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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