Tweet Tweet pt. 2

I wonder what these pigeons must think of me.

First I ignore my balcony so long they establish a nest and lay eggs. So I decide that I can't destroy the nest or the eggs. Then I decide to go out and bother them everyday until the eggs hatch, and then I go out everyday to bother the squabs.

And the second the birds are fledged, the very moment I see they can fly away, I destroy the nest and throw it out. I go so far as to bleach the ground. I even hung garbage bags to frighten them from coming back.

And when, a couple days ago, I noticed they were coming back (but not on windy days, I think the bags work then) so I go out to scare them every 20 minutes or so. That's got to look crazy. If not to the birds, then maybe to my neighbours.

I get home from work today and see that they're building another nest. I shoo them all away and destroy that nest too.

These pigeons must think, if they think at all anyway, that the woman who owns the balcony they keep trying to nest on is bipolar or crazy. Or both. First she let's them stay, then she does everything but salt the earth to get them gone.

Now, I don't want you to misunderstand me, or think I'm mean for treating my pigeons this way. I like birds. I like MY birds. If they would use a litter box, they could stay. They could stay and invite friends over. Have a disco party. But they don't use a litter box. So they have to go.

Eventually I'll have a bird free balcony that I can have my own parties on again. Hopefully I'll do it without hurting any birds. But at this point, I'm crazy and bipolar so, no promises.

Oops, it's been 20 minutes. I have to step out to my balcony for a minute. Be right back.
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For my BFF

Today as I drove the bff home after our last Hamilton Fringe show of the year (I hope you got out to see some shows, this year's offerings were exceptional!) we noticed a tiny winged, moth-like bug on my wind shield. We followed his progress across the glass at stop lights, and laughed at how he stopped when I was driving.

I named him Peter.

And I told my bff that I always felt bad for the bugs that get stuck riding my wind shield. I always imagine that they have families and children that they have to take care of. And when they hop on my car they wind up in a completely different part of the city! How are they ever going to get home? They're so tiny, and I take them so far away. I feel bad.

Then I told the bff about Bob. Bob the bug was a friend I made in Cuba the last time I was there with the fam. A giant, praying mantis type of bug. I mean, not a praying mantis, because they don't have those in Cuba, but, like, a Cuban version of a praying mantis (Bob was short for Roberto). He showed up the second to last day in the middle of my doorway and just never left.

On our last day we got a late check-out on one room, my room, so we had someplace to put all the bags until the bus left for the airport. And I had to keep telling my family to watch Bob, don't squish Bob, and oh god dad pick up your suitcase 'cause you're gonna roll over Bob!

He joked that I should try to pack Bob to come home with me since we'd become so close. I explained my elaborate back story about Bob. About how his wife was used for bait in some deep sea fishing and now he had to take care of their 27 baby-manti. All six family members now lounging in my room looked at me as though I'd just grown as many eyes as Bob.

Apparently thinking about what might be going on in a bug's life is strange. I wonder how they'd look at me if they knew I did it for the people I see on the street too?

Oh, and for those who were wondering, Peter got off at the Tim's around the corner from the bff's. I think he wanted an Ice Capp for the flight home.
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Tweet Tweet the Remix: I heart Hamilton

I have a small addiction. A tiny one really. To Twitter.

No, now don't laugh. I can hear you from here. It's a real thing. I have to get my daily dose of what's going on with all the tweeps I follow. And I often check far more often than just once a day.

I use twitter to catch up, to meet new people, to promote my writing (including this blog and my other, more professional blog), and for external validation. Granted that last one isn't the most healthy, but let's face it, we all like to hear that we're awesome from people that we think are awesome.

And all the people I follow on twitter are pretty awesome. There is a huge contingent of people from Hamilton that tweet. The #HamOnt hashtag. I truly and greatly admire the people in this city who are striving to make this city all it can be. This contingent seems to be made up of young people living and working in Hamilton, making it better than it was.

We have a truly great city here, right under our feet. We have incredible restaurants from a wide range of cultures. We have beautiful walking and bike trails, not to mention all the waterfalls! We have an booming and diverse art culture that draws thousands of people to our James North Art Crawl every second Friday of the month. Not to mention the tremendous Steel City music scene. This is a great city! I'm so glad to be a part of it.

And it's the people who drive it. I don't want to drop twitter names, because I'm sure to miss someone (because there are so many... but if you're looking for some pivotal folks try @kitestring and @HPSActionTeam4) and then I'd feel bad. They all play an important role in changing Hamilton for the better. These committed, personable, and engaged people.

They are inspirational to people like me. And I want to be one of them. One of these days I'll figure out how to do it. How to make Hamilton better. To contribute to the cause of making Hamilton all it can be.

I heart Hamilton!

Lazy Sunday

Today was a Sunday. A productive, lazy Sunday. I baked bread, I dusted and put away my laundry, I vacuumed and cleaned my bathroom, and then I made myself a huge pot of pasta with ground pork, yellow zucchini, and red peppers. There's enough to last me a week.

But in the middle of all of that I sat down on my couch for just a minute and just enjoyed the laziness that is inherent to a Sunday.

The sun was streaming in through the balcony door, the fan was hitting me just right, something random on the tv, and I felt at peace. And I was reminded of another day that felt exactly the same.

It was a day in the last year or so that my ex and I were living together. I could tell you the exact day if I went into my old LJ account, but it's so full of my babbling about him that I don't bother anymore.

We were lying on our couch (we had an L-shaped sectional) and the fan was blowing on us, first him, then on me, then on him again. His arm was reached back to me, lying across my shoulder, and his fingers just grazed side of my breast, back and forth, up and down. And we just were. I was at peace.

And I found myself getting nostalgic. Not for him, per se. Just for the sense of belonging. For being part of something bigger than just me. For about 30 seconds. Because while, at the time, it was happiest I'd been and I felt the greatest I'd felt in forever, I remembered the rest of our time together. Remembered how sad I always was in that house, fan or no fan.

And now that I'm out of that suffocating cocoon, I can see that I have people to hold me, people to love me, and even people to "just be" with.

So even when I'm all alone, lying on my couch I know I'm not actually all alone. And that's the greatest feeling in the world.
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Untitled

Untitled

I have this job. Well, I have two jobs, but the one I'm talking about is my full time job. I work for a title insurance company in downtown Hamilton. It's truly a great company, with awesome benefits and vacation and people.

And I hate it. It's not in my field. It pays about what the McJob of office work should pay. But it's not enough to sustain me. Emotionally, I mean. I die a little inside every day.

And I don't know what to do about it.

I just want something that I can enjoy with people that don't make me sad on a daily basis. Sassy people that I can make smile.

Where do I find that?
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Tweet! Tweet! Part One

So, this will be my second summer in the apartment and I had big plans for a balcony garden and to sit out there with home made iced tea and read and write, and not be so addicted to what my PS3 can do. My garden was going to have tomatoes, and lettuces, and peas, and raspberries, and maybe even some zuccini. And I was going to sit in my muskoka chair and watch the world go by. But then, the totally obvious happened.

I got pigeons. Two of them. A mommy and a daddy pigeon. Yes, I have a pigeon nest on my balcony. It's been there for just over a week (I think). There is so much pigeon shit out there it stopped being funny. That's right, poop stopped being funny. Apartment dwellers, take heed! If you don't go out on your balcony everyday and put up cds and other shiny things, the birds will roost!

Up until very recently, I liked pigeons, had no problem with them. All birds really, but working downtown has allowed me greater access to pigeons. As it turns out, I find them endearing. The ones downtown walk between the people like they belong there. They even cross the street with the humans, seemingly forgetting that they can fly. They'll even stop with the pedestrians waiting for the light to change. It's one of the most adorable things I've ever seen a bird do, even if it is out of sheer stupidity. So I'll sit in the park, or on the rooftop of Jackson Square on my lunch break and watch the birds.

When people hear this, they invariably tell me that pigeons are just rats with wings. To which I must reply, all birds are rats with wings. They all carry the same lice, parasites, and mites as pigeons, but other birds get 24hr video surveillance ::coughcoughperegrinfalconscough:: to make sure they're all right. So I choose not to discriminate against the lowly pigeon.

And when they built their nest on my balcony, everybody said, you've got to get rid of the nest! Gotta, gotta, gotta! But I can't. Now that I was negligent enough in keeping them off my balcony (which they are only drawn to because pigeons, or rock doves-doesn't garner the same image, does it?, historically roost in cliff faces off the coasts of S Africa, and SE Asia) I can't just destroy the nest. So a friend said he'd do it for me. And I found that I couldn't let that happen either.

Having these birds roost on my balcony has taught me something about myself. I always thought I could harm animals. I often joke about not wanting a cat because they're lower on the food chain than I am, but I can't hurt the pigeon eggs just because they're inconveniencing me. I can't really play the badass carnivore as much as I thought.

But they won't inconvenience me for long. They'll hatch in another week, and squabs (baby pigeons) fledge in about a month. And until then I've built a small balcony garden (tomatoes, sugar snap peas, and a raspberry plant) and I can sit in my chairs...once I clean them. My balcony is big enough for all of us...for now. But you know the second those birds fledge I'm evicting the whole family. They can find another balcony, I'll just watch from mine. After that, it's Darwin's problem, not mine. (Was that badass carnivore enough?)

Happy BDay to Me

So, it is my personal opinion that birthdays should always be celebrated as though the person celebrating is turning 5 years old. Birthdays should be exciting! It's the anniversary of you managing to make it one more year. There should be friends and cakes and clowns. Well, actually, clowns are creepy, you can keep the clowns...hmm, ponies. Friends and cakes and ponies. Everybody loves a pony.

Anyway, I turned 28 yesterday. It was low-key. There was cake, but no ponies. The most low-key birthday I have ever had. In fact, I made the cake, and ended up organizing my dvd collection and cleaning my apartment. Now, the important people made their appearances over the course of the weekend and it is this fact that really defines the past year for me.

I have learned a lot since this time last year. I have met new people, and made new discoveries. I have defined a long term career goal (editing), which is something I have been trying to do since grade three when they told me I was "gifted", and that I could be anything I wanted to be if I worked hard. Now I'm working hard to become talented enough to edit professionally and to define exactly what field I want to work in. But nothing has been made so apparent to me as the fact that I am loved.

Almost exactly one year ago, I moved out of my parents' house to live on my own for the first time in my life. And since then, I have made new friends and strengthened existing friendships; and I've found that the important people, the ones who really like having me around, have made their presence known. Have made the effort to show me I'm loved. Even when I'm feeling low and cranky.

And I have felt low and cranky for the past week or so. See, "28" was THE age for me. For a lot of people it's 25, or 30, or 40. They pick round numbers, but for some reason, it's 28 for me. That age when I should be "somewhere". Married, 2.3 kids and the white picket fence. Or, I guess, the modern version involves a condo and a high paying career with 1 kid and a small dog. Either way, I ain't living it. I was dreading 28 because I was nowhere near where I thought I was going to be, or where "society" thinks I should want to be.

I thought I would be upset to hit the 19th of April and be living alone and surviving at two minimum wage jobs. It's the 19th, and I'm still happy with my life. I'm about 180 degrees from that place, that career/kids/condo life, and I couldn't be happier about it. I love the life I am living, even though it's not really what I should want. But I'm doing what I want to do and have people in my life who love me, and I don't think I need to ask for more than that.

So if you're reading this, there's a distinct possibility that you're one of the people who love me as I am. Thanks. You've made this past year worth celebrating. Now where's my pony?

Diner Delight

Shy smiles, lusty eyes.
Across the table you sit,
Fiddling with the spoon.

We smile, look away,
Eyes catching, darting away.
The waitress arrives.

She brings our dinner.
So polite we eat, so shy
"Would you like some fries?"

You eat off my plate,
I'll trade my heart for yours now
If you pass the salt.

We share a dessert
"So sweet," you say, "just like you"
Your charms work, I blush

Our hands move towards,
Tips flirting with each other.
Shy smiles all the while.

Bite my lip, here goes...
"You want to get out of here?"
You smile wide, "cheque please!"

Walking Wounded: V-Day Haiku

I was all alone,
and just part of the dead horde.
And then I found you.

Huddled in a shed,
brown eyes bright with unshed tears.
You needed a friend.

I look in your eyes,
I would ask you to be mine...
but we're both part dead.

It would never work,
but the apocalypse bites
when you're half a girl.

So please be mine, babe.
And give me another heart,
because mine's half gone.

We'll have enough parts,
together we'll be whole.
Face the horde as one.

So won't you join me?
Even though we're not all there,
zombies need love too.

What fills you with fire? Do you know what you want to be? ARE you what you wanted to be growing up? I was recently asked by a sucessful woman what my dream was, my goal. My vision. So I started to answer and had to stop. I kinda knew. I knew what I enjoyed doing. Knew what I was good at. But my vision? Shit. So I thought. I've thought more about what I wanted to be when I grew in the past month than in the past twenty years. And I figured out what my problem was.

So, when I was growing up, everybody asked me, "what do you want to be when you grow up?" And at a very early age, I decided that I wanted to be a teacher. I liked school, I liked all my teachers (can you say "teacher's pet"?), it seemed like the perfect match. And so that became the prefab answer for all those school surveys and questionnaires. I was going to be a teacher.

My family was very supportive. Many of my birthday and Christmas presents had a theme (I totally have a professional pointer if anybody needs it for a little role playing ;D). I took all the right classes in high school to set me up to take anything in university. I did all the work and got excellent grades. Got into Mac right on schedule. Honoured in English and got a minor in Earth Sciences. Went to the seminars for the different teachers' colleges and found out that I'd have to get 200 hours of teaching time before they'd accept me. (Which has to be the most insane prerequisite ever. You get to corrupt young minds for 200 hours before they teach you how to do it properly?) So I got in touch with my favourite teacher from high school and he let me come and teach his remedial class. And I learned what a teacher does.

And then I didn't want to teach anymore. I don't mind a little verbal abuse. In fact, in some situations, I kinda like it a lot. But I refuse to be called a cunt by anybody under the age of 19. I just down right refuse. And teachers have no power. I wasn't even allowed to make them stand in the corner because it might make them "feel bad". Whatever. Teachers are heroes and deserve all kinds of respect. Go hug a teacher. Right now. Thank them for the excellent job they do.

But that's not really what I wanted to tell you. I just told you that so I could tell you this.

The point of everything I've written here today is that, up until recently, I didn't really know what I wanted to do with my life. I thought I wanted to write professionally. Make my living by the pen...or keyboard...whatever. But then I realized that I'm not really that creative. I don't have anything to say. So I started helping the writers I know fix the stuff they wanted to say. And as it turns out, I'm good at it.

I realize now that I was pushing myself on the whole teaching thing. I was never cut out to face a room full of people and tell them what's what. It's not that I can't do that, or that I have a fear of it. I just don't want to do it. And I want to do something that sets me on fire. Charges me up, makes me excited to get to work everyday. The job I have now is a job. I don't hate it. It's easy and gives me time to daydream and come up with interesting things to write about. But there's no fire. And if there's one thing I've come to crave out of every aspect of my life, it's fire!

Reading a piece that some talented, or not so talented, young author has written and finding ways to make it better is what I want to do. Finding a way to do it and make it pay is another matter. Everybody and their cleaning lady has an English degree, you can buy them off the internet. There are tests I can take to become accredited by the Editors' Association of Canada, but no courses to train for those tests. There is no degree or diploma I can get that will make me stand out. So for now, I have to build up a portfolio of the paid and volunteer work I do to show a prospective employer or until I have the experience to take the tests. So I will.

I finally found something that fills me with fire. I've found my dream. Now I've just got to chase it. Find your fire. Chase your dream.

My tongue is loving the taste of skin between my teeth. It's a dead masquerade so come and dance with me.

The scene on TV is of a family sitting around a dining room table eating dinner. The mother rings a little bell and a man shuffles out of the kitchen. He is carrying a bowl with beans and carrots in it. He is dead. He is a zombie. It’s the new reality TV series the government has come up with to help the public deal with the situation.

The "situation" is that the dead are up and walking around, but there's no place to house them. So the government came up with the idea of housing a zombie with each person for a week. They are using the show to let the population see that there's “nothing to be afraid of”. The idea for the show is that every week they show how a new family is dealing with their week of having a zombie living with them.

Andrew and I watch it every night in the hopes that when our zombie comes, I don't start screaming and can't stop. It isn't helping. I sit huddled on the couch holding onto Andrew's arm crying. I can't stop. At least I'm not screaming yet. The zombie on the TV is throwing a ball around with the son. They come in and the son gets a snack. The mother has been nervous all week, and now as she hands the zombie a glass of milk, she smiles a trembling smile that doesn't reach her eyes. She mutters nervously as she approaches the zombie with the glass held out in front of her, "there's nothing to be afraid of, is there? You just want a snack, right?" The zombies smiles and reaches out for the glass. He grabs her hand and pulls her in and rips her throat out with his teeth. Screams, shouts from the TV and static fills the screen. That happens at least once a month.

I’ve always been scared of zombies.  I used to have horrible nightmares about undead plagues sweeping the world and getting ripped apart by grasping, dirt stained hands.  These dreams would keep me up at night; I suffered from zombie-induced insomnia.  The blurb above is one of the most reoccurring nightmares that I had.  And then I found out that Simon Pegg was making Shaun of the Dead, and really wanted to see it.  The commercials made it look really funny.  So I read the spoilers, so I knew what to expect.  And then I started reading other things on zombies.

I figured if I learned enough about them, then they wouldn’t have such a hold on my subconscious.  And I was sort of right.  I no longer have nightmares about them, but I’m obsessed with zombies in general now.  I’m fascinated by the place they’ve started to hold in our cultural zeitgeist. 

And now I’m about to spew that at you.  Feel free to stop reading if you don’t care about what I think about the interesting position zombies hold in the social subconscious.

I just feel that the zombie holds such an interesting place in the horror genre.  They don’t really provide a morality tale like Frankenstein or Dracula, and they aren’t as smart as werewolves or ghosts, and witches just don't scare us anymore.  But zombies... they are completely unique.  They began as stumbling, groaning, muddy horrors from George Romero’s original Dead trilogy, became images of blood and gore stained, rabid, human-like characters, and are returning to the slow-moving, moaning hordes once more.  Why does this frighten us?  The zombie is apart from us, separated by death, the ultimate “other.”  They can stand in for whatever fear is most prevalent to the viewer: biological, political, socio-economical.  They travel in packs, their threat remaining in their large numbers.  One by one they’re easy to kill, but coming at you in dozens, hundreds, thousands?  They just destroy and kill.  And what about what the zombie does?  Makes you one of the faceless hordes, and rapes you of your individuality and humanity.   

Zombies have no discernable race, as they are covered with either blood and gore, or the dirt from their graves.  This allows the filmmakers to make a racial point without using a particular race.  We put our own fears onto the zombie.  It is such a non-person that it can literally stand in for any person, any fear. 

Zombies are portrayed as this homogenous group of flesh eating monsters.  As a society, we value our individuality and any invading force, but especially of zombies, whose only purpose seem to be to kill and destroy in the search for sustenance, threatens this sense of individuality in particular. 

The destruction of the self is probably the bit about zombies that I find the most interesting.  I haven’t read too many books or seen too many movies that focus on this fact, but when somebody from our side of the war is killed, they join the other side whether they want to or not.  Most of us strive to be different, to be individuals.  We dress differently and listen to different music and read different books.  We don’t want to be the same.  The zombie is part of a horde.  You don’t have free will anymore.  You move with the pack, feed with the pack. 

(I’ve always assumed that my zombie dreams had something to do with my fears of fading into the background, losing myself.  Or perhaps they were a warning that I was already fading, losing myself in someone else.  Since the breakup, the only z-dreams I’ve had involve me as a hero.  But back to my informal essay...)

So why destroy?  The use of zombies in horror films gives the director an opportunity for destruction and violence that they lack within less horrific genres.  The zombie traditionally travels in a large pack, and their strength is in their numbers rather than superhuman strength or abilities.  (In some movies/books, the zombie has superhuman strength on the theory that they don’t hold anything back; but I’m a purist, a zombie is necrotizing flesh, it’d fall apart if it tried to lift a car to get at you.  And I won't get started on the difference in z-types either.)  In order to get at the humans who have boarded themselves up the zombies must destroy a building to do it; they cannot kill quickly or by stealth.  Because of their extreme “otherness,” the viewers of zombie movies are free to ignore the logic behind the mayhem and destruction and just concentrate on the action/adventure/mystery involved in eventually ridding the world of the walking dead….or not.

But that’s just a bit about why I think zombies are so very interesting.  I’ll probably hit on this topic a few more times before I stop boring you with my blog.  I mean, I could probably write a whole essay on zombies and the loss of individuality, and I haven’t even touched on the topic of the zombis that DO for real times exist in Haiti...

I can't turn back now, so I'll keep looking up...

So, all the blogs that I read have some form of year end wrap up.  A saying of good byes to 2010.  So I decided to try to write a wrap up of my own.  I certainly had a lot to wrap up.  Last year was one of the best years of my life, so many wonderful things happened to me, and I grew so much.  I managed to move out on my own, make new friends and reconnect with old, fall in love, and try so many new things that I'd always been curious about.  I have never felt so loved in my life as I have over the past year.  I have never felt as mature and independent as I did over the past year.  And even when I was uncertain and it was hard (and there was a lot of uncertainty and hard parts) it was still the strongest I'd ever felt and some of the happiest times I've ever had.

But then I realized that that was last year.  I had started out last year with the desire to live entirely in the moment.  To move forward only.  I think I managed to accomplish that...with a few hiccups here and there, but I managed it.  So while the past year was wonderful, I can't live in the past.  So instead of a post to say good bye to 2010, I decided to write a post to say hello to 2011.

So here we go 2011, you've got a lot to live up to, 2010 treated me really well.  Even when it was hard, I felt good.  Even my lowest mood in 2010 still beat the highs I'd felt before.  I'm looking to you to give me opportunities to be strong, and be happy, and be whole.  Because unlike in the past, I'm ready to take those opportunities and run with them.  Where once I was shy and timid, now I am strong and bold.  Well...I will take the opportunity to TRY to be bold.  (I mean, let's face it, this is me we're talking about.) 

I'm finally learning what it means to have dreams, to want things because I want them and not because it's what the people around me want.  To make decisions that benefit Team Nikki.  I'm anticipating a lot more hard times to come from this decision, since I've never really cheered for Team Nikki before (their cheers were complicated and I hate gymnastics) but I'm looking forward to the chance to try, 2011.  Please don't let me down.  I've learned so much about myself over the past year that I don't know what you could bring me that 2010 didn't, but I'm excited to find out.

So bring on your tears and your joy.  I'm ready 2011, hit me with it.