasn't enough for you, was it? No, because we would just shout at you from the bed to get into the kitchen or something, throw our pillows and then fall back asleep.
But this? Your final solution? It's the worst of all. Where did you learn your impressive torture methods?
The licking. AAAGH I CAN'T STAND THAT SOUND. And hiding under the bed where I can't easily kill you and maintain my comfy warm position in the blankets? Well, that's genius.
How did you know mouth noises are my only weakness?
You got me this time, cat but you're not going to win forever. I will prevail, and I WILL sleep until six or maybe even seven in the morning!
Don't be surprised if you find me with ear plugs. Then what will you do?
You're screwed, cat. Just let me sleep.
p.s. Don't expect any lap cuddles this evening. You're on notice.
Monday, May 10, 2010
newz
A channel news stopped by work yesterday to talk about mother's day. Colin and I were too snobby to do any interview (even though I have a tattoo that says 'mom' that I got on mother's day last year!) but Chris and his client were nice enough to agree. It turned out to be like a three second clip:
Shame about the gum.
Shame about the gum.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
and, to even the score...
Me and my pal Sheena as goth-ish girls...I'm the one in the back wearing a Marilyn Manson t-shirt with a black shirt underneath (probably torn) and black pants. And black eyeliner. And an eyebrow piercing. That's how cool I was. Too bad the picture is so blurry, you can't see my angsty scowl from here.
And then this...high school graduation party. Check out that hair! Braids! High school sweater! What am I, a cheerleader?
No.
I actually had super curly hair for the grad ceremony and couldn't tame it after taking out all the pins and shiny mirror things I had velcro-ed in my hair. No really.
And the grad sweater? Well...everyone else was doing it.
I wonder where that sweater went? Probably the incinerator.
P.S. We were partying in a barn on a Hutterite farm, and tradition at such parties is to pour beer all over everybody.
P.P.S Oh shit, is that a Mike's Hard Lemonade in my hand? Ha!
hee hee
This is an old picture of Ryan that found it's way to Facebook, and is thus fair game for blogging. Right? The 'birthday dream' was a ticket to a Grateful Dead show.
HIPPIES!
;)
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Sometimes you just have to say stuff to people.
Dear Mom:
I want you to know that I think you're cool. I'm sorry for saying you embarrassed me when I was a teenager. I just didn't have the self-confidence and the insight into human beings that I do today. You really are just yourself, with no pretensions. You're a good person with a huge heart, and I really appreciate you and all your eccentricities. I hope I'm as cool as you when I grow up. I'm jealous of the relationship you and Lyndon have and I hate that I'm too distant to be able to cultivate anything near what you guys have.
Dear Step-Dad:
Yeah I really gave you hell when I was a teenager too. You must have been crazy, marrying a woman with a thirteen year old girl. Yikes. Thanks for always treating me as though I was your own child, even now that you and mom aren't together. No matter what, you are still in my family.
Dear Dad:
I'm almost glad I didn't really get to know you until I was an adult. You are super weird, but in all the good ways. I always tell stories about you to my friends. Remember "you talkin' to me" guy? When we were kids I didn't really appreciate all you did for us. I can't believe you drove all that way every second weekend to see us. Now that I see Ryan do the same thing I know that you loved us much more than I gave you credit for. I still remember having a little temper tantrum about a bass guitar you got me, I can't even remember why I did, but I'm SO SORRY for being a spoiled brat. Thanks for teaching me to love reading and good music. And thanks for letting me live in your house and convincing me that I was too smart to waste my life working in a grocery store.
Dear Step-Mom:
I was scared of you when I was a kid. There, I said it. (haha) But it turns out, you are awesome. Thank you so much for helping me out when I was stuck in Medicine Hat, spinning my wheels. Maybe you have no idea how much it meant to me that you guys let me stay with you and helped me start school, but really, you changed my life. Also, you showed me that 'adults' can be really cool, if that makes sense. Before I stayed with you guys I thought you hit thirty and it was all downhill from there...you guys do probably 300x more interesting stuff than I do. I'm glad you have been in my life, and these days I am really identifying with you. I find myself asking 'I wonder what Tara would do in this situation' because our relationship worked out, and now I am in basically the same relationship situation you and my dad were.
Dear Sister:
Thank goodness for facebook and text messaging, or I would die of Lyndon-deficiency. I can't believe how much I miss you sometimes. You are seriously the funniest person I know, and the times we have spent together (especially adventures we've had) are my favorite memories. Even though sometimes they weren't awesome while we were there. *cough*martashouse*cough*. I miss your face. Come visit me.
Dear Brother:
You too. I miss you like crazy, even though I feel like it's embarrassing to tell you that. I also feel really proud of you for running away to Birmingham and staying there. You've been gone for so long and seen so many awesome things that I've only dreamed about. I'm jealous but deep down in my guts I'm just happy that you got to get away and have some crazy experiences. I bet you've learned a lot in the past year and a half or whatever it's been. But yeah. I can't wait to see you again and I hope when (if?) you come back you decide to live in Victoria again. And this time we'll hang out. Really.
Dear Brother #2*:
Remember when we used to live in the same house? Probably not. It's been like ten years. Can you believe it? You were just a baby when I moved out. People used to ask me all the time if you were my baby, which I think would be almost physically impossible; you're so dark-skinned and I'm like the whitest lady on the planet. Anyway I am having a hard time accepting how old you're getting. I know, I know, what a stupid thing to say, but it's true.
Dear Brother #3:
Dear Brother #4:
Dear Sister #2:
Dear Boyfriend:
Dear Best Friend:
I haven't seen you in so long, I don't even know you anymore. And you don't know me. And I'm afraid that we aren't friends anymore. And that we can't be. You've taken on the mother role and I've taken the opposite side of the spectrum: the anti-mother role, I suppose. Do we even have anything in common anymore, other than a shared past? Maybe not.
Dear Other Friend:
I'm not sure what to call you, because I feel like you're my best friend too, but don't know what you think...plus you have a best best friend and you're also sisters now thanks to a couple awesome marriages to brothers.
*the numbers are ranking by age, not preference
I want you to know that I think you're cool. I'm sorry for saying you embarrassed me when I was a teenager. I just didn't have the self-confidence and the insight into human beings that I do today. You really are just yourself, with no pretensions. You're a good person with a huge heart, and I really appreciate you and all your eccentricities. I hope I'm as cool as you when I grow up. I'm jealous of the relationship you and Lyndon have and I hate that I'm too distant to be able to cultivate anything near what you guys have.
Dear Step-Dad:
Yeah I really gave you hell when I was a teenager too. You must have been crazy, marrying a woman with a thirteen year old girl. Yikes. Thanks for always treating me as though I was your own child, even now that you and mom aren't together. No matter what, you are still in my family.
Dear Dad:
I'm almost glad I didn't really get to know you until I was an adult. You are super weird, but in all the good ways. I always tell stories about you to my friends. Remember "you talkin' to me" guy? When we were kids I didn't really appreciate all you did for us. I can't believe you drove all that way every second weekend to see us. Now that I see Ryan do the same thing I know that you loved us much more than I gave you credit for. I still remember having a little temper tantrum about a bass guitar you got me, I can't even remember why I did, but I'm SO SORRY for being a spoiled brat. Thanks for teaching me to love reading and good music. And thanks for letting me live in your house and convincing me that I was too smart to waste my life working in a grocery store.
Dear Step-Mom:
I was scared of you when I was a kid. There, I said it. (haha) But it turns out, you are awesome. Thank you so much for helping me out when I was stuck in Medicine Hat, spinning my wheels. Maybe you have no idea how much it meant to me that you guys let me stay with you and helped me start school, but really, you changed my life. Also, you showed me that 'adults' can be really cool, if that makes sense. Before I stayed with you guys I thought you hit thirty and it was all downhill from there...you guys do probably 300x more interesting stuff than I do. I'm glad you have been in my life, and these days I am really identifying with you. I find myself asking 'I wonder what Tara would do in this situation' because our relationship worked out, and now I am in basically the same relationship situation you and my dad were.
Dear Sister:
Thank goodness for facebook and text messaging, or I would die of Lyndon-deficiency. I can't believe how much I miss you sometimes. You are seriously the funniest person I know, and the times we have spent together (especially adventures we've had) are my favorite memories. Even though sometimes they weren't awesome while we were there. *cough*martashouse*cough*. I miss your face. Come visit me.
Dear Brother:
You too. I miss you like crazy, even though I feel like it's embarrassing to tell you that. I also feel really proud of you for running away to Birmingham and staying there. You've been gone for so long and seen so many awesome things that I've only dreamed about. I'm jealous but deep down in my guts I'm just happy that you got to get away and have some crazy experiences. I bet you've learned a lot in the past year and a half or whatever it's been. But yeah. I can't wait to see you again and I hope when (if?) you come back you decide to live in Victoria again. And this time we'll hang out. Really.
Dear Brother #2*:
Remember when we used to live in the same house? Probably not. It's been like ten years. Can you believe it? You were just a baby when I moved out. People used to ask me all the time if you were my baby, which I think would be almost physically impossible; you're so dark-skinned and I'm like the whitest lady on the planet. Anyway I am having a hard time accepting how old you're getting. I know, I know, what a stupid thing to say, but it's true.
Dear Brother #3:
Dear Brother #4:
Dear Sister #2:
Dear Boyfriend:
Dear Best Friend:
I haven't seen you in so long, I don't even know you anymore. And you don't know me. And I'm afraid that we aren't friends anymore. And that we can't be. You've taken on the mother role and I've taken the opposite side of the spectrum: the anti-mother role, I suppose. Do we even have anything in common anymore, other than a shared past? Maybe not.
Dear Other Friend:
I'm not sure what to call you, because I feel like you're my best friend too, but don't know what you think...plus you have a best best friend and you're also sisters now thanks to a couple awesome marriages to brothers.
*the numbers are ranking by age, not preference
Sunday, May 2, 2010
fact:
I've found that the amount of tattoos I have showing directly affects how much people flirt with me. I'm about ready to bust out a parka and stirrup pants.
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