Premature Nostalgia

You and me going fishin' in the dark

2012-02-15T09:22:00.008-05:00

The full ice fishing story is to come shortly. In the meantime, here are the highlights:

Things Chloé dropped in the hole:

a bag of apples (retrieved)
a Scrabble tile (the letter O--thankfully it wasn't an X or a Z)
a C-sized battery
herself (don't tell her mom)

Best Quotes:

"Are they going fishing?"- Fisherman from Michigan before we even hit the ice.

"We don't get good looking girls like you around here. Don't worry, we're keeping you on a low profile." -Andrew, explaining that the population of Georgina would not be notified of our arrival.

"Stop falling the holes." -Me

"I can't. The holes are everywhere!" -Chloé

"I didn't mean to catch it!" -Me, upon catching my first fish

"Isn't that the whole point of fishing?" -Chloé

Things we caught:

a crayfish
around three perch each, of varying sizes, which we threw back
one gobi fish (an invasive species)

Number of times we screamed:

At least once for each fish caught, once when Chloé fell in the hole (although I was laughing too hard to join her in screaming) and once when there was nearly an unfortunate incident involving the propane stove.

The Cookie Chronicles: A Photo Essay

2012-02-09T17:03:00.001-05:00

The following is a story about the kindness of strangers. Either that, or a story about why you should choose your wireless network names carefully. (Take whatever moral lesson from it that you will.)

(The above is actually a white lie. Chloé was not "doing some baking." The baking happened for the express purpose of supplying apartment five with cookies.)

Bell438 has no clue what they're missing.

Shameless self-promotion: my tiara adventure

2012-02-08T11:31:00.003-05:00

Hi friends,

My first big-timey magazine piece is on newsstands right now in Chatelaine's May 2012 issue. (It's probably my first big-timey piece as a direct consequence of the fact that I'm apt to use phrases like big-timey.) Page 151. Run out and buy it now.

Or, if you're feeling lazy and poor, you can just click on over to my portfolio site to read the pixelated version.

And, of course, if you missed reading about my pageant adventures the first time around, they're all right here in reverse chronological order.

Thanks for all the high-fives and support.

City People

2012-02-04T14:19:00.009-05:00

After nearly a decade of living in Toronto (!) it's getting harder every year to claim that I'm a "small-town" girl. But the truth is, even 10 years in, there's certain basic city-living concepts that I just don't get.

On my drive to Ottawa yesterday, I had a lot of time stuck in traffic to reflect and compose an incomplete list of things that still confuse me:

Nicknames for Hospitals: Look, I understand that it's confusing to Torontonians when I make references to going to "the store" (D&B Convenience), "the show" (the movies) or "the city" (Edmonton). When it comes to living in a larger community, specifics are necessary.

But I still haven't grasped why all city people seem to know not only the name and location of every single hospital, but also have nicknames for them (St. Mike's, St. Joe's, etc.). Why not just call it "the hospital"? Unless you're going to see a specialist, does it really matter what hospital you're going to? (Weirder still is that if you don't specify what hospital, you'll be asked.)

400-series highways: effectively killing all joy associated with road-trips since. . .always.

Freeway "collectors": What the fuck is a collector and what purpose does it serve? Why do I need to know that "traffic on the collectors is moving slowly"? I'm sure I could Google this and figure it out, but I'd almost rather remain ignorant.

Further (and this is a rant, not a lack of understanding) what is with the ardent belief in the superiority of 400-series highways? Do drivers actually enjoy staring at concrete barricades for hours at a time, only to refuel at cookie cutter road-side stops? I don't get it.

Police force hierarchy: Also falling into the language generalizations category, I don't understand the structure of law enforcement. What's the difference between the OPP, the RCMP and the Toronto Police Service? At the end of the day, aren't police just police?

Oh, hey there Tigerlily. Thanks for getting my black dress ready for the bachelorette party tonight. I knew my outfit was missing something. You're right--cat hair really is the perfect accessory.

One thing I do get? The reason why bachelorette parties have more potential to be fun in a city context. Time to get off my computer and pick up supplies for tonight: condoms, an empty box, handcuffs and some bananas.

Death by Man-Eating Fish

2012-02-01T11:12:00.003-05:00

Dear Andrew,

Thank you so much for your thoughtful response to my original email. I called last Friday and we’ve booked an ice fishing hut for the night of Saturday, February 11th. We’re both very excited.

However, I have some additional questions that I couldn’t find the answers to on your website:

1. What time should we arrive? (I couldn’t find the times on your website for when “night” ice fishing runs.) In order to get an intro to ice fishing, what would be a good time to arrive? (As is probably clear from my questions, the more guidance we receive, the better.)

2. I know the huts are heated, but how cold will it be during the night? Should we bring winter camping gear (ie-sleeping bags) or will regular-strength sleeping bags be sufficient? Other than food and tackle, is there anything else we should bring?

3. I’ve read that ice fishing requires being quiet. Do you think that we’ll keep the fish away if we quietly talk about our feelings while in the hut?

4. How long does it take to get an ice fishing license? (Would we just be able to stop at Bass Pro Shops on our way up? Or would it be advisable to secure them further in advance?)

5. Chloé’s mom is concerned that Chloé will fall in. I’m not sure if she was referring to falling through the hole or through the ice in general. (I’m assuming the latter is her primary concern since I’m guessing the hole isn’t a giant gaping hole in the ice?) Chloé just turned 27, so it’s important that she doesn’t fall through the ice and die at this juncture in her life. (Although if fish do get lonely, I’m sure they’d appreciate her company.) Has this ever occurred?

6. In my hometown of Cold Lake, Alberta, there is a giant man-eating fish called the Kinosoo. Locals say that’s why the trout in the lake are so large—they’re descendants of the Kinosoo. (Chloé and I are pretty sure we heard the Kinosoo one night while we were skating on the lake. It was terrifying.) Are there any giant man-eating fish that we should be aware of?

Finally, we’d love if we can rent rods and if you’d be willing to fillet a fish for Chloé (assuming we catch anything). You’re also more than welcome to join us for a game of Scrabble or a beer, if it comes to that.

Best,

Jessica

Twat

2012-01-31T10:54:00.000-05:00

I caved.

@WynneLockhart

Hook, line and sink her.

2012-01-25T16:32:00.000-05:00

Dear Dave’s Fish Huts:

For roughly the last year, my dear friend Chloé and I have been fixated on the idea of going ice fishing. As good Albertan girls, it’s problematic that we’ve never participated in this Canadian winter activity.

We’d very much like to come up to Dave’s Fish Huts for an overnight fishing excursion. We’re particularly interested in fishing in Georgina ever since we learned that it’s the ice fishing capital of Ontario. However, as newcomers to the sport, we have a number of questions that we were hoping you could answer for us before we book:

1. How does a tip-up style rod differ from any other types of rods? Do you offer any other rods for rental? (I understand that we would have to purchase our own tackle, but it would be ideal if we could rent rods.)

2. Can prospective fisherwomen buy fishing licenses on-site? Or should we purchase these prior to arrival?

3. I have an extreme hate/fear of fish in general. (This stems from an unfortunate fishing incident that occurred in 1987. I haven’t been fishing since.) I am also a vegetarian. Can we catch fish and throw them back? Or are we required by fishing law to keep them?

4. Chloé is concerned that if we catch fish and throw them back, we’ll be “condemning them to a cold, lonely death.” I certainly don’t want the fish to be lonely. Do fish incur injuries when you catch them and throw them back?

5. Is it possible to catch fish without using the live bait?

6. What is more ethically problematic: catching fish and not eating them (due to the aforementioned vegetarianism) OR catching fish, throwing them back and condemning them to a cold and lonely death?

7. Can fish even become lonely?

8. Suppose we become lonely, do you offer any “introduction to ice fishing” type classes? (If not, are there any other operators within the Georgina area who would offer us some sort of support and guidance?) We will supply the beer.

9. If we aren’t allowed to throw the fish back in, do we have to kill the fish with a bat once they’ve exited the water? Also, what do we do with the fish once we’ve caught them? (Theoretically Chloé would eat them, I suppose. She’s very interested in that particular activity. However, this would also entail filleting the fish, which neither one of us knows how to do. If you have any suggestions, it would be greatly appreciated.)

10. Suppose it turns out that we don’t like the fishing component of the whole ice fishing experience. Would it be okay with you if we just hung out in the fishing hut overnight and played Scrabble instead?

11. After receiving this email, will you still allow us to book a fishing hut? Specifically, is there any availability for one night on the weekend of February 11-12?

I know a number of these questions may seem ridiculous, but they are all meant in earnest (with the possible exception of questions #5 and #6). We’re city dwellers who really want to learn more about ice fishing and try it out for ourselves.

Any additional information you are willing to provide would be greatly appreciated!

All the best,

Jessica

We went dogsledding. It was neat.

2012-01-19T11:54:00.002-05:00

On Monday, I successfully completed my first challenge in Year of the Physical Fitness Challenge.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but I was actually terrified to go dogsledding. As the guides connected the snarling male huskies to the sleds, I could feel the tears brimming in my eyes. I've always been scared of dogs, so knowing that I was going to be driving a team of five animals that could easily rip me apart set me on edge.

But it was more than that--it was the fear that I was going to do something wrong or lose control. It was the fear that's underpinning all the things that I hope to do this year.

But, predictably, I loved it.

I want to go again.

Maybe Edmonton

2012-01-15T18:10:00.001-05:00

A love hate relationships at its best: maybe edmonton is hands-down my favourite tumblr site. I discovered it over Christmas while I was trying to find information on the Canada Fitness Program.

(I have a sneaking suspicion that I must know its owner.)

2012: Year of the Physical Fitness Challenge

2012-01-11T13:14:00.003-05:00

The test itself is just a hazy memory. I don't really remember the sit-ups, the push-ups or even the flexed arm hang. In fact, there are only two things I remember clearly about the Canada Fitness Program: giving up on the endurance run after just one lap and the badges.

The badges were the worst part. In first and second grade, long before being able to identify name brand clothing was an indicator of social status, there were the badges. They marked you. If you had one, you were popular. If you didn't, you were nothing. Even my older brother, Andrew, whose athletic (in)ability was comparable to my own, wore a silver badge proudly on his windbreaker.

My own participation pin was a mark of shame.

I hardly think it's an exaggeration when I say that the Canada Fitness Test fucked me up for life. It convinced me, at the tender age of seven, that I wasn't good enough. For the next eight years, my head would be the target of dodgeballs, my name would religiously be the last one called last for teams, I would be slammed against lockers in the change room and I was always, it seemed, on the brink of tears.

Twenty years later, I'm tired of being afraid.

So, with this in mind, I'm declaring 2012 the Year of the Physical Fitness Challenge. But instead of trying to get super ripped and work out every day (which, let's face it, is just a boring New Year's Resolution that's bound for failure) this is going to be a year about challenging myself mentally.

It sounds counterintuitive, I know, but let me explain: trying new physical activities still terrifies me. To this day, I refuse to play team sports. I go to the gym regularly, but every time I try a new class I'm convinced that everyone is staring at me. (And if the instructor talks directly to me, it's unlikely that I'll go a second time. When I tried to join an advanced highland dance class a couple of years ago and the instructor suggested that I should attend the intermediate class instead, I never returned.) When I went to a gym for the first time at the age of 20, I started hyperventilating. At 22, when I took a surfing lesson in Australia, I spent the majority of the lesson collapsed on the beach crying. I refuse to work out with Jay, because I'm afraid that even he will make fun of me.

But if my time in pouring concrete in Vanuatu, hiking in Peru, or hauling pharmaceuticals up riverbanks in Guyana has taught me anything, it's that what I lack in natural athletic ability, I more than make up for in mental endurance. (This is probably why I've always loved running.) This year is going to be all about playing to my strength--finding the mental willpower to participate in activities that have previously pushed me to the edge. This year, I'm going to go rock climbing, I'm going to learn to kayak, I'm going to run a half marathon, and hell, I might even face my ultimate fear and go scuba diving.

This year, I'm going to earn my badge my own way.

Fan Mail: Dear Lauren

2012-01-07T18:46:00.001-05:00

2011: Year in Review

2012-01-04T00:48:00.004-05:00

I wish I could ignore the pomp and pageantry that comes with new years like I do all other holidays and notable occasions (Christmas, the birth of children, wedding anniversaries, etc). But the truth is, I'm undeniably a sucker for the New Year and new beginnings. And I have a really good feeling about 2012.

But before moving on, here's a post to the good times in 2011:

Taking advantage of media connections played a major role at the start of the year. Free Raptors games, play tickets and bowling were the theme throughout January.

But I had to pay my dues sooner or later. This mainly involved escorting Chloé to a frat party or two in February.

By the time March rolled around, I was starting to do random things to supplement my freelance income. Amongst them? Supervising high school students on their spring break in Punta Cana.

In April, I finally got to take a real vacation on our road trip from New Orleans to Beaumont, Texas.

Back in Toronto, the weather warmed up enough in May for the first island excursion of the season.

Not that it mattered, of course, because I barely spent any time in Toronto over the summer. In June, Chloé and I jetted off to Peru, where we reach Machu Picchu on the morning of the Winter Solstice. . .

. . .and then less than two weeks later, I was back on a plane again, this time for Kate's July wedding in Cold Lake.

I stayed in Cold Lake until the middle of August, which was just long enough to crash two bachelor parties, go tubing down the Cold River and see Tyler and Bre tie the knot.

After spending nearly the entire Spring and Summer driving and flying, it was time to head back home. I was excited to spend some time with Brie and Court, wine tasting in the Niagara region in September.

And then, because I clearly hadn't contributed nearly enough greenhouse gas emissions to the earth's atmosphere, I decided to go visit Sasha in Geneva and Tristan in London in October. (I actually worked in 2011, too. I swear it. Remember--this is a post for the good times.)

Since I didn't fly, drive or hike anywhere in November, I had to come up with other forms of entertainment. Dogs in socks tops the list.

And then in December, it ended where it always begins, back in Cold Lake.

2011: Year of the Deal Recap

2012-01-02T13:59:00.007-05:00

Before I reveal my 2012 resolution (which, as per usual, isn't really about saving the world or improving myself), I thought it imprudent to give one last final update on Year of the Deal (which should probably be just be referred to "Year of the Only Sensible New Year's Resolution That I've Ever Made" from here on out).

The Resolutions

1. Coupons: I'm going to learn how to use them. Then I'm going to use them. And then I'm going to laugh all the way to the bank.

Verdict: Success!

By using coupons alone, I saved $497.62 over a 11-month period. It may not seem like a lot, but that's nearly an extra $50 my pocket, every single month. I'll take it!

I'm definitely going to continue couponing in 2012, although perhaps a bit less obsessively. (I'm concerned that we won't use up all our stockpiled shampoo before the apocalypse.)

2. Sales: I'm going to become one of those people who buys Christmas junk in January and saves it until the following December. And I'm going to rediscover my love of Value Village.

Verdict: Success! (Well, sort of.)

I discovered that the Christmas junk that you can buy in January is actually, well, junk. After spending hours scouring the post-holiday discount aisles, I came to the conclusion that there are very few occasions for which I can justify buying pumpkin-shaped coasters or yet another box of no-name brand chocolates. I actually saved more money by ignoring this resolution all together.

As for Value Village, the same rule of thumb applied; why buy pilled secondhand sweaters when I can buy nothing at all? Instead, Jay and I did two massive clean-outs of our condo, with donations going to Goodwill. I also sold some of my clothing to Common Sort. Our next major clean-up is scheduled for this week. (To quote Jay, "You are the opposite of a hoarder.")

However, when it came to online shopping (everything from booking a car to ordering clothing from the UK) I fell in love with using coupon codes listed at RetailMeNot.

3. Entering contests: Why not? Someone has to win, right?

Verdict: Fail.

Three words: Waste. Of. Time. This resolution was great for when I had tons of time and was unemployed, but there was no payoff. All I got from this was a daily explosion of junk mail. I stopped entering contests in February.

Instead, I signed up for Web Perspectives, a Canadian survey company. I only fill out the surveys when I have time, but so far I've earned three free movie tickets. (A far better use of procrastination time than just refreshing Facebook.) I'll probably continue doing this in 2012.

4. Reward Points: I'm already a near-obsessive rewards point collector. But this year, I'm going to take it to a new level.

Verdict: Success!

I thought I was a obsessive rewards points collector, but I was wrong. Very wrong. I had so much to learn about points collection and I still do.

In 2011, we earned roughly $100 in free groceries from Airmiles, my summer flight to Alberta was covered by Aeroplan, and after mastering the Shoppers Optimum point program (we earned nearly $175 worth of free stuff this year), I decided it was time to apply for a Shoppers credit card.

Having so many credit cards (shamefully I currently own four, although I'm about to cancel one) terrifies me, but I'm entering 2012 with a $0 balance on my rewards cards and have paid zero interest. As long as I can keep that up, the payout is worth it. Rule of thumb: only charge what you already have in your bank account and pay it off as soon as you get home.

5. Free Stuff: I'm going to try and get free stuff this year. But only free stuff that I'm going to legitimately use.

Verdict: Success!

But seriously, I don't need 10 bottles of travel-sized conditioner. And after six months of thoroughly enjoying my Luxe Box subscription, I've decided that it may be time to cancel soon.

Best of Year of the Deal

Best Investment: Travel insurance. When our flight was delayed by 14 hours on route to Geneva, we missed our connecting flights and had to pay for hotel rooms. Best $50 ever spent.

Biggest Splurge of 2011: So, there was this one time that I went to Louisiana. And then I went to Peru. And then I went to Switzerland. Totally worth it, though.

Biggest Savings of 2011:
1) Instead of buying Brock a $30 winter dog coat from a pet store, we went to Goodwill and bought a child's sweatshirt and cut the arms off. It cost us $2.

2) For Halloween, I dressed up as Medusa. I wore my cocktail dress (aka the "silver potato sack") from Miss Universe Canada. When I couldn't find toy snakes at the Dollar Store, I bought them for $16 at a toy store. And then, on November 1st, I reaffixed the price tags and returned them to the store.

The Real Resolution

Apart from my innate desire to hoard discounted laundry detergent, there were other forces at play when I resolved to make 2011 "Year of the Deal." At the start of 2011, I was unemployed, receiving EI and basically living out an extended adolescence.

Now, largely thanks to Jay's constant support (financial and otherwise), I have a registered business, RRSPs, a reasonable and sustainable freelance income, and a small amount of money in savings. I've been able to pay off a chunk of debt and by 2014 (knock on wood) I will be out of debt.

I really didn't mean for it to be about self-improvement. It just turned out that way.

A new year, like all the others

2011-12-31T21:48:00.002-05:00

January 1, 2000: Cold Lake, Alberta

Kiss Recipient: No one, unless you count the short-lived game of "suck and blow."

January 1, 2001: Cold Lake, Alberta

Kiss Recipient: Kenny

January 1, 2002: Cold Lake, Alberta

Kiss Recipient: Darryl

[Photo missing. This was the first night I ever got legitimately drunk. I was supposed to be the DD until I locked my keys in my car and Katherine made me a drink while we waited for AMA. And then AMA took two hours to arrive.]

January 1, 2003: Edmonton, Alberta

Kiss Recipient: My cousin, Katherine

January 1, 2004: Cold Lake, Alberta
Kiss Recipient: Chloé first, half the bar later.

January 1, 2005: Edmonton, Alberta

Kiss Recipient: Chloé (she later punched me in the face and poured ketchup on my white sweater, neither action with intended malice)

January 1, 2006: Cold Lake, Alberta
Kiss Recipient: Katherine first, half the bar later. (I also broke my toe this night. I suspect Katherine was the cause.)

January 1, 2007: Edmonton, Alberta

Kiss Recipient: Alex Dodd

January 1, 2008: Toronto, Ontario

Kiss Recipient: No one.

January 1, 2009: Toronto, Ontario

Kiss Recipient: Jason H.

January 1, 2010: Toronto, Ontario

Kiss Recipient: Jason H.

January 1, 2011: Toronto, Ontario

Kiss Recipient: Jason H.

Reunited

2011-12-30T15:28:00.001-05:00

Whoever said that diamonds are a girl's best friend was an idiot.

When I get that feeling, I need hula healing

2011-12-26T00:43:00.001-05:00

I was spoiled all those years with my access to Final Cut Pro.

Nonetheless, upon request here's a special Christmas Day movie, all about my hula hoop. (I've never used iMovie or an iPad before. Also, apologies for my annoying neighbour's dog in the background. No apologies necessary for the Sexual Healing.)

This was not unexpected.

2011-12-23T19:21:00.002-05:00

I always knew this time would come. It actually happened later, rather than sooner. I'm glad for the time that I had, for the time that was.

And now? Now there is no more time for flirting or for beer. Now's the time to return home early, prompted by the rolled eyes of wives, to the baby-sitters who are waiting to be paid. Now is the time for the next 20 years, to be played out in repeat, night after night, fuelled on by town gossip, hockey triumphs and the occasional all-inclusive vacation to Mexico.

But it's okay. It's okay because loneliness is what Cold Lake does best.

This is what I miss most about Cold Lake winters. I miss the stillness. I miss going to bed early because there's nothing else to do. I miss the winding car rides past the lake and through what will never be again, the echo of the bathwater as it cools down. I miss the pointless errands, scraping ice off my car, hiding in bed until 11 a.m. I miss when music had meaning.

I miss the quiet and the dark and the cold and the stars and the northern lights. And sometimes, I even miss the insomnia.

But most of all, I miss the kind of loneliness that only comes when you're actually alone.

Shared mythologies

2011-12-18T17:24:00.005-05:00

The invitation was issued late at night, as is the case most weekends in Cold Lake. We're a town that leaves for the bar at midnight on a good night and makes it home to bed when the sun is coming up. It's a process that works well in the endless light of summer and even better in the permanently dark days of winter.

Yet, it's a process I had somehow forgotten in the last four months away. But I had nothing better to do so I changed my clothes and quietly left the house, driving in the pitch black to the next town over.

I arrived a little before 11 p.m., parking my rental car, slipping through the back door, past the machinery and towards the music. Inside and up the stairs, there were three familiar faces and a new one. They were playing virtual golf, the shelves lined with empty beer cans and the floor with spilled rum. After hugs and greetings, the new one, the foreigner, approached me. "So how do you know these guys?" he asked.

I didn't give my response much thought. It just seemed that obvious. "I'm from Cold Lake," I said.

He looked confused. "But how did you meet these guys? How do you all know each other?"

"Well, we're all from Cold Lake," I repeated.

"We're locals," chimed in one of the guys, laughing. To him, too, it was obvious. "We all know each other because we grew up here."

There are no other words, no other explanation. Sure, there were water balloons thrown in seventh grade, campfires at the lake, swimming lessons in Bonnyville, teenage makeouts at the CLPS playground and piano recitals. There were a billion nights spent at Kaos, before and after it was the Camel's Toe, and a billion more spent at Legends. There were thousands of kilometres clocked, just driving up and down mainstreet and past Kinosoo Beach. There were next door neighbours and unrequited crushes and roommates in Edmonton. There are stories of falling in love and late nights spent spooning in tents.

And then there is now, when it would be pointless to ever pinpoint where it began.

We're not lifelong friends and we may not have known each other since birth. We didn't go to school together and we may not even be Facebook friends. But none of that matters. Yes, it's a matter of circumstance, but it's more than that. It's not a single story or an explanation. It's a place.

We're locals. Those are the only words. That's all there is to know.

Dear Coca-Cola: Blinded by the Lies

2011-12-13T13:04:00.001-05:00

Two Rants, One Blog: The Updates

2011-12-05T22:29:00.013-05:00

I wrote something other than a postcard. This is it.

The Job

Two weeks ago, I was called in to an interview for a job. I went. It was okay, but I knew I wasn't right for the position.

When I got home, I checked my sent messages folder only to realize that they had invited me in for the interview without ever seeing my resume. I forgot to attach it to my application. (A shame, too, because my carefully tailored resumes are a sight to behold.) But they still asked me in.

This was really good for my self-esteem.

I didn't get the job.

The Internship

Last week, after an intense application process, I was invited to interview for an internship at a well-known magazine. I went. As I sat in a tall leather chair that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, I felt beads of sweat running down my back. I was nervous. Unlike the job, I knew that I was right for the internship. It was a great learning and networking opportunity at a magazine that I love.

There was just one hitch: the position was unpaid.

But as I left, I knew I had no reason to worry. I had bombed the interview. I took strange comfort in knowing that.

The next day they called to offer me the job.

It was a hard decision. I thought a lot about my peers, particularly the ones who accepted unpaid internships shortly after graduating and I thought about how far they've come. I wanted that. I want that.

It's not the first internship I've been offered. A week out of school, I was offered a place at one of Canada's biggest magazines. I really wanted it. And sure, it paid. It paid a $800/month, to be exact. My rent at the time was $700/month. The same day, I was offered a meagre salary of $28,000 and benefits at a non-profit organization. Guess which one I accepted?

The post-secondary system is obviously stacked in many ways, most clearly against those who come from lower-income households. But from start to finish, it's also stacked against "rural" Canadian women who want to access employment that doesn't include becoming a health care practitioner, an educator or a homemaker. (All of which are chosen professions that I respect, but just weren't right for me.) In addition to paying twice as much to obtain a degree of my choosing because living with relatives simply wasn't an option (at the time of my application to school, undergraduate degrees in journalism were only offered in Ottawa, Halifax and Toronto), I've failed tests because I didn't know who Ontario Governor General was (classmates were shocked—yet they didn't know who Lois Hole was) and had reduced access to Ontario-specific grants and loans.

And then, after we shelled out tens of thousands of dollars to graduate, there were the internships. The unpaid internships. (Where were the jobs, we wondered?)

In the three years since I graduated, little has changed. Show me a person who has accepted an unpaid internship and I'll show you a person who moved home in order to be able to afford it.

No matter how much I wanted the internship, I couldn't accept it.

I sent my resignation (or whatever the equivalent of resigning before you even start is called) email on the way to one of the four jobs that I've been working to make ends meet.

The Work

I know that later I'm going to regret turning the internship down, but right now I'm too busy working to think about it much. I have one new contract and a contract extension into the new year. (Unpaid internship or gainful employment in my field? Maybe it seems like an easy choice, but it wasn't.)

But there's something else that's really been bothering me lately. Despite the fact that everyone seem to think that I sit around my house eating bon-bons and playing with my dog all day while upbeat montage music plays, most days I barely have enough time to shower. (Actually, it's 7:30 p.m. as I'm typing this and it just occurred to me that I have yet to brush my teeth today.) Photographic evidence follows:

I should at least give myself credit for painting my nails.

So for those who have never freelanced, here's a fun fact: as a freelancer, you'll always feel like you're poor. I still haven't been paid for work that I did in June. When I decline dinner, it's not because I don't have money because I'm too busy refreshing Facebook all day long—it's simply because I don't receive a lump sum in my bank account at 12:01 a.m. every other Thursday. And sure, I take off time to go travelling. But I also work seven days a week, sometimes for 12 hours at a time so that I can afford to go travelling.

I'm not asking anyone to sympathize with this. It's the lifestyle that I've chosen for myself (at least for now) and I like it. It's kind of awesome, actually. I can drink hot chocolate in the afternoons, wear my pajamas all day and cuddle with Brockton while I write.

But you know what's not awesome? People criticizing, judging and making assumptions simply because my current career doesn't fit into the nine to five status quo.

You can stop now, please, because it makes me second-guess myself. (It also hurts my feelings. And. . .cue Flight of the Conchords for this montage scene.)

The Friend

My friend moved away. I miss her.

I helped her move further away from me. In the pouring ice cold rain. At night. While I had menstrual cramps. Directly after my weight lifting class.

That's true love.

The Future

I'm going to embody the word "hustle." It's going to be awesome.

But I'm still going to put Amarula in my coffee and snuggle with my dog while I write.

It's a solid plan.

(Oh and 2012? It's totally the year that I'm going to write a bestselling young adult book. It's going to be epic.)

Dear Stephenie

2011-11-21T17:11:00.004-05:00

(Normal blog posts will resume at some future point in time. "Normal" being a subjective description of what happens here, of course. In the meantime--postcards!)

Dear Netflix Canada: Never Say Never

2011-11-16T10:33:00.001-05:00

LYLAS

2011-11-03T20:03:00.012-04:00

My best friend Angela was beautiful.

She lived just up the street from me and her room was in the basement, where she was allowed to have sleepovers in her bunk bed. (She slept in the top bunk, naturally.) She had a dog, a pet hamster, a Jasmine doll, a real bikini top and Hawaiian grass skirt—and she even lived in the crescent. (Oh, to live in the crescent!) Her birthday parties were the best; we'd sing along to Mini Pop Kids, dress up and eat candy. She had naturally blonde ringlets and clear blue eyes.

Angela was the type of girl who would invariably develop perfect "C" breasts by eighth grade, have a boy ask her out before the end of ninth grade, and would never have to worry about wearing the wrong thing. And so what if she told the entire third grade that I had once peed my pants while talking on the phone with her? She was willing to be my best friend, so of course, I forgave her. We were going to be best friends forever.

To this day, I have her phone number memorized.

Every year, after a visit from her grandparents, Angela would be burdened with an endless supply of Polly Pockets and Disney movies. Waiting at the bus stop in the mornings, she'd smile (her lips painted with brand new shade of play makeup) and show off her new clothes (which clearly hadn't been purchased at SAAN or through the Sears catalogue).

Telling my mom about the visits, she would shake her head sadly. "Aren't you lucky that your grandma and grandpa live in Cold Lake?" she would ask rhetorically. "I bet Angela wishes she was as lucky as you."

Up until that spring, my own grandparents had lived just around the school from us. It was just a short walk across the playground and through a farmer's field before we'd burst into grandma's backyard, pockets full of snow and mittens full of burrs. Every year in August, my grandma would take us shopping at SAAN, where we were allowed to choose one play outfit (for me, this usually involved a sweater featuring a kitten saying, "I need a hug!"; for Andrew, neon graffitied t-shirts littered with Bart Simpson catchphrases), one nice outfit and a toy. Afterwards, she'd treat us to lunch at Smitty's, where I'd order plain spaghetti with cheese.

In the spring of our fifth grade year—sometime after my grandparents moved a whopping five kilometres away to a brand new house beside the lake and shortly before I received the devastating news that Angela was moving—her grandma inexplicably came to stay. The source of all those new clothes and toys wasn't at all what I imagined. She was stern, thin and younger than my grandma. Angela's basement, which had previously been our stomping grounds, was suddenly off-limits. But the snow had started to melt, so we spent Easter break playing outside instead.

One day, wheeling around the crescent in circles on our bikes, Angela told me that every day her grandma went for a walk. "She says she's going to the library," she told me, "but sometimes she doesn't come back with books. I think she's lying."

Our 10-year-old brains, fuelled by a combination of Sweet Valley Twins Super Chillers (I was always annoyed that Jessica, who shared my name, was the flaky twin) and Ghostwriter reruns, were sure there was a juicy secret behind the lie.

"Maybe she has a boyfriend," Angela hypothesized. A boyfriend? At her age? I scoffed. That didn't seem likely at all. So I came up with a more plausible suggestion. "Maybe she's a secret spy?" I contributed. Her grandma did have a British accent, after all. "We need to follow her and find out!"

The next day in the early afternoon, Angela's grandma announced she was going to the library. This was our chance!

I raced the half block home. I was well on my way to becoming an undercover detective, but I still needed permission. Up until this point, I hadn't been allowed to go further with friends than the playground at the end of the street. (The exception being if I cross-country skied over to Michelle's house. Yes, I was that kid.)

"Mom," I asked hesitantly, preparing myself for an argument. "I'm just going out for a bike ride with Angela to the library. Is that okay?" Maybe she sensed my urgency. Maybe she sensed that I ready to leave the neighbourhood. Or, maybe she was just too tired to argue that day. "Sure," she sighed. "Be home by five."

I raced back to Angela's house. Energized by my little white lie, we started pedalling up the hill, past the playground and on our way to adolescent freedom.

With only one road in town leading to the library, we caught up to her grandma in no time and began following her from a safe distance. But when it came time to turn to the library, Angela's grandma did something unexpected—something that my own grandma would never do—she walked towards the lake instead. Angela was right—she'd been lying!

We followed her past Leo's Video Store down to the marina. Stashing our bikes, we crept up the marina's crows-nest and watch as her grandma walked down the breakwater. It took superhuman strength to remain quiet. What was she doing there? Who was she going to meet? Why did she lie? This was the moment of truth!

And we watched her grandma. We watched as as she stood alone in the quiet grey air, gazing out onto the still-frozen lake for what seemed like forever. We watched as she turned and walked back down the pier. And we watched as she headed up the hill home.

Riding our bikes back, we were silent. I was confused. Why would she lie? I had that same feeling in my gut that I got the time that I saw my parents kissing in the kitchen. I had seen something that I wasn't meant to see.

Later that summer, long after the lake thawed and the "For Sale" sign disappeared from Angela's front lawn, I received a letter. She hated Ontario, but she had made a new friend. "Her name is Jenna Rator," she wrote. (I was skeptical. I had never met a Jenna. And who could befriend someone whose name sounded like so much like the loud and smelly machine that my dad used to power the boat's lights?) But that wasn't all. Tucked into the folds of the letter was Angela's sixth-grade picture. Her hair was arranged in curls on top of her head and her eyes were crystal blue. She was beautiful. "LYLAS," she had written on the back.

All year, that photo sat inside my desk. The day I started anger management classes, there it was, tucked neatly in the back corner. Throughout the months my grandpa went to the hospital for testing, it was there. Even after Angela's letters started appearing months apart, I took comfort in it. From time to time, I'd pull it out to read the worn ink on the back and to remind myself that yes, once, I had had a best friend, too.

You can take me everywhere.

2011-10-25T16:53:00.000-04:00

Part One: In which I consume my body weight in cheese.

Part Two: In which I totally fail at being a tourist in London. Again. (And this time, I didn't even have swine flu as an excuse.)

Winter Weight

2011-10-19T14:11:00.003-04:00

We're still alive. Wading through uncertainty, but we're still here.

(And if all else fails, at least we're fattened up in preparation for the next round. Switzerland is the greatest country on earth. Where else can you go out for dinner, eat only melted cheese and bread, and not face any sort of criticism or post-meal guilt?)

Night Two: Ottawa

2011-09-29T23:53:00.000-04:00

We drove further north. The geese flew south. We all have places to be.

A 19-year-old that I met before he was 19 came to say hi to me at work today. We caught up and I told him about my trip to Peru and upcoming Swiss adventure. "How do I get your life?" he asked. "You have to be willing to be poor," I told him.

What I really should have said, sometime between his recollection of his grad trip to Punta Cana and his 19th birthday party the night before was, "How do I get your life?"

But at the same time, I wouldn't trade anything I've got--the good or the bad--to be 19 again. Because at 19, I'm not sure I had the strength and resilience to survive the curveballs that life has thrown at me this last month.

(That, and I really hated living in the university residence.)

Night One: Kingston

2011-09-28T23:08:00.002-04:00

"Have the courage to write badly."

Right now, I need to feel courageous. So this seems like a good place to start.

I'm exhausted in a way that no amount of sleep could possibly resolve. And tonight, I'm suddenly alone.

I don't know if I've ever stayed in a hotel alone before. Hostels? Sure. Hotel rooms? Yes. But all alone, in a hotel with no co-worker/friend/relative in the next room over? I'm not too sure.

And yet, it feels suspiciously familiar, like I've done it a dozen times before. I'm here on business, the first night of a four-night journey. (It sounds so official, doesn't it? "Here on business." I wish I had the wardrobe to match that statement. I could leave or take the actual lifestyle, though.) Kingston today, Ottawa tomorrow, Montréal on Saturday, unemployment on Sunday.

Life is rough lately. But all it needs is time. And a little bit of courage I suppose, even if it's just the courage to write badly.

Fan Mail: Dear Christian Hand

2011-09-26T22:40:00.001-04:00

All my friends are journalists.

2011-09-22T10:23:00.002-04:00

Even if you're struggling as a freelancer, there's one surefire way to ensure your name appears in print on a regular basis; only befriend journalists.

Two years ago in the Globe & Mail:

Earlier this year in the Toronto Star:

And the latest one, from today's Globe & Mail, made my day:

Things I Love Right Now

2011-09-20T09:02:00.000-04:00

I'm feeling bad about all the hate in yesterday's post, so I figured I'd make up for it by talking about some of the things I love right now:

Yoga Jeans

Why the love? As far as I can tell, there are two main advantages to losing 10 lbs:

1. You have a legitimate reason to invest in a whole new fall wardrobe.

2. You lost 10 lbs.

I like tailored clothing, so pieces that have served me well over the last five years suddenly need to be replaced (or taken in). I'm not complaining. The most recent addition my wardrobe is Yoga Jeans, which are not only amazingly comfortable and reasonably priced--they're also 100 per cent Canadian made.

Why should you care? This fall, forget the crap that H&M shills and considering investing in some Canadian-designed clothing. In addition to Yoga Jeans, I'm also a big fan of Birds of North America's Fall collection.

Other fall favourites: the vintage jewellery that recently came my way. Thanks Katherine!

AutoShare

Why the love? Now, to get started, I am in no way getting compensated to write this (nor am I in any way reflecting the opinions of AutoShare in this blog). I am writing this because I actually LOVE AutoShare.

No, seriously.

I LOVE AutoShare.

I keep telling people that AutoShare changed my life and they seem to think I'm exaggerating.

I'm not.

(My love is maybe a little bit out of control. If AutoShare was a boy, I wouldn't just be passing him notes in class--I'd be full-out leaving animal hearts in his locker.)

Brock and I with one of AutoShare's Nissan Leafs (Leaves?) at Open Roof Festival.

I don't need a car because there's one parked directly my building that I can access anytime. If it's cold out and I don't want to drag my groceries home through the snow, I can rent a car for less than the cost of a cab. If I need to get to a TTC-inaccessible meeting, I take the subway to the closest AutoShare location and then drive the rest of the way. If I want to go touring wineries in Niagara, I don't have to trek all the way downtown to go to the Budget rental office during their ridiculous hours. Amazing.

As if that wasn't enough reason to love them, AutoShare recently introduced electric cars. While I'm admittedly skeptical about the sustainability of electric vehicles, it makes perfect sense in the AutoShare fleet. And well, it's just kind of neat.

Why should you care? Because right now, if you're 29 or under, you can sign up for free. (You do have to pay a $29 application fee, though.) Oh and did I mention that you build your insurance history as you drive with AutoShare? Again, amazing.

Loose Button's Luxe Box

Why the love? I have to admit, this is a really peculiar thing for me to love, given that I've maybe set foot in Sephora once in my life and that I've been using the same brand of mascara since 1998. I have zero to no interest in high-end beauty products. And who pays for samples when the whole point of samples is that they're free? So, it's weird, I know.

But who doesn't love getting a ribbon-wrapped surprise parcel in the mail every month? That and I totally would have paid $12 (the cost of a one-month Luxe Box subscription) just for the bottle of Moroccan Oil that was in this month's box.

Why should you care? You actually totally shouldn't for all of the above reasons. But if you do, sign up using this link and I can get a month free. (And we all know how much I like free things.)

Hate Mail: Dear Limo and Cab Tours and Transportation

2011-09-19T12:30:00.001-04:00

Hate mail. This time, with pictures. (Boring post, I know. But because they don't have a profile on TripAdvisor, I just want to make sure my hate for LL&C Wine Tours shows up on Google searches from here on out. So ignore the hate and enjoy the pictures.)
_______________________________________________________________________________

Dear LL&C Tours and Transportation and Living Social:

On Saturday, September 17, 2011, I attended a wine tour hosted by Lincoln, Limo and Cab Transportation and Tours, which I purchased through Living Social. I am writing to issue an official complaint. It was hands-down the worst tour experience I’ve ever had and along with the rest of my party (whose voucher numbers are at the bottom of this letter) I’m seeking a full refund and compensation for expenses caused when LL&C failed to pick up my group.

Here are the events that transpired:

On Saturday morning, at 10:00 am, we called LL&C to confirm the pick-up time in Niagara Falls. We were told that it would be 12:15 pm at Niagara Falls Casino.

Upon arrival at Niagara Falls Casino at 11:30 pm, we again called LL&C to reconfirm the tour time and pickup location. We were again told 12:15pm and confirmed that the pickup location was in the same spot at where the coach buses board on the south side of the building. We paid for parking for the day ($10) and headed to the bus pickup area.

We arrived at the bus area at 11:40 am, more than 30 minutes before the pick-up time. While there, we met another group of women who were also on our tour. They had also called to confirm the pickup time and had been told that the bus would be arriving in 10 minutes. We spent the next 30 minutes waiting, watching bus after bus drop people off. Not a single bus arrived to pick passengers up.

By 12:25, when the bus had still not arrived we became concerned. The other group of women called the tour company again, only to be told that we had “missed the bus” and had to make our way to the winery ourselves. They also indicated that they had picked up people 20 minutes earlier and that we must have been late.

It was clear at this point that we were being lied to.

(They said that they send out confirmation emails prior to tours, however NO ONE that we spoke with on the bus had received any such confirmation email. We were also frustrated that the accused us of missing the bus when both groups of women had called to confirm more than once that morning.)

After driving to meet the group at Caroline Cellars in our AutoShare rental vehicle ($5.00 for the cost of driving there), we arrived to the winery to only be informed that we needed to drive to Pond View to meet the group. After verbalizing our frustration to the "tour guide" (orphan quotes intended) we agreed to board the bus to make the most of our day.

Although we knew it was impossible that we had “missed” the bus, we asked other tour attendees if they had stopped at Falls View Casino to pick up passengers. “We didn’t stop there,” said one woman. We drove straight through.” She then proceeded to say, “Whoosh!” and make a rapid motion with her hand to emphasize the fact that the bus DID NOT stop at Niagara Falls Casino to pick up ANY passengers.

Finally, we met a third group of women who had not been picked up from their pick-up location. They were compensated for their cab to the winery, but were also understandably irate.

It was clear that the tour operators were flat-out lying to paying customers.

We hoped the day would improve, but it did not. The following is our account of the tour itself:

This was by far the worst value for money group buy deal I have ever purchased, as well as the worst tour I’ve ever been on.

On our tour, the tour guide did not interact at all with the guests (except to argue with us about “missing the bus”). Nothing ran on time. As an example of a typical stop, at the last winery we were instructed to meet back on the bus at 4:00. By 4:30, the entire tour group had boarded the bus with the exception of the tour guide and the bus driver. Around 4:35, while the entire group waited (and joked about “honking the horn”) I spotted our “tour guide” outside smoking.

While touring wineries, I looked at brochures for similar companies in the area that also offer a tour of one winery, with tastings at three additional wineries. The average price for these tours was $50 to $75 for a four-hour tour, but included lunch. (Some passengers on our bus were provided with a snack, while others were not.) The bus was also overcrowded and not the small passenger bus featured on the website—there were nearly 50 passengers on the tour. (In 2009, I toured the exact same four wineries with a small group of nine people for $75. )

Based on my experience with LL&C, I will never again purchase anything from Living Social and will discourage my peers from doing the same.

I am seeking the following compensation:

• Reimbursement for the cost of the tour from Living Social for all three members of my party ($150)
• Parking in Niagara Falls ($10)
• The cost of the AutoShare rental to drive from Niagara Falls Casino to Caroline Cellars and then back to Pond View (20 kilometers at $0.25/kilometer = $5.00)

I expect that you will reply to this complaint in a timely manner.

Sincerely,

Jessica

A politically-minded dog

2011-09-12T13:37:00.001-04:00

An incomplete list of things my dog is terrified of--some legit, some not so much:

large trucks
mini-vans
construction vehicles
lawn mowers
old women pushing granny carts (but strollers are okay)
full bags of garbage sitting by the front door
Dufferin Street (yes, the entire street)
curb-side garbage and recycling bins, occasionally including those that are permanently installed
any box on the street full of random stuff with a sign reading "free stuff"
children on scooters (but bicycles are okay)
TTC buses passing by (but not subways or streetcars--and he's totally fine to ride all of the above)
pylons

Added to the list today:

election lawn signs (but strangely, only those for NDP candidates)

Fan Mail: Pistachio Pudding

2011-09-06T15:46:00.001-04:00

I can write.

2011-09-03T21:59:00.003-04:00

Screenshots from an article that I'm working on:

I wish I was smarter than this.

I'm not.

The First Tattoo

2011-09-02T20:03:00.005-04:00

Despite the language and cultural barriers, I guess you could say that Helka was the first person I ever felt a “connection” with. We came from completely different places, but we were kindred spirits in a way that only teenage girls can be. Hours would be lost together, lounging around her house discussing politics, art, music and current events. And even when I accidentally made out with Jason H. (who she had a long-standing flirtation with) behind the mall, she was forgiving. But above all else, we had fun together.

It was something that we had talked about from the beginning—about how before she left Canada and as soon as I turned 18, we'd get matching tattoos.

At the end of the school year, I found our ride to Edmonton. I didn’t know Kyle that well, but he had a car. And at first, he was enthusiastic about the idea. I suppose it was very punk rock of him (or something like that) to escort the Finnish exchange student and the school freak to the city just to get tattoos.

But as the trip grew closer, Kyle quickly realized that we actually planned to follow through. On the day of, his reluctance to take us on the six-hour journey was obvious. “I don’t want my mom to find out,” he worried.

There was a sense of urgency, though. Helka was trying to extend her stay in Canada, but without approval from the exchange agency she'd be leaving in just over a week. In order to convince Kyle, I sweetened the deal by offering him something that only an 18-year-old boy could appreciate the true value of—two 7-11 dollars and a fully stamped Subway sub club card. (Okay, and I’m sure it also didn’t hurt that we were occasional make-out buddies at the time.)

With that, it was a done deal. We piled into his car—me in a ‘70s rainbow belly shirt, Helka with her red hair piled in a loose ponytail, Kyle with an anxious look on his face and pre-Fergie Black Eyed Peas in the CD player.

I don't remember the drive there. All I remember is arriving in the city and being completely overwhelmed; there were more than two lanes of traffic and we had no clue where were going. It was a classic case of small town kids trying to navigate the "big" city.

In due time, we found my brother's apartment and Andrew agreed to drive us to Whyte Avenue. It was late, but we managed to score the last two appointments of the day at Divine. "Just so you know, I don't approve of this," Andrew told us in obligatory older-brother fashion.

I went first. The tattoo artist had a lazy eye. While one eye was looking down at my hip, the other eye was vacantly staring up towards me. “Are you sure you girls don’t want something bigger?” he prompted. “I feel bad doing so little.”

But no, it was enough. We took pictures that day--each of us grinning into the camera, thrilled as the black pigment settled into our skin. It didn't feel like the end of an era. It felt like the start of something new.

That night, as we drove north towards Cold Lake, we sang along to Sublime. "Yes," I thought, satisfied with the burning ink on my left hip. "Love is what I've got."

Love at First Bite

2011-08-29T21:44:00.001-04:00

As a child, the thought of my very own puppy consumed my every waking moment. But since my parents refused to get me a dog, I knew there was only one way it was going to happen--Santa Claus.

My letter that year was carefully crafted. I'd been a very good girl, and surely Santa, unlike my parents, would understand my need for a furry companion.

On the day that Santa's reply arrived, I eagerly ripped open the envelope and asked my mom to read it aloud. While the other kids in my class had received relatively generic letters about their demands, Santa's words were heart-breakingly specific.

"I'm sorry, Jessica," it read, "but a puppy would get too cold in my sleigh." (Years later I found out that my mom, who worked for Canada Post, was also one of Santa's elves. She volunteered to help him write letters.)

I bawled. It made perfect sense why he couldn't deliver a puppy to me. Without Santa, there was no hope.

But the dream never died.

So when Jay and I drove up to Owen Sound last September to pick out my first dog, it seemed too good to be true. Falling asleep that night (and every night for the next eight weeks) I said words that I thought I'd never get to say. "I have a puppy," I'd say in hushed disbelief.

Despite my giddiness, I couldn't shake the worry at the back of my head. "I don't want to tell anyone about our dog or put any pictures of him on Facebook," I confessed to Jay. "I'm worried that something's going to go wrong and we're not going to get him."

I was in Guyana when I received an email from the breeder. With less than a week to go until he was supposed to come live with us, our puppy was sick. "The only dog that picked up this virus was yours," she wrote. "So you have several options. You could wait for him to get healthy or you could pick a different puppy." Reading between the lines, I realized that there was a chance that he might not make it.

Again, I was heartbroken. I had only spent a few minutes with the dog, but he was my puppy. Crying, I called Jay and explained the situation, worried that he'd want to pick another dog from the litter. "Well, we'll wait for him to get better," Jay said with complete certainty. "He's our puppy. We're not going to abandon him."

It was the right decision. A week later, Brockton came home to live with us.

I'm going to be honest--it's not everything that I dreamed it would be. Part of me hated him at first. He had giardia and it felt like we had to take him to the vet every week. And every hour, on the hour, I'd have to bundle up (and bundle him up) to take him down the flight of stairs to the alley outside our condo. He cried and he whined and he didn't have a single solid bowel movement.

But sometime, somehow, despite the laser shit, I managed to fall in love with him.

Happy first birthday dog. I think you're pretty neat.

The last gasps of summer

2011-08-22T19:17:00.002-04:00

Sometimes, just sometimes, I guess the city isn't so bad. (Rooftop BBQ FTW.)

Girls at the Rock Show

2011-08-18T10:45:00.002-04:00

8:30 PM "I just ate pizza sauce off your face." -Courtney and I like to pick up where we left off last.

9:19 PM Free illicit wristband for the floor? Yes, please! (We're not doing drugs in the bathroom, we swear!)

9:20 PM I legitimately forgot that people smoked pot at "rock" shows. Then again, I also forgot about Box Car Racer. (But didn't we all?)

9:23 PM Mosh pit anticipation. I suspect I'll last 2.43 minutes. (Okay, maybe less. I left my crowd surfing days in the last decade.)

9:30 PM Lamest mosh pit ever. This would explain why I wasn't into Blink as a teenager.

9:47 PM A boyfriend once told me that the song "Girl At the Rock Show" reminded him of me. Strange because I would never drop out of school because I'm failing.

9:55 PM Brie hid a flask in her crotch. How exactly? I'll leave that math question for you guys to figure out.

9:56 PM What's my age again? That's exactly how I feel right now.

10:46 PM I like Travis Barker's solo. But that's more due to my love of pounding rap music than his drumming.

10:48 PM Okay, they just won my heart by acknowledging how ridiculous fake encores are.

11:04 PM Wait. This was the "Honda Civic Tour"? That has to be the least badass tour name ever.

"I ain't no high class broad"

2011-08-17T10:42:00.005-04:00

We made it just in time for last call.

After a night of smoking cigars, igniting flaming Sambuca shots and playing dress-up, we decided it was time to leave the groomsmen alone to continue their manly activities—and to get the groom to bed before the big day.

We wandered down the street to 901, a shady bar in Cold Lake proper. It was packed and Chloe couldn’t resist the lure of karaoke. She carefully read through the binder before finally settling on a Loretta Lynn number. Last call was announced and the final singer was called up to the DJ booth—but the name they called wasn’t Chloe’s. She was from out of town and small town nepotism had won out in terms of the karaoke lineup, it seemed.

“Sorry, you’ll just have to come back tomorrow night,” the DJ told us.

This was not an option. “She just flew in from Toronto yesterday and we have a wedding to attend tomorrow night,” I protested. “This is one-time only. And it’s a performance you don’t want to miss.”

The DJ didn’t even humour my plea. “Sorry girls, I can’t do anything. The bar is closed.”

But Chloe already had the microphone in her hands. “C’mon, let me sing,” she said, her voice coming low through the speakers. "Yeah, let her sing!" I agreed.

And somehow, somewhere in the back near the pool tables, a rumble of a chant started. “Let her sing. . .let her sing. . .”

As the lights came on, people who had been filing out the door towards home stopped to watch. Then they joined the chanting. “Let her sing! Let her sing!” (The whole bar was cheering for her! For us!) It was a tense moment. The DJ and the bartender eyed one another and then eyed the crowd.

“Okay, but you have to make it quick. I need to get home to my woman.”

As Chloe started singing, women from the bar joined us, enthusiastically shouting the lyrics. Her request for Loretta had been lost, so she opted for the next best option, a sure crowd-pleaser. “Cause I’m a redneck woman, I ain’t no high class broad. . .”

Holding hands, Chloe and I followed Lakeshore Drive home from the bar, passing the familiar landmarks: the Harbour House, Kinosoo Beach, the MD Park. We were in agreement—the night had been quintessentially Cold Lake.

The next evening at the wedding--sometime between losing a dance off against a nine-year-old (I was told that she defeated me due to her use of “high kicks”—a move that if I’d tried to duplicate, I would have likely kicked her in the head—or worse, exposed myself) and arguing that Bunnicula, is, in fact, a real book series--there was a defining moment. As we related the story of our karaoke triumph to a captive (albeit somewhat inebriated) audience, a couple of guys piped up.

“We were there!” they told us, excited. “We were cheering for you!”

Indeed, it had been Cold Lake at its finest hour.

Scenes from a Small Town

2011-08-11T12:07:00.002-04:00

There are endless jokes about how flat the Prairies are. You can see your dog running away for days. When you leave your grandparents house, you can wave goodbye for three hours. And if you look very carefully into the distance, you can see the back of your own head.

It's not true.

(And even if it is, that's what makes it beautiful.)

Ghosts of the Kinosoo 3

2011-08-10T12:15:00.004-04:00

The challenge continues.

Before this building was empty, what was there?

Ghosts of Another Kind

2011-08-04T14:05:00.000-04:00

The first two weeks, I was consumed. It was the same struggle that I go through every time I come home--attempting to reconcile where I came from with where I live. Attempting to understand where I started and where I am.

My life is dichotomized. My Cold Lake life versus my Toronto life. My life before and after. They're two separate, parallel lines, rarely intersecting. And there's ghosts around every corner.

I never belonged here, but I don't belong there either. Neither was a life that I felt like I chose for myself. One I was born into and one I fell into by accident.

The most difficult challenge of all has been grappling to find the words to articulate all this.

I still haven't found them.

Fan Mail: Dear Wolfman Harvey

2011-08-02T13:37:00.002-04:00

Ghosts of the Kinosoo 2

2011-07-29T13:39:00.001-04:00

Until I have time to write a proper update, the challenge continues.

This is an easy one. Before this building was empty, what was there?

Growing Pains

2011-07-24T23:37:00.005-04:00

Saturday, August 24th, 2002, Cold Lake

Mom says there's nothing left for me in Cold Lake. She's right.

The weekend had ended and everyone was gone; the bride was on her honeymoon; the mom had picked up her toddler; and the wife had returned to her husband in Saskatchewan. As for the single childless visitor? She was home alone. So when I was invited out for a weeknight beer, I jumped at the chance.

We sat around the fire catching up. We hadn't been friends in high school, but somehow, we're friends now. I suppose there's a sense of solidarity amongst those in our graduating class who defied convention in some little way. In our case, we're all childless and unmarried.

But once the conversation moved beyond gossip, it progressed into uncomfortable territory: benefits packages and "options," mortgages and the cost of parking. They're all topics that I know nothing about.

The fact is that the longer I stay in Cold Lake, the more evident it's becoming that at some point I need to grow up. I keep thinking that maybe, just maybe, it's time to buckle down and work on being an adult. My extended adolescence has to end, right? And it should probably be soon.

There's no doubt that it's been an amazing year. I led a medical team through rural Guyana. I danced on a stage in a bikini and five-inch heels and somehow still became the People's Choice. I trained my very first dog how to high-five. I survived supervising 275 high school students on their grad trip in the Dominican Republic. I lost close to 15 lbs. I fulfilled my girlhood dreams by staying at a plantation in Louisiana. I trekked the Inca Trail on my third trip to South America in less than 12 months. And I started writing again.

While I was initially apprehensive about my layoff, it was hands-down the best thing that could have happened to me. In the last year, I've pushed myself further than I thought I could in every capacity--from learning choreographed dance routines (in stilettos, no less) to working in a developing country prison.

And yet, a year later, I'm back where I'm started--in Cold Lake, jobless, in debt, unmarried and without a single asset to my name. I don't think it's any coincidence that I started my year of unemployment here and I'm ending it here. Everything ends where it began.

These are the thoughts I've been carrying around with me for days.

Monday, December 30, 2002, Edmonton

I don't want to have. . .earned a university degree and had a chance for success but given it up so I could be a Cold Laker for life. But more so, I want success for myself. Because I don't want the monotony. . .I want to continually learn and question. . . I want to defy the typical route. . . This is my resolution for the new year.

Today as I saying my goodbyes at North Bay (with the very honourable intentions of behaving like an adult and actually going home to do my work so that I can play tomorrow), Hannah said something out of the blue that made me stop for a moment.

"I think it's really cool that you go places and do all these different things," she told me earnestly.

And that's when it hit me--when I was Hannah's age, this is how I imagined myself as an adult. I'm living the life I always wanted to.

May 23, 2003, Finland

Official resolutions for when I return home: Write. (In journals is not enough.) Work damn hard ASAP to pay off your debt and travel to the places where you want to go. . .

My bank account may be empty, but my journal is filled with plane ticket stubs and memories. I may not own a home, but I know that I'm welcome on couches and floors across the world. I may not be married, but I have a partner who is the most supportive boyfriend that I could have ever imagined having in my life. I may not have a real job, but I'm passionate about the work that I do.

And if this isn't adulthood, then I'm excited about all the growing up that I still have to do.

Ghosts of the Kinosoo

2011-07-21T23:57:00.001-04:00

Cold Lake, in some ways, exemplifies what has become the modern ghost town; while new subdivisions and box-store complexes rapidly spring up, local businesses--which were once mainstays of the community--struggle to make ends meet. In most lake towns, the lakeshore is the hub of the community's activity. But in Cold Lake, it's nothing more than a row of abandoned businesses.

We're not exactly Detroit, but here even the local watering holes aren't safe--which is particularly surprising given the growing Newfie population.

As I've been walking up and down Cold Lake's streets, I couldn't help but try to remember--before they were empty, what was there?

So here's the game: over the next couple of weeks, I'm going to be posting photos of buildings in Cold Lake. Your job is to tell me: before this building was empty, what was there?

Status Updates

2011-07-20T15:26:00.004-04:00

I've been in Cold Lake since Thursday. Usually, this equates to a ton of Facebook status updates and blog posts, but I've been without Internet access for the last week. So throughout the weekend, I made notes of what my status updates might have said.

Friday, July 15

1:00 PM

Lakehouse FTW.

7:00 PM

The servers at Picante didn't know what they were up against. I miss the Harbour House.

9:30 PM

Feel really bad for Econoline Crush. They've been reduced to playing indoor soccer fields in Cold Lake. Man, they must miss 1999. (I do, too.)

9:43 PM

"No direct eye contact!" (This how you avoid talking to people you know in a small town.)

11:15 PM

Time to drop the Toronto music snob pretension. I love Cold Lake and OLP. If only it was 2001.

12:30 AM

"That's the thing about Cold Lake. It always makes you feel like you're 18 again."

12:59 AM

At a stag party. Only guys. (Obviously.) They're trying to convince us to strip. Haven't bothered to tell them it's futile.

Saturday, July 16

3:30 PM

Best wedding vows ever. "I promise to always love you, even though you're an Oilers fan."

4:00 PM

First wedding that I've ever cried at. Congrats Kate & Marc!

Sunday, July 17

2:00 PM

Days like today are the reason that Cold Lake will always be my favourite place in the world.

Tuesday, July 19

7:34 AM

Volunteering at a golf tournament in St. Albert. Someone just asked, "Are you the people's choice?" True story. My day has been made. (It doesn't hurt that my job is to pour Bailey's.)

6:15 PM

Highway 28, for the third time in less than a week. I only have to drive it seven more times in the next month. Feels like home.

Hate Mail: Dear Air Canada

2011-07-14T09:24:00.003-04:00

Dear Air Canada,

Twice a year, I board a plane in Toronto to make the journey home to northern Alberta. As a frequent flyer, I've long defended Air Canada whenever friends make complaints. Over the last seven years, Westjet and Air Canada have been interchangable for me as my air service provider of choice--until today.

This morning, I arrived at Pearson Airport with Brock (my dog) and my partner in tow. A month prior to my flight, I had made a reservation with Air Canada Cargo to book Brock on the same flight as me. My complaints are as follows:

1) I called Air Canada Cargo three times prior to my flight; once to make an inquiry, once to make my booking and a third time to confirm it. During these phone conversations, it was not indicated at any point that there was a drop-off location separate from the airport.

2) Nowhere on the Air Canada Cargo website does it clearly or explicitly state that shipments (including pets) need to be dropped off at a separate building that is a 20-minute drive from the airport. Apart from the name difference, it's not at all clear that the two businesses are separate.

3) On three separate occasions at the airport, I sought help and assistance and was given incorrect information:
a) Upon arrival at the airport, I immediately notified the kiosk attendant that I needed to check my dog with Air Canada Cargo. The attendant directed me to go to counter "C" and said this is where they would help me.
b) Upon arrival at counter "C," we stood in line only to be informed that we should be at counter "D." Again, we confirmed with the second attendant that this is where we should drop off our dog that we had booked with Air Canada Cargo.
c) While standing in line for counter D, a third attendant passed by and asked if we had already paid to ship our animal. Again, I told him that I had a booking with Air Canada Cargo. He confirmed that we were standing in the correct line.

4) Once we reached the front of the line, the counter agents let us know that we were in the wrong building to drop off our dog. However, they did not know the address or location of Air Canada Cargo, or even its distance from the terminal.

5) The counter agents told us that an embargo was in effect and that I would not be able to travel with my pet--despite my booking number and two confirmations phone calls with Air Canada Cargo. When I insisted that I could travel with Brock, they were helpful enough to call Air Canada Cargo to confirm this information. The only problem was they didn't know the phone number for Air Canada Cargo, which took two agents 10 minutes to find.

As a result of Air Canada's inability to adequately train their staff I nearly missed my flight, Brock nearly missed his flight and my partner was late for work. Being misinformed by three employees is unacceptable service.

Upon arrival at the Air Canada Cargo building, we were greeted by the most friendly and helpful staff we had encountered all morning. Their first comment? "Yah, it's a little confusing." Clearly our complaint is a common one. So why isn't anything being done to resolve this issue?

Sincerely,

Jessica

(Edit: I haven't sent this yet. Why? Because I have a sneaking suspicion that Brock is going to end up in Edmonton hours after me, despite being booked on the same flight.)

This is part of a a possible new blog series called "Hate Mail." If you have any complaints about Air Canada, leave them in the comments below and I'll be happy to pass them on when I actually mail this letter.

Game Changers

2011-07-08T15:52:00.002-04:00

Two weeks later, I finally got a chance to write about Peru. Check it out over on my travel blog.

June Savings: Year of the Deal

2011-07-05T15:59:00.005-04:00

Like May, June was an abysmal failure when it came to attempting to track my spending. I was in Peru for 10 days, so I tried to modify my goal. Instead of tracking my monthly spending, I was going to determine exactly how much a trip to Peru, souvenirs and all, cost me.

It was a stupid and ill-planned goal. Receipts are hard to come by in Peru and the last thing I wanted to do on vacation was to write down all my purchases and then convert them to Canadian currency.

It cost me a lot of money to go to Peru, particularly when you factor in the cost of replacing my stolen camera. But it was worth every dime. So instead, some triumphs:

$6 each for a private room with ensuite our first night in Lima
75-minute massages with hot stones (much deserved directly following the pickpocket incident) for roughly $15
75-minute pedicures, complete with paraffin wax for roughly $12
Alpaca mittens bought one very cold morning for $3
At $568 per person (plus $55 each for a shared porter), Enigma's Classic Inca Trail Trek was a steal. We had three-course gourmet meals and snacks daily, along with an exceptional guide and a small group. Similar Canadian and American tour operators charge up to $1000 for the same service.
Chloé got food poisoning in Lima. While this was far from a triumph, it certainly stretched the beer budget a bit further. We made the best of it by watching movies in our hostel and buying snack food from the grocery store.

I'm basically bleeding dough, but my life is awesome so I don't really care right now. It leads me to believe that maybe I've been going about this the wrong way--maybe instead of focusing on saving money, I should shift my focus to making money?

Year of the Deal: June Savings

Grocery Purchases: $366.14
Pharmacy Purchases: $13.40
Total Spent: $379.54

Coupons Used: $46.00
2011 Coupon Savings to Date: $367.97

Incan Adventures

2011-06-28T11:30:00.000-04:00

I'm back from Peru.

Stories to come shortly, as soon as I have photos to accompany them.

(Sigh.)

Farm Fresh

2011-06-15T22:42:00.006-04:00

As a preteen, one of my most prized possessions was a magnetic address book. It was issued by the Girl Guides of Canada and in blue script on the its gold front it said "Make new friends but keep the old." I liked to thumb through its accordion pages, looking at all the addresses and phone numbers I had acquired at various camps and events.

To be honest, I think I was more interested in making new friends than keeping the old.

I wrote that first paragraph a couple of days ago, with honourable intentions to write a blog post about the following: unlikely friendships; why freelancing is awesome; and why local food is important, but organic food is overrated (complete with quotes from a farmer named Wilf).

But I've been insanely busy getting paid to write (that's right, I had work this week!) and suddenly it's 10:30 pm on a Wednesday and I'm leaving for Peru tomorrow. I'm not even done packing yet.

So there will be no words tonight. Instead, please enjoy some photos of my week, which hopefully convey these three thoughts adequately:

All geared up at the Organic Meadow factory. (And yes, of course I asked them about the milk bags. They had no reasonable explanation and also seemed to think it's a little weird. Or at least that's how I read it.)

The lovely Melissa makes a rescue.

The Outhouse

2011-06-14T16:52:00.003-04:00

"It's a really nice outhouse," one of the interns at The New Farm told me. "It's actually my favourite place on the farm."

I couldn't tell me whether she was joking or not. "No, seriously, it's nice and quiet," she said, explaining that privacy at The New Farm is at a premium. "You need to try it." She pointed me down a path and behind the barn.

It smelled like cedar and there was little graffiti. Despite the cobwebs, it earned points for having plenty of toliet paper. As I peed, I looked out onto the green field under grey skies. In the distance, cars roared past.

She was right. It was a very nice outhouse.

Good Riddance

2011-06-09T11:50:00.002-04:00

If you could give one piece of advice to graduating students, what would it be?

As my Facebook newsfeed fills up with prom photos (courtesy of that one time I spent a week in Punta Cana with 275 high school students), I've been grappling with this question. Unlike Mary Schmich, I'm not sure that instructing students to wear sunscreen would be my primary concern.

I guess the more I think about it, the more that I'm beginning to realize that the real question is if you could give any piece of advice to your graduating self, what would it be?

I was smart at 18. I knew certain intrinsic truths that a high school student shouldn't know. I knew then that I wouldn't always have pink hair or weigh 110 lbs. I knew that after graduation, my best friends wouldn't be my friends. (This was a truth that I should have kept to myself. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy in that way.) I knew that most of the girls in my graduating class would stay in Cold Lake and have families--and I knew that I didn't want that for myself.

When I was 18, I hated the phrase "when you get into the real world." High school is part of the real world, although it's an unforgiving and harsh version of reality.

I knew that it was useless to try and figure out what I wanted to do with my life, because it would change along the way. I knew that I was going to travel, although I'm not sure I realized to what extent. I knew that regret was a wasted emotion. I knew that I had to wear sunscreen.

But there's a lot of things I didn't know.

I knew I wouldn't stay in Alberta, but I never thought I'd move to Ontario. I had no idea that Cold Lake would someday become just another part of the rural mythologies that I'd regal Toronto friends with. I didn't know that it would take me six (!) years to finish school. I thought I'd never drink. I didn't know that my idealistic conquests would, in fact, become less important and that as a result, I would become less self-righteous.

I had no idea that people would cut me out of their lives, for reasons I still can't even begin to understand. I didn't know that my family would come tumbling apart and that home would never be the same. I didn't know, or even believe, that I'd ever fall in love. (And I've fallen in love more times than I can count.)

But it's the things I knew that helped me along the way.

Even after being told dozens of times that "high school is the best time of your life," I knew that it was only going to get better.

A Sucker for Science

2011-06-07T16:09:00.003-04:00

On Fridays at 9:00 am, Dave* would take my blood pressure, hand me a breathalyzer and make me pee in a cup. If I wasn't drunk or knocked up (which, luckily, is typically the case on Friday mornings) he would hand me the pill bottle. One by one, I'd swallow the blue capsules, chasing them with Five Alive.

And then, I would wait. It would be nearly three hours before the medication kicked in.

The windowless waiting room was like the land before time. Once I was done catching up on all the celebrity gossip from 2004 (don't worry guys--Jen and Brad aren't going to break up!), I'd read the Toronto Star's speculations about the mayoral race. Feeling sleepy and bored, I'd peruse the VHS collection (Mickey Blue Eyes and a copy of Jumanji taped off TV) before giving in and watching the Price is Right. (Unfortunately, it was the only thing of this decade--Drew Carey instead of Bob Barker.)

Two hours and 45 minutes later, Dave would return and the testing would begin.

_____________________________________________

Only months before, Jay had been livid when he found out that I had called a pharmaceutical agency. In exchange for the right to give me mystery injections, they offered $10,000. To me, it seemed like a small price to pay. But to Jay, it was the worst idea ever.

I barely take ibuprofen, he reminded me. Why did I want to risk my health, just for quick cash? I tried to reason with him. "But I could be part of the test group," I argued. "Maybe for $10,000 they would just give me a placebo!" He wasn't having any of it. So I promised him that I wouldn't turn my body into a wasteland for yet-to-be-approved drugs from Big Pharma.

And yet that didn't stop me from occasionally replying to ads on craigslist. (I don't know if it was the boredom or the poverty that made me do it. Unemployment makes you do strange things.) Selling my eggs was off the table, because I don't even know if I want my own babies, so I don't know why anyone else would want them. I tried to sign up for a brain imaging study at the U of T, but they never called me. And as it turns out, all the postings for market research groups are a scam.

So when I saw the posting for the gambling study, I felt like I'd hit the jackpot. It wasn't testing for side effects of medications--instead, it was looking at the pharma-neurological effects of different Health Canada approved drugs. Most of these drugs have been in existence for years and are readily available. And I'm 100% healthy. What could possibly go wrong?

One telephone interview, in-person consultation and doctor's appointment later, I was declared eligible for the study. (All I had to do was sign a contract, give five vials of blood and two urine samples, get hooked up to an EKG and undergo a hour-long psychological exam in which I had to discuss everything from Kenny's suicide to my fear of heights. It was easy, really.)

It seemed too good to be true."I'm a lab rat," I happily told anyone who would listen. I was getting paid to gamble. It was going to be awesome.

_____________________________________________

After what seemed like hours, Dave came in to collect me from the waiting room.

First, we'd go into a room decorated to look like a pub, complete with '70s vinyl walls and bottles of liquor-coloured liquid behind the bar. Two slot machines sat in the corner and for 15 minutes, I'd sit alone and hit the button to spin the wheels. Then it was time to do some rapid reading tests on computers that ran on MS-DOS. By 2:00 pm, after sufficiently burning my retinas on the 486 computer screens, I had earned my $200 for the day. I was discharged by the nurse and sent home in a cab.

It was easy money and most of all, it was interesting. During my first year at the U of A, I participated in uncompensated studies just for fun. What can I say? I'm a sucker for science.

But two weeks ago, after my second test session, I was so exhausted that I nearly fell asleep in the cab home. "It's just the medication," I reminded myself, "I'll go home and sleep it off and be a good as new by 5:00 pm."

Brock whined at me as I stumbled in the door. I ignored him and went straight to bed. I tried to wake up at 5:30. And again at 6:30. And again at 7:00. Jay came home and I tried to come downstairs. But my vision was blurry, my depth perception was off, I couldn't stop pacing and I was exhausted. It burned behind my eyes and nothing seemed real. I went back upstairs to bed.

And I slept.

When I finally did wake up nearly 24 hours later, I didn't feel any better. I bit the bullet and cancelled my own birthday party before going back to bed.

As I lay in there, barely lucid, Jay read aloud the Wikipedia entry for haloperidol, the drug I had been prescribed. "They used it in the Soviet Union to punish prisoners and to 'break their will,'" Jay told me angrily. "No wonder you feel like this--you've been given an antipsychotic."

I didn't recover until I woke up on Sunday morning. My first order of business was to send Dave an email, letting him know that I would be dropping out of the study. Jay was right--no amount of money was worth sacrificing my health for.

The moral of the story is this: Sometimes, when someone says, "I told you so," it's not enough to simply say, "You're right." Sometimes, you have to write an entire blog post about your own stupidity and lack of foresight in order to really admit your faults.

I was very wrong. And Jay told me so.

*Name has been changed.

Portfolio Site Launch

2011-06-04T12:42:00.004-04:00

Exciting news! After months of owning my domain name, I finally uploaded work samples to my portfolio site. Take a look and let me know what you think:

www.jesslockhart.com

There's still some glitches on the site and I definitely need help: I need to make the background image static (or is it supposed to be dynamic?) so it doesn't move when the window is resized. Ideally the sidebar would always appear as I have it in the screenshot above. (You can click to enlarge.) If someone with a solid understanding of CSS/Blogger templates could give me a hand, it would be appreciated!

Things I Really Hate

2011-06-03T11:28:00.009-04:00

It's been over five years since I wrote my first official (yet incomplete) list of things I hate. So I thought it'd be an interesting exercise to revisit that list.

The rules are simple: any item on the list has to be something that isn't inherently hateable. So, for example, you wouldn't find "bad drivers" or "dog shit on your shoe" on the list, because nobody really likes those things. In other words, items on the list are things that you know you're supposed to like, but you just, well. . .don't.

Things I Hate

1. Slow walkers/cyclists

The only time slow walking is appropriate is if you have a limp, are carrying a television down the street or are a 63-year-old Asian woman in Chinatown on Sunday morning. Then it's okay.

2. Sandwiches

This refers mainly to cold sandwiches. You know the ones--they come on a party platter from the grocery store surrounded by cherry tomatoes and parsley and oozing tuna. They're often served at funerals. Gross. I don't even need to explain why this is the worst thing ever. (Grilled cheese sandwiches or paninis, however, are in a league of their own. Mainly because they're delicious.)

The worst is Subway sandwiches, particularly if you're vegetarian.

3. Tuna

It smells gross, it contains mercury and it kills dolphins. There is NOTHING to love about tuna.

4. Celery

Celery's only redeeming characteristic is its ability to hold peanut butter. It has little nutritional value, tastes disgusting and is stringy.

5. Snorkelling

Why wouldn't you just put a mask on, put your head under water and hold your breath? Breathing through a disgusting, unhygienic tube just seems kind of pointless.

6. Paddle boats

Paddle boats always seem like they're going to be really fun. (Even I get caught up in the excitement.) But then you get inside and you're like, "Man, this is way too much effort for way too little fun." Fact.

7. Stand-up comedy

I can't get over the contrived aspect of stand-up comedy. It also usually relies on bad impressions and stereotypes about gender, race and midgets, which makes it incredibly not funny. Situational stand-up comedy on public radio is sometimes okay, though.

8. Leather couches

Gross. (Although now that I have a dog, I'm beginning to wish I could clean my couch with ease.)

9. Windy days

I don't like having street filth whipped at my face. Windy days are only permissible in the following two situations: when I want to fly my kit and when I want to go sailing. In any other circumstance, wind should never exceed a gentle, caressing breeze.

10. When smokers throw their butts on the ground

Listen, if you're going to smoke, that's your prerogative. But when you throw your smoke onto the ground (especially when you're standing directly in front of one of the new public garbage cans with a space specially designed for cigarettes) that just pisses me off. These same people wouldn't even consider throwing a used coffee cup or plastic bag on the ground. But a cigarette butt? They do it all day, every day. Litterbugs!

11. Amusement parks

In what other situation would you spend between $50 and $100 to be able to stand in line all day surrounded by screaming, whining children? In an eight-hour day at an amusement park, you experience 17 minutes of fun (if you're lucky) and 463 minutes of standing in line inhaling germs.

At Canada's Wonderland in 2006. A rare moment not standing line.

12. iPhone users

I'm a luddite, I know. But seriously, I'd love to go out for dinner with someone without them checking their Facebook or using Maps to figure out where we are. (Speaking of, everybody needs to go read this article from the Walrus about how GPS technology is rewiring and rotting our brains.)

13. Cottage country

Don't get me wrong, I love going to cottages. I just think there's something inherently depressing about the concept of cottage country. I still haven't pinpointed this hatred yet, but it has something to do with working in a disgusting polluted city for 340 days of the year, just so you can afford to go be "with nature" for the other 16 days. Unless your profession demands that you live in Toronto, why wouldn't you just move someplace where real estate costs are lower and where you don't have to check smog warnings in the morning?

It's not cottages that I hate. It's just the concept.

14. Food with a face

If I never have to see someone eat a whole lobster again in my life, I'll be happy.

Things I No Longer Hate (and why my feelings have changed)

1. The LCBO

All my original arguments still apply. But it's become a fact of life. I have no other options.

2. Pennies

They're readily available on the ground and a valid form of currency. Free money, everywhere, on the ground? Yes, please! (Also, I like to pay for things in exact change.)

3. MySpace

This was a very 2006 pre-Facebook type of hate. MySpace is now great for listening to music.

4. Dr. Phil

I think this appeared on the list because I was still living at China, where it felt like the TV was on all the time. Again, is Dr. Phil even still around?

5. Emoticons

Back in 2006, I spent a lot of time on msn messenger, like everyone else. Remember the days?

I'm curious: what do you really hate and why?

May Savings: Year of the Deal

2011-06-02T11:51:00.011-04:00

Tracking My Spending

May was the worst possible month to start tracking my spending in. (Mainly because I spent a lot.) I still don't know how to dissect or use the information yet, so I'm going to continue tracking my spending over the next month or two before I start creating a budget.

As for May, here's a couple of examples of areas I spent way too much (although sometimes justified):

Transportation: $249.59

This makes me cringe. I paid $75 to have my bike fixed, but then the weather was so crummy that I took the streetcar for 90% of the month. I took a taxi one night because it was pouring out. I also drove an AutoShare car out to the airport to meet my brother (who was on a layover) for lunch.

Entertainment: $179.45

Since it rained all month, I went to the movies three times. This is going to be a hard expense to cut down on.

Fitness: $112.99

New running shoes. My toes were literally popping out the side of my old ones, which I purchased for $30.00 at Payless three years ago.

Income

I've started to track my income and file away my invoices in some sort of logical manner. Yay me!

But I still don't have a handle on how to manage the ebb and flow of incoming money. It seems like I keep getting paid for projects in big chunks, followed by periods of time where I don't have any income. (For instance, I just got paid this month for work I did in February, but I anticipate that I won't have any paycheques again until July or August.)

Debt Repayment

I have no idea how to track my debt repayment vs. the amount of debt I accumulate in a money. (For instance, new credit card charges as opposed to what I pay off. And how does interest factor in? So many questions!) To further complicate matters, there's currently a constant flow of money between Chloé and I (for Peru trip bookings), and Jay and I (I do most of the shopping and he pays me back half).

I seriously need help. If, by some miracle, I'm selected as Moneyville's blogger, this is the first thing I'll be consulting with an expert to figure out.

Free Stuff

Chloé suggested that rather than just tracking everything I spend, I should also record all the free stuff I get. Here's everything I got for free in May:

Purex laundry detergent sample (ordered online)
Ticket to the Railway Children (through media connections)
$20 Metro gift certificate (redeemed Airmiles)
6 cupcakes (Groupon rewards)
Wine and appetizer from College Street Bar (through media connections)
Vector cereal (free with coupon)
Wine and appetizer at Enoteca Sociale (through media connections)
Poutine and milkshake at Stampede Bison Grill (through media connections)
$100 at Shoppers (bonus redemption weekend)
John Frieda shampoo sample (Facebook fanpage)
Express Abs class (30 minutes) at FlirtyGirlFitness
Crystal Light samples (Facebook fanpage)
Free lunch at Boston Pizza for driving Chloé to a secret mission

It was also my birthday month. I was spoiled this year! (This dress was a gift).

Year of the Deal: May Savings

Grocery Purchases: $329.49
Pharmacy Purchases: $118.97
Total Spent: $448.46

Coupons Used: $187.02
2011 Total Coupon Savings to Date: $321.97

Our use of coupons this month was amazing! Although costs in general were high, on one grocery shop we used more than $40.00 in coupons. (The manager actually came over to watch. "We've got some extreme couponing going on over here," he said. It was mildly embarrassing.) We redeemed Airmiles this month, as well as our Shoppers Optimum Points on a bonus weekend.

My pharmacy purchases look high, but it actually reflects that I bought all my allergy medication for the summer. We've also now got enough personal care and cleaning products to last us for the next six months. I love Shoppers, but I'm going to try a ban this month to compensate for the very expensive month of May.

Unemployment/Work Update

Um, can I just skip this part? It's a constant cycle of pitch and pray.

I am probably not Moneyville's next blogger.

2011-06-01T10:05:00.004-04:00

So, I haven't had any story pitches shot down lately. That's a good thing, right? Only problem is that I also haven't heard back from any editors. Sigh. So I figured it didn't hurt to put another pitch out there, this time in the format of an entry to Moneyville's Next Blogger Contest:

(The truth is, I just wanted an excuse to repost this picture of Canice from 2006.)

I’m going to be candid here—I’m not a financial expert. In fact, I’m financially illiterate. I’m a walking episode of ‘Til Debt Do Us Part. I’m Britney Murphy in Uptown Girls. I’m Biggie Smalls, still waiting to sip champagne when I’m thirsty.

So you’re probably wondering—what am I doing blogging here?

Here’s my story: After six years, I graduated with a bachelor’s degree. My debt made it impossible to take an internship in my field, so I got a job working for a non-profit organization. For three years, I happily lived paycheque-to-paycheque.

Then came the layoff. I had no assets, no emergency fund and a staggering amount of debt. It was a situation I didn’t plan for. (And I’m not the only one. According to the Task Force on Financial Literacy’s 2010 report, young Canadians are not only struggling in making ends meet—they also don’t know how to plan ahead.)

The problem is that I just don’t get it. I’m not ready to discuss portfolios, unless you’re talking about a new kind of cute handbag. While my peers break down mortgage payments with ease, I feel like I’m making major steps forward just because I found a coupon for $0.50 off toothpaste. The most embarrassing part? My dad is a financial planner. (I’m cursing myself for skipping “take your kid to work day.”)

But here’s the good news—while I may not be a personal finance guru, I’m smart enough to know I need help.

Over the next three months, I’m going to share with readers my journey to become financially literate and self-employed. This won’t be a blog about high-end investing—it will be about the basics that 20-somethings need to know to get out of debt. I’m going to ask experts all the stupid questions so you don’t have to.

But where should I start? Should I be clipping coupons, building an investment portfolio or saving for retirement? I spoke with Jeremy Vohwinkle from Generation X Finance to find out. Here’s what he recommends:

1. Build a budget. “Nobody likes to budget but it helps put things into perspective,” Vohwinkle says. “Once you get a handle on that, it’s a lot easier to put a little extra towards retirement.”

2. Take an active interest in educating yourself. Unlike Gen X, which was in what Vohwinkle calls “the dark ages” when it came to personal finance, Gen Y has access to a wealth of online knowledge.

3. Don’t get carried away with investments—but do plan ahead. “People think they have to wait until they get their debt under control before they can start saving,” says Vohwinkle. “That’s a mistake because the more time you have, the more that compound interest can do its magic.” He recommends putting away as little as $25 to $30 per paycheque.

4. Determine your long-term goals. “The younger you are, the better position you are in to begin putting a dent into those goals.”

My Best Financial Tip: Hard up for bus fare? For quick cash, scour money off the floor of your favourite dance bar. Watch out for girls in high heels, though. They will pulverize your hands.

I even got Ramsey in the act of going through the couches at Stone's Place.

What I would blog about next:

Idea #1: How do you know when your business is generating enough revenue to declare yourself self-employed? I talk to Revenue Canada and an accountant who specializes in self-employment to find out. Plus: I consult with a psychic to determine long-term goals--and readers weigh in on whether I should follow the advice.

Idea #2: How do you safely consolidate your finances with your common-law partner? I make less than $30,000 a year. My partner makes three times that amount. I find out how we should protect ourselves financially as a young common-law couple. Plus: I talk to a relationship counselor about navigating the relationship hurdles around unequal income.

Idea #3: Want to know how to coupon for your lifestyle? Not sure what to do with all those diaper and infant formula coupons? No room to build a stockpile in your 600-square-foot condo? I share with readers the secrets to couponing for the urban young professional.

I'm still here.

2011-05-25T12:47:00.001-04:00

There are lot of ways I could have died yesterday:

I woke up at 5:30 am. (Yes, in my books this is a death-defying feat.)

I drove 358 km on a 400-series highway.

I accidentally ate meat sauce.

I biked 4.3 km home in rush hour traffic without a helmet on.

Later, I biked 6 km to trivia in a dress. Five minutes into my ride I realized that someone had tried to steal my quick-release front tire. (They apparently didn't bother to check if it was locked before unscrewing it.) Thankfully, I was riding uphill. The dress is now covered in grease. (A small price to pay in exchange for avoiding a horrific biking accident.)

I lost at trivia. Turns out that two brains are not enough. (That was our team name, by the way.) Our performance was so poor, in fact, that we won a pint of beer for the lowest score. (It's unlikely that my poor performance would have resulted in death, but I'm not going to rule it out.)

I biked 6 km home in the cold dark.

There were lots of ways I could have met my untimely demise yesterday.

And yet, I'm still here.

So today, I'm going to celebrate being 27, an age I honestly thought I'd never reach. I'm going to do all my favourite things. I'm going to eat coke bottle candies for breakfast and pasta for lunch. I'm going to drink coffee while listening to music and blogging. I'm going to take Brockton to the dog park. And while I bask in the sun and Brock tumbles in the sand, I'm going to plot my next adventure. I'm going to go to go for a jog. I'm going to read new books from the public library on my patio. I'm going to cuddle with Jay and tell him how lucky I am to know him.

I have a good life and it's only getting better.

Today, I'm going to promise myself that no matter how many birthdays come to pass--even when I'm bald and my breasts sag to my bellybutton--I will never going to complain about how old I'm getting. Instead, I'm going to celebrate each birthday as another day that I'm still here.

The Rapture

2011-05-20T16:15:00.005-04:00

In the summer of 2005, I spent four months working for the government in Bonnyville and Cold Lake. Here’s a not-so-surprising fact about government-funded summer desk jobs in isolated communities—they’re really boring. So it should also come as no surprise that 2005 was also the summer of my epic correspondence with Paul #2 started.

Readers of the 2005 incarnation of my blog (“I Enjoy Being a Slut,” which focused on my dating misadventures) will recall that Paul #2 was the second in a series of Pauls. (Oddly enough, I referred to the first Paul as The Newfie.) After developing a crush on the back of his head in class, I worked up the nerve to talk to him at China’s legendary “Green Light, Red Light” housewarming party. He showed up wearing a green sticker, indicating he was single. All signs said go.

This is not Paul #2. This is Tristan at the Red Light Green Light Party

But a week later I returned to Alberta before our relationship had the time to take off. But as luck would have it, his career was just starting and my summer job was painfully boring, so we both had a lot of time on our hands. We started emailing and soon our messages evolved into the Question Game. Here's how it worked:

1. I would write a question.
2. Paul #2 would answer the question, then add his own question.
3. I would answer Paul #2’s question, answer my own previous question, then write a new question.
4. Paul #2 would answer my question, answer his own previous question, then write a new question.

A typical email would go something like this:

Q57 (Paul’s Question): what 7 letter word would you use for your phone number if you could? (Jessica does not count.)

A (Jess’ Answer)- seven letter words are challenging. In scrabble, they are "bingo" words. Hmmm, I'm counting on my fingers right now. prodart. As in, professional dart player. Yah, that's right! (776.3278)

A (Paul’s Answer): spatula.... or quackle, which i found on a website that only had 7 letter words and thought it amusing, but now webster is telling me it means to suffocate or to choke, so maybe not.

Q 58 (Jessica’s Question)- Name the last person you were addicted to and why?

A (Paul’s Answer) i like to think that i am somewhat addicted to you, your emails anyways... though prior it was a few years ago - a girl named beth. I just thought she was an amazing person, and i felt lucky to be able to spend time with her. after we stopped seeing each other i still thought about her. that's how i know i was addicted, you wish you could be with them when they're gone.

Q 59 (Paul’s Question): Have you ever had a supernatural experience?

When I wasn't getting paid by the government to give away free cotton candy at the marina, I was otherwise wasting tax-payers dollars by sending excessively long emails to Paul #2.

The questions were diverse, ranging from the goofy to the serious. By the end of the summer, nothing was off-limits. That’s probably why I confessed to Paul #2 something that I don’t think I’ve told anyone before—or since.

And then, a couple of weeks ago, I realized that with my birthday next week and with the rapture tomorrow, there needed to be some sort of public record of this. It's time to share.

I’ve always been convinced that I would not live past 26.

Now that that's out of the way, it may surprise you to know that the origin of this belief is much more embarrassing to publicly admit than the fear itself.

But I'm going to anyway.

Way back in 1996, when I was about 11, I came across a TV show on ancient prophecies. At the time, I was obsessed with witchcraft and the paranormal, so it’s no surprise that I stopped channel surfing to watch. In 2012, the show told me, technology would turn against us. Waffle irons and fax machines would attack. Animals would go crazy. Houses would collapse. People would die.

Laying in bed that night, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was filled with images of computer printers sucking me in and ovens incinerating people. I did the math. I would be 26 in December 2012, I determined. (Math never has been my strong suit.) It was clear to me that people would die in 2012. And I would be one of those people. It was, I think, the first time that I really began to think about mortality.

I didn’t sleep that night.

Or the next.

Images of food processors attacking plagued me whenever I tried to shut my eyes. And this strange fear, the very belief that I would die at 26, didn’t fade with time. As a teenager, it was such an acute belief, that I couldn’t be bothered to plan my life beyond my mid-twenties. I didn’t develop much of an interest in getting married or having kids because I didn’t think I’d be around long enough to do so. And sure, I’d pick a university major. But actually pursuing a career? What would be the point? (Until a couple of years ago, the possibility didn’t even dawn on me that maybe, just maybe, I should actually plan or save for my late 20s.)

The one good thing about thinking you’re going to die at 26 is that it causes you to push yourself to live your life to an extreme. I've been "seizing the decade," if you will.

There's no succinct or happy conclusion to this story. Just an embarrassing admission.

However, for your viewing pleasure there is this--the very TV show that caused me to become an insomniac. I encourage you to fast-forward to the 4:00 minute mark to let the sheer terror set in. Enjoy!

27 Candles

2011-05-17T09:29:00.001-04:00

As a consequence of having acquired a common-law partner, I seriously doubt that I have any mysterious benefactors out there (it really comes as no surprise that my male readership has dropped substantially over the last four years). But just in case there's some Internet perv out there who wants to buy me stuff, here's what I want for my birthday this year:

Lulu Lemons

With exactly a month left until I'll be boarding my plane to Peru, I'm desperately in need of new Lulu Lemons. I bought one pair in 2006 and I've since worn them faithfully through Vanuatu, Australia, Guyana and on countless plane rides across Canada. They never stretch out, they dry quickly and they can (arguably) be dressed up or down.

But they're expensive and unfortunately the knock-offs just won't do. (Trust me, I've tried. Nothing quite repels the smell of week-old backpacking filth like my trusty Lulus.) My current ones are pilled and worn and with four days of hiking planned, it would be nice to have two pairs.

Laptop/All Purpose Tote Bag
I'm not a purse girl. Not only do I hate the word purse, I hate the act of carrying them. As a result, my bag selection is limited to the bare necessities (a blue satin clutch for weddings, a vintage black snakeskin purse for the rare night out, a small over-shoulder bag that just fits my phone and wallet, and my everyday tote for coupon-carrying). So every time I leave the house to do work, I turn into a bag lady--one bag for my wallet and another for my laptop and work notes.

And while I love carrying my work things in my Toronto Public Library tote, I hate carrying multiple bags. I'd love to have just one nice-looking tote that I can fit everything into, including my MacBook.

Pampering
I've been joking a lot lately that I can't tell the difference between the hipsters and the homeless in Parkdale. I think that this statement may shortly apply to me.

I need a hair cut. Seriously. I've been cutting my own hair with a pair of shears purchased from the drug store. I suspect a child could do a better job. Throw in a pedicure and I'll be a happy girl.

Tattoo Time!
I haven't gotten a tattoo in nearly three years now and I have something in mind. Two things in mind, actually.

However, unlike all those "street" kids sitting at the corner of Bathurst and Queen, I don't have disposable income to spend on getting inked.

The LBD
I want every single dress and playsuit on the Motel Rocks website right now. (But if I really have to narrow it down, my top choices are the Bella dress in Night Sky Grey, the Dalphine Triangle dress, the Erica Triangle dress, the Melissa dress, the Lesley dress in peach or black, the Nina dress in black. I don't ask for much.) UK size 10 please.

[Edit: After finding a 25% off promo code online, I broke down and bought the Bella and Melissa dresses. I seriously need Gail Vaz-Oxlade to come and take my credit card away. But at least I'll look cute when she does it.]

Bathrobe
On my way-too-practical birthday wish list, this has to be the most unsexy. Seriously, if a mysterious Internet benefactor was instructed to buy this for my birthday, I feel like he (or she--who knows?) would be seriously disappointed. I tried to counteract this request by choosing a sexy bathrobe picture--because obviously, this is always what I look like in a bathrobe. (And not this.)

My current bathrobe is begging to be retired. My grandma gave the flannel number to me in 2002 and after 10 years of daily use, its threadbare back has developed large holes.

Self-depricating? No, I'm just realistic.

2011-05-16T18:00:00.007-04:00

There's some aspects of starting out as a freelancer that make me feel a bit like a five-year-old clunking around the house in my dad's work shoes. They make feel grown-up, but to observers the overall effect is just comical.

Even the job title is clunky and unsettling. I try avoid saying it out loud. Instead, I prefer to tell people that I'm unemployed.

(Or, in the case that I'm talking to someone born before 1962, I might tell them that I work in international development. The term is just jargony enough that they pretend to know what they means--but they really have no idea, so there's little opportunity for awkward follow-up questions. Or, if I'm feeling particularly in need of establishing that, contrary to my appearance, I'm not a 21-year-old general arts undergrad, I might even go so far as to say that I'm an "international development practitioner." But I'm not. I suppose in conversation with non-profit peers I could legitimately refer to myself as "field staff." But then I run the risk of hearing about the three years they spent working with genocide victims in the Congo and how they single-handedly started an organization that gives refuge to blind children orphaned by HIV/AIDS. And then my measly two weeks in Guyana would just sound kind of lame.)

There's less shame in being unemployed. It's arguably less embarrassing than trying to pass myself as a "freelance writer." (I would never, ever say "freelance journalist." That would imply that I actually know what I'm doing. And it would likely result in uncomfortable conversations about "the media," which has to be my least favourite idiom. Except that I'm not even sure that that term is technically an idiom. This just serves to further illustrate that I don't know what I'm doing here.) In fact, I'm sure if I told people that I was a childless stay-at-home wife, it would be more publicly acceptable.

Seriously.

My friends (that would be the ones with gainful employment at national publications) can't seem to understand my reluctance. I should embrace my career change! (Can one legitimately have a "career change" only three years out of school, particularly when the career that one is "changing" to is the same profession that one went to school for in the first place?) Pitching should be easy. In fact, I'm a step ahead--I've never had to sit in a radio room, I've never had to fetch anyone coffee, and I've never had to stay out late drinking with the editors just to make sure they remember my name.

But that's just the problem. I've never sat in a radio room. I've never fetched coffee. I've never been invited out drinking with my editors. (Other people's editors? Sure. But they definitely don't remember my name.)

I know that I'm not selling myself short here. Eight months of unemployment has given me plenty of time to evaluate what I am and am not good at. Just like I know I'm not good at choreographed dance routines, I know that I'm not good at pitches or story ideas. I am, however, good at meeting deadlines. I am not good at using commas and I use em-dashes in excess--but I can use a semi-colon correctly. I am not good at using big words (as evidenced from my "idiom" attempt above) or creating complex metaphors. And while I'm being completely honest here, my sense of story structure is probably a 6.5 out of 10. But I'm good at submitting clean work of the requested length. And that should count for something, right?

And I know that at some point, it will. But for now, if anyone asks, I'm unemployed.

In other news, last Thursday I attended a social media conference hosted by AutoShare, where I fell in love with Shawn Micallef and his tales of Rebel Mayor. I also got to listen to a ton of speakers present on why social media isn't the bee's knees. Particularly of interest was Nolin LeChasseur's presentation. He spoke about how people are desperate for information that will help them solve a problem in their lives. (Did you know that "how to" and "how do I" are the most commonly Googled phrases?) His number one rule for social media engagement? It's about them, not you.

For me, his presentation just reinforced that personal blogging is a form of public masturbation. It feels really good and people can't seem to look away--but it serves no real function. And at the end of the day, it's just kind of embarrassing.

Time to eat a grilled cheese sandwich.

[Edit: Much love to my personal champions and aforementioned friends who never seem to get annoyed by my way too frequent "I'm unemployed and chickenshit" self-pitying rants. Your verbal ass-kickings are the only reason I haven't given up yet.]

How to get your girlfriend what she actually wants for her birthday.

2011-05-15T17:55:00.006-04:00

It's Sunday, it's raining and Brock is contentedly destroying his monster toy (a Frankenstein toy comprised of various parts of previously destroyed toys). I have work to do, but instead I'm reviewing my budget and lamenting my negative bank account balance. What better way to turn the day around than to write my birthday wish list of things I want and need, but can't possibly afford!

A couple of weeks ago, Jay asked me what I want for my fast-approaching birthday. I had no idea, so I Googled it. (Yes, that's right. I actually typed "what do I want for my birthday?" into a search engine.) I should have known the results would be disastrous.

The results were appalling. The Internet is a smorgasboard of shitty service features on gifts you should and shouldn't get for your girl. (Blog post spoiler: candles are NOT "always a safe choice" "since most women like to decorate their rooms with them." The last time I got candles, I nearly cried from boredom. The guy in question told me that it was because his mom likes candles. Fact: Just because your mom likes it, doesn't mean your girlfriend will. Sub-fact: You are not dating your mom.) After reading the lists, I can't help but wonder who are these women who are "treating themselves to foot massages after a long day at work" while wearing their "personalized thong bikinis" anyway?

Okay, so I get that some people are just bad at gift-giving. I get that it's a nerve-wracking experience. I get that there are women out there who read into every little action when it comes to gifts, looking for fault or subtexts of marriage. And I get that some ladies actually like getting candles.

But if you're one of those guys who is going to categorically determine that your girlfriend is a "geeky girl" or a "fit chick" based on some shitastic man magazine article, maybe it's time to rethink being in a relationship altogether.

Fact: Maxim thinks its readers are stupid enough to believe it's 1958.

However, if you're mature enough to realize that your girlfriend doesn't fit into some tidy category, but you're still grappling for gift ideas, here are a couple of places to start:

Play to her childhood whimsy.

On the morning of my 24th birthday, Alex Dodd and I were setting out from Owen Sound to visit the Collingwood Caves. But instead of heading towards the highway, Alex started driving downtown. "We need to make a quick stop first," he told me cryptically. After parking the car, he led me, of all places, into a toy store. Once inside, he guided me to a display of stunt kites. "Pick one out," he told me, "and happy birthday."

Why a kite? Because weeks earlier, I had mentioned that when I was a kid, I loved flying kites. On weekends, my family would go out and fly a giant purple octopus in the field by our house. From a simple act of shared nostalgia came one of the most thoughtful (and unique) presents I've ever received.

Jewellery done right.

My first-ever boyfriend, Adam Wilson, gave me a pair of sterling silver heart earrings for my 15th birthday. I can remember the moment like it was yesterday--I remember the excitement of eagerly opening the blue velvet box, followed by immediate disappointment, and then the subsequent realization that if I didn't dump him (and soon), I would actually have to wear the things.

Because at 15, not only did I hate anything too feminine, I was also struggling to assert my individuality. And the person who was supposed to love me best for being me--the unique snowflake that I was--had just given me mass-produced heart-shared earrings. Barf.

You know that scene in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind when Clementine gets a necklace from Patrick (technically it was from Joel) and she's shocked at how to her taste it is? ("I've never gone out with a guy who bought me a piece of jewellery I liked," she tells him, surprised.) Let that scene serve as your inspiration--not the weekly special at People's Jewellers.

Contrary to what you've been led to believe, household appliances are not necessarily off-limits.

I like practical things. For my 25th birthday, Jay got me a Swiss Army Knife right before we took off for a backpacking tour of Croatia. It was simple, affordable and practical. Perfect.

But last year, his gift was so practical and perfect that it brought me to tears.

All week, co-workers and friends alike had been asking me what I was going to do if he proposed. (Or rather, in their minds, what I was going to do when he proposed.) And although I knew the likelihood of that occurring was highly improbable, there was a small part of me that worried they were right. So by the time my birthday rolled around, the idea had ingrained itself so deeply in my amygdala that when he took me to Trinity Bellwoods Park, with no gift in sight and insisted that I sit down to receive it, I was terrified. (To me, marriage is a conversation, not a question.)

Instead, he handed me a card. Inside was a picture of a KitchenAid stand mixer. Immediately, I started crying. Maybe it was from the surprise. Or maybe it was from the relief that it wasn't a ring. Either way, I was so happy. I love to bake and I've always wanted a KitchenAid.

Similarly, my circle of friends swoon over Dysons. They're a topic of dinner conversation at least every other month.

In conclusion, nothing is off-limits. We're adults, not teenage girls. Buying practical, is well, practical.

Celebrate them.

This is a story I've related to many female friends--both single and attached--and without fail, it makes them swoon:

Two years ago, I was at a hair salon getting a cut and colour. While there, I overheard a young blonde woman talking to her stylist. Her boyfriend had surprised her by sending her to the spa for the day. He was paying for her cut and colour before they went on a date that night. Cute, right?

But it gets better. When the blonde girl's hair was done, the stylist handed her a large box with a bow around it. (Turns out, the boyfriend had given the hairdresser instructions to present the box at the end of the appointment.) Inside was a black lace dress from Mendocino, a pair of black heels and a note instructing her to put them on. Both items fit her perfectly. Once she was dressed, her boyfriend showed up exactly on time to whisk her away on their date.

While I have no idea what the rest of the night entailed, I also have no doubt that it contained more surprises and careful planning. And that's the exact reason girls like this story--it isn't because they all want a new outfit, or to go to the salon for the day, or even to be surprised. It's because of the thought and planning that went into the gift. The dude had planned out the day for his girlfriend down to the very last detail, picking out things he knew that she would love.

And that's the thing--the point of celebrating birthdays isn't about getting older or eating cake or getting to be the centre of attention for just one day--it's about celebrating birth. It's about celebrating the fact that the person you love exists. And in the end, that's all anyone really wants on their birthday--to know that someone is grateful they were born and to be reminded that they're loved.

I need a home run.

2011-05-11T18:28:00.001-04:00

At the start of last week, it felt like everything was coming up Jessica. Two new potential contracts, one assignment and one job interview.

And then, just as suddenly, it just felt like I was striking out. Here's what happened:

The Job Interview

Looking for regular part-time employment has been a challenge. (Next month, I'm going to be trekking in Peru for 10 days. Following that, I'll be in Alberta for five weeks. Based on this alone, securing an appropriate part-time job is a near impossibility.) So when I got invited to attend an interview with a catering company, the flexibility seemed perfect.

On Wednesday evening, after playing lab rat all day (more on that later) I tarted myself up, jumped in the AutoShare car and drove up to Vaughn during rush hour. Of course, as it turns out, the interview wasn't just in Vaughn--it was in Maple. After nearly driving out of the city, I arrived just on time and walked into a banquet room filled with about a hundred 15-year-old boys filling out paper applications.

Without a question, I was the oldest applicant in the room. As I patiently waited in line to get an application from a woman conducting interviews, two other teenage girls came in late. "Can we get an application?" they asked, interrupting the interview. "Sorry girls," she told them, directing her comment at me, "because you came in late I don't have any left. Go sit at the back of the room."

I should have left then and there. But I had already paid for the AutoShare rental and I'm not a quitter.

For the next 20 minutes, I sat watching everyone fill out their applications. I noticed that across the room, new employees were being trained. That's when I realized that the job training would also be in Maple--and that it would be financially impossible for me to attend training. So I did something completely against the grain of my personality--without filling out an application or being interviewed, I walked out.

The Contract

Next up was the potential writing contract for an American hotel review website. After submitting an application, I had a telephone meeting with the company and found out that I was one of two writers being considered.

I felt pretty solid about my 50 per cent shot of securing the contract. I spent all weekend completing my test review and on Monday, I eagerly refreshed my email every 20 minutes. By Monday night, I had figured out that I didn't get the job.

Then on Tuesday, I received this email, which I've read about 10 times now:

I'm hung up on that one word: truly. Did the loss of this contract come as the consequence of a misplaced comma or two? (I'll admit that I really don't know how to use commas. I never have. I like them way too much and use them way too often.) Was it because I submitted my review two hours before the deadline, rather than a day before the deadline? Was it because the writing samples I sent through were two years old?

I don't want to know the answers to these questions. At the end of the day, it wasn't even about the money. It was about the experience and the chance to add some work to my portfolio.

The Assignment

With no new part-time job and no hotel reviewing contract, I'm working on an assignment for a publication that has been very good to me over the last four months. I'm really interested in the topic that I've been assigned and it will be a great addition to my portfolio. Only problem? At $0.10 per word, I'm making about $5.00 per hour working on it.

No job. No contract. No money.

So it's a bummer, but it's also time to move on. It's also time to get over my hatred/fear of pitching stories and accept the fact that assigned stories are few and far between.

(And in closing, here is an amazing piece that Nina linked on Facebook about how there is no fucking way Carrie Bradshaw sustained herself on one column. Fact.)

Dear 16-Year-Old Me

2011-05-05T14:38:00.010-04:00

It's not often that I share viral videos on my Facebook and even rarer that I share them here. But for me, this is one worth watching.

When I was 16, I had my first stitches. They were the result of my first biopsies. Now, where moles use to form the constellation of Cassiopeia on my stomach (or so I liked to think), neat little Xs mark the spot. They were removed with a cookie cutter-like instrument and when the flesh was gone, I watched blood pool neatly into the holes. And just above my bra hooks, there is a gouge. Just a little blemish. But it was big enough that the cookie cutters wouldn't do the trick. As my doctor inserted the scalpel into my back, he told me that maybe someday I could have laser therapy to remove the scar.

But I really didn't care about the potential for scarring. It was the least of my concerns. Because at 16, I had already watched my brother have a chunk of cancerous flesh removed from his ear a year earlier. It had started as a tiny fleck on his earlobe and nightly at dinner, as I shuffled my green beans around on my plate, I would look across the table at him and watch it grow. At 16, I had already seen my brother crying in the bathroom, fearful of what would happen next.

It was just his earlobe, which is minor, right? Nothing to worry about. Try telling that to a teenager who used sunscreen consistently for his entire life, but didn't know that the lips and the ears are where it usually starts. (Because who remembers to put sunscreen on their earlobes? Well, hopefully after reading this you will.) Try telling that to an 18-year-old who knows skin cancer can kill.

Try telling that to someone who has cancer, any kind of cancer.

Does Obama self-google?

2011-05-03T10:15:00.002-04:00

This isn't the first time self-Googling has returned strange results. The first time was much worse. (As the result of a mistaken identity, my blog was linked on a white supremacy message board. That wasn't the worst part though--they also included a picture of me, looking super pasty and white. Awkward.)

This message board discussion about me, while less embarrassing, is equally peculiar:

Screenshot from the All Aircraft Are Not Involved forum.

For the record, I'm not the author of a conspiracy theory website. (If you read the message board, you'll note that the author of these posts later got in touch with me. I clarified that I have nothing to do with "Kade" and my identity has not been stolen. That I know of, anyway.) But I also don't believe that Osama is dead. (Or maybe he's been dead for years?)

I guess that makes me a conspiracy theorist.

I'm okay with that.

The Electoral Process

2011-05-02T16:44:00.002-04:00

It was the only Miss Universe rehearsal that I dressed up for.

Most days I showed up looking slovenly compared to the other girls. While they rocked black tights with five-inch heels and coordinated earrings, I showed up to the studio in the same pair of faded jeans (purchased at Winners, no less) and whatever t-shirt was on the top of the pile.

But this rehearsal was going to be different. With only three days until the show, I was making a last-ditch effort to step up my game. I wore my trusty brown ankle boots over black tights and a borrowed French Connection dress, complete with power shoulders.

My outfit wasn't the only thing that made this rehearsal different. Rather than having criticism slung at us as we stumbled through our dance routines for the 83rd time, we were finally being given a chance to practice for the interview portion of the competition.

Waiting for the rehearsal to begin, we sat in rows murmuring about what the questions would be like. As Denis, the pageant director, came into the room, everyone was still sharing horror stories of pageant contestants who somehow simply got the answer wrong.

Denis gave us one final pre-show pep talk before instructing us to write down two of the most "intelligent" questions we could think of. "And take notes," he told us, "because we'll be using the questions that you write on the night of the pageant."

I gnawed on the end of my pen as the girls around me confidently wrote down their questions. This was going to require some thought.

My first question, which I had been once asked in a job interview, was admittedly difficult. But, I rationalized, we had been instructed to write down the most intelligent questions we could think of and it was the first thing that came to mind:

1. How do you feel about mixed member proportional representation and why?

Hmm. Time to follow that up with an easier question.

2. What reforms would you like to see made to your electoral process?

Yes, that was good. It could be answered directly ("I would like to see the first past the post system abolished") or in classic vague pageant-style ("I'd like to see more youth get out and vote" or "I'd like to see voting made more accessible for students").

Happy with my questions, I handed them in.

For the next two hours, we went around the room. Denis would call on a girl, ask her to stand up, and then he would read her one of the two questions from each scrap of paper. As he read each question, everyone would furiously scribble down both the questions and the responses. The questions themselves varied quite greatly--from the typical abortion and same-sex marriage queries, to questions about Wiki Leaks and dental hygiene.

After I confidently answered my question, I sat down feeling like any chance for embarrassment had passed. I was wrong. My questions still had not been asked.

Denis called on one of the last girls and she stood. "How do you feel about mixed member proportional representation and why?" he read aloud.

A hush came over the room and then the murmurs started.

"Who would even ask that?" someone said in disbelief and others nodded in agreement. "Um, I did," I admitted, my face turning crimson.

"Okay, how about this one," Denis continued, reading my second question, "what reforms would you like to see made to your electoral process?"

Again, it was quiet. "I don't know how to answer that," the girl admitted.

"Don't worry, don't write those questions down," Denis told everyone. "We won't be using them in the pageant," he said, tossing my intelligent questions aside.

April Savings: Year of the Deal

2011-05-01T11:21:00.007-04:00

I'm sick for the first time in a year. So naturally, I'm sitting at home plotting ways to make money. And while there really are no ways to make money quickly, here are a few of my favourite ways to find cash that you didn't even know you had:

1. Roll your change

I'm a fastidious change spender (as in, I count my pennies out at the till regardless of the size of the line behind me) but Jay throws his change haphazardly into every possible crevice in the house. Coins are in his laundry bin, in the back of the shelves of his closet, in his drawers, all over his dresser and in various tupperware containers. So I don't technically ever roll my change--I roll his change.

Don't make the mistake of using the automated machines at the grocery store. The last time I rolled a seemingly small amount of change, there was over $150. Had I just thrown it into the automated machine, I would have lost out on $15.

2. Sell your stuff

I'm going to be honest--we're running out of things to sell. I do, however, have a closet full of clothes, some of which I don't wear.

For years I've just shipped my clothes off to Goodwill, but this spring I'm determined to sell them. After reading SNP's eyeweekly article on consignment clothing stores, I figured Fashionably Yours was the best bet for my rejects. Er, not so much. After showing them my duds, I was told everything I brought in was "too conservative."

No worries, though. On Monday, I'm going to head down the street to Common Sort, where I suspect I'll have better luck. (Only problem is, will I take 25% for the clothes? Or a 50% store credit? Tough decisions.)

3. When all else fails, craigslist

If you have the time (which I do), a simple search for "research" under jobs or gigs will render tons of fast cash opportunities. I've been applying for brain imaging studies over the last couple of weeks--mainly because I just really want an image of my brain. Sadly, I haven't had any responses yet. However, I've just signed up for another study. I can't divulge details now due to confidentiality, but if all goes well it should make for an interesting story down the road.

Here's a picture of my dog. That way, even if you could care less about Year of the Deal, at least you got to see a cute puppy.

Year of the Deal: April Savings

Grocery Purchases: $191.41
Pharmacy Purchases: $57.75
Total Spent: $249.16

Coupons Used: $23.50
2011 Total Coupon Savings to Date: $134.95

We were gone for a week in the middle of April, which partially accounts for the lower expenses. But since February, our costs have been cut by more than 60%. Our expenses seem to be continuing to decrease as we continue to stockpile items, collect coupons and shop smart. (I'm excited to grocery shop this month because we have an Airmiles coupon for $20 off and a coupon for $20 at Sobey's. That's savings of $40 and the month hasn't even started yet!)

In May, I'm going to track my total spending and create a budget. This is going to be my biggest challenge yet.

Unemployment/Work Update

I'm happy to announce that I have work again! The rhetoric that it's either feast or famine seems to apply here: in addition to the research study, I have two new contracts AND a job interview on Wednesday. Now, I just need to shake off this fever, put some cover-up on the scab that's formed under my nose and get inspired.

Magical Thinking

2011-04-25T17:57:00.002-04:00

New Orleans/Louisiana pictures can be found on my travel blog. Enjoy!

Easter Treats

2011-04-24T14:09:00.005-04:00

Easter, after Halloween, has always been my favourite holiday. Here's my contributions to Easter dinner:

Caramel Meringue Tarts, with Amarula cream liquor.

I found this recipe in Food & Drink magazine last spring and have been dying for an excuse to make it ever since. It was created by Dufflet Rosenberg for the LCBO. (I was much too lazy to actually make the Walnut Pastry the recipe recommends. I used Tenderflake instead, which, of course, I bought on sale with a coupon.)

The recipe made way too much though (both of the Amarula Caramel Pudding and the Meringue topping) so I turned the remaining meringue into cookies following this recipe.

Happy Easter!

My Favourite Kind

2011-04-22T12:02:00.003-04:00

I already miss the symmetry.

(Photos of my Texan adventure is up on the travel blog. Louisiana to come shortly.)

The Prince of Serendip

2011-04-11T12:50:00.008-04:00

He was good looking, in a Jack Johnson surfer kind of way that I didn't necessarily find attractive. But the Harbour House's typical customers were book club ladies and the wives of pilots--as possibly the only attractive male below the age of 25 who had ever set foot in the restaurant in the nine years I served there, it was hard to ignore him.

And I suppose for him, it was hard to ignore me--mainly due to the fact that in order to get food, he had to talk to me. But also because I was on top of my game: I wore a short ruffled skirt under my waitressing apron, a low-cut top and too much lipstick. It was a slow night (the only other patrons were my aunt and uncle) and the conversation was easy.

He wasn't a local, he wasn't military and he didn't work in the oil field. We both had summer jobs working for the government (me federal; him provincial) and plans to volunteer one day in Nicaragua. I was sold. We made a dinner date for the following day.

By the time our appetizers arrived the next night, we had determined that it wasn't a date. We were too much alike. "I never thought I'd meet the female version of myself," he laughed.

In the back of his car was a longboard, a guitar and a book about Jesus. We drove back to his temporary summer residence (a trailer on the reservation that wasn't burdened with the conveniences of modern plumbing) to watch Step Into Liquid. He lent me sweatpants and told me about the time he almost died. "Why didn't I meet you earlier?" I asked. (That same summer, I had celebrated the night of my 21st birthday by sitting alone at one of the Harbour House's tables writing scholarship applications. Happy birthday to me.)

And in those brief two weeks before I went back to Toronto and he went back to Edmonton, we became best friends. No, seriously. "I'm going out to meet my new best friend!" I would sing happily to my parents on the way out the door. We would talk on the phone on our lunch breaks, sending text messages back and forth throughout the day. We went to Sandy Beach on weekends, laying in the sun and sharing stories of sexual conquests. We drove to the north side of the lake to play flashlight tag with the kids, hiding high in the trees. Late at night, sitting on the playground equipment at Kinosoo, we reflected on how quickly the summer had passed.

And then it was over. He went back to Edmonton and I went back to Toronto.

I was never in love with him, at least not in the way one might conclude from reading this. It would be a lie to say there wasn't sexual tension or suggestions of romance, but it was clear from the start that we were meant to be just friends. (One holiday break, I drove four hours to Edmonton in the thick winter black just so we could go to the movies. That night we spooned, and in the morning he took me for breakfast at Humpty's. There was a near-kiss goodbye, but when debriefed months later, we agreed that it was never meant to be.)

And for the next five years, we exchanged emails, msn conversations, text messages, postcards, voicemails and--when we were lucky--the occasional real-life conversation over beer.

He would have said that it was serendiptous that we met, although I'm not entirely sure how. He really liked that word: serendipitous. He said it in a way that made you believe that yes, even in Cold Lake, magical things could happen.

The last time I talked to him was over a year ago. Actually, that's not entirely true--I've talked to him a lot this year. I've talked to him in emails. (He doesn't reply.) In Facebook messages. (He deleted me a long time ago.) In rambling long-winded phone messages. (He never picks up.) But the last time he talked to me? That was over a year ago.

In January he tumbled back into my life by way of a tumblr account. It's snapshots of someone I knew once. Snapshots of my new best friend's life that I can never be part of and maybe never was part of.

I want to say that the problem was that our relationship was independent from the realities of our everyday lives. We didn't have any mutual friends, we are both busy and we are both in relationships (he may even be married now). But that rationalization doesn't make it hurt less.

I know I should move on from this. It's not like there's a notable absence in my life. But there are the dreams: I dream that he calls me back. I dream that he casually comments on my Facebook status. I dream that he emails me. And I dream that to him, too, I'm still a friend.

Free Parking: How I Found Myself in Debt

2011-04-06T11:48:00.012-04:00

Remarkably, I made it more than halfway through my university education debt-free.

It was a point of pride: I worked hard, I saved a lot, I earned scholarships and I was fortunate to have parents who financially supported me. But shortly before my third year, the game changed completely in just a four-month period.

Here's how I found myself in debt:

In 2006, I decided that I wanted to volunteer overseas, so I spent the summer in Vanuatu building a school. I have no regrets--it was an amazing experience and played a formative role in my career to date--but it was also very expensive.
Following Vanuatu, I spent an extended layover in Australia. In a three-week period I managed to travel from Sydney to Cairns and back again. I did it all: the Blue Mountains, Fraser Island, the Whitsundays and a week in Byron Bay. (For anyone who has done the Australia backpacking thing, you'll understand what a feat this was to accomplish in such a short time frame.) Again, it was well worth it, but it was also very expensive.
The cost of travelling itself wasn't necessarily the problem; I had fundraised and saved for a year in advance. Rather, the problem was that because I was in overseas, there was a three-month period where I had no income and no way to save for tuition.
Finally, although I had completed 3.5 years of school, I was only two years into my journalism degree. This meant that with two years left to go, the education fund my parents had generously created for me had depleted prematurely.

So what was a girl to do?

For the first time ever, I applied for student loans and maxed out my student line of credit.

I tried to assure myself that it would be okay. And it was. Sort of. Throughout my third year of university, I valiantly tried to eradicate the debt I had suddenly accumulated. I wanted my debt-free bragging rights back. In addition to my job at the university, I took on a second job and then a third. So there I was, in school full-time, with three part-time jobs on the go. It was a solid plan, until my health began to decline. I could barely make it to class for six weeks, let alone to work. The debt was here to stay.

The summer before my forth year, I saved enough money to pay my tuition in full. Again, with the help of my parents, I didn't have to take out additional student loans. And this time, I was a little more sensible--rather than struggle to maintain my multiple part-time jobs, I just had one. School became my priority.

Where I Am Now

Five years after I took out those first student loans, I'm still in the red. And although I've written about my debt a lot on this blog, I've never put a number to it. I didn't want to open myself up to criticism about my lifestyle or spending choices. But I'm beginning to think that publicly putting a number to it will shame me into getting my finances sorted out. So here goes:

Since 2006, my debt has hovered around $10,000. (Note: This does not include an undisclosed but substantial chunk of change that I owe my Dad for his assistance in South Pacific adventure.) Sometimes it's a bit more, sometimes it's a bit less. But it's always around $10,000. (Not surprisingly, $10,000 is around how much I spent in Australia and Vanuatu combined. I'm confident that had I not volunteered overseas, I would not be in debt today.) This wouldn't be such a terrible admission, except for this final act of divulgence: I have no savings. None.

So basically, I'm $10,000 the hole and have no assets.

This is a problem. A very big problem.

How did this happen?

For the last three years, I've been in a constant cycle of attempting to pay off my debt too quickly, not having enough money left for spending, dipping into savings to cover the difference and subsequently getting further into debt. It's a nightmare that I've created for myself.

And then, last August, I was laid-off. Any budgets or debt repayment plans I had created were suddenly useless. I applied for interest relief on my student loans, but that still left me with three credit cards and a line of credit.

So, why don't I just get a job?

Before the haters start in on me, I'd like to clarify that since my lay-off there has only been one month where I haven't been employed, either through a part-time job, a freelance contract or a contract employer. However, my income isn't yet consistent enough to create a solid debt repayment plan.

So why don't I get a regular guaranteed-income job? A couple of years ago, when my brother was on EI, he explained to me that he received more in government support than he would make at a reasonable minimum wage job. Instead, it would be more profitable in the long-run to spend the time working on his portfolio.

At the time his argument didn't make any sense to me. But now that I'm in that exact position (that being the position of someone who previously talked down about people who "worked the system" but am now "working the system") I completely understand. Every day, I scour job banks looking for part-time employment that will allow me sufficient income to continue working on my portfolio and my freelance career. Sometimes I apply. Sometimes I go to interviews. But every time, I realize that minimum wage or similar is just not enough. And unfortunately, with upcoming contracts and travel plans, applying for full-time positions isn't an option.

I feel imprisoned by my debt. . .if only there was a "get out of debt free" card.

But there's not.

So in the meantime, I'm going to do the next best thing:

Jay and I watched the documentary Maxed Out last night. I knew instantly it was time to break up with my Mastercard. (AMEX and Visa? Don't think you're safe. You're next on the cutting block.)

In April and May, I'll move into Phase 2 of Year of the Deal : tracking my overall spending and creating a budget.

March Savings: Year of the Deal

2011-04-01T12:56:00.006-04:00

Yesterday at Metro in the organic dairy section, I spotted a coupon for Earth Balance margarine that someone had tucked neatly in front of the tubs. Its expiry date read 31/03/2011.

It sparked hope in me for two reasons: Some kind generous soul wanted to share their coupons before they expired--I may begin to do the same. And secondly, there are coupons for organic and natural products out there? Maybe there's a resolution to my biggest personal conflict with Year of the Deal, after all.

However, all my research has only turn up the following:

ethicalDeal, a group buy website. (It appears to be set up like FabFind, where there doesn't need to be a minimum number of purchases for the deal to become "active.") I just signed up today, so I'm not sure what the deals are like.
E-code discounts for ordering products online.
Printable coupons for eco-friendly products like Seventh Generation. (However, printable coupons, in my opinion, are pretty much useless unless you're really familiar with store coupon policies. Personally, I have no idea where you can use them. I'm not going to bother arguing with cashiers that they're valid manufacturer coupons. The only printable coupons I've used to date are for bonus Airmiles.)
The Healthy Shopper coupon book, which you can pick up for free in health food stores. There will be a new one coming out in May with 2011-2012 coupons. You can also order it online, but it will cost $4.50. (If anyone sees one of these in their local stores, grab it for me!)
In stores right now there are tearpad coupons for Green Works cleaning products as well as Sunlight Green Clean laundry detergent.

Year of the Deal: March Savings

Grocery Purchases: $279.74

Pharmacy Purchases: $44.38

Total Spent: $324.12

Coupons Used: $65.20

2011 Total Coupon Savings to Date: $111.45

We are NOT an escort agency.

2011-03-31T11:19:00.023-04:00

When I'm not working for international development organizations, picking up the occasional fact-checking job, or completing a writing contract, I work as a brand ambassador. There's simply no use in hiding it any longer--I'm one of those perpetually perky individuals who hands out over-packaged samples of useless products when you're just trying to make it to your doctor's appointment on time.

I first got started as a promo rep almost 10 years ago, when I was hired to dress as Gandalf for the DVD release of Lord of the Rings. (I spent the day handing out trading cards at Walmart to 10-year-olds. The only way I survived the barrage of pickup lines from nerdy prepubescents was by daydreaming about the date I was going on later that night. It was a successful strategy until my date showed up on his lunch break to buy the DVD. I was both mortified and thrilled that I had opted not to wear the beard that had been provided with my costume.) Throughout my undergrad, I worked with a number of companies, and today I continue to supplement my income by working the occasional community event. It can be soul-sucking at times (trade shows are the worst) but I always meet really interesting people and have fun. Plus, for mindless work, it pays well.

On the job in Dundas Square during NXNE 2006.

So in December, leading up to the Toronto car show, I began applying for every worthwhile "promotional representation" or "brand ambassador" listing that popped up on Craigslist. That's when I got this email:

On 15 December 2010 08:30, Amanda K. wrote:

Hi,

My name is Amanda, and I help run an agency in Toronto that handles models for specific encounters/events. I came across your contact & we're hiring right now, so I thought perhaps you might be interested! If you'd like to know more, simply get back to me here...

Thanks,

Amanda...

The subject line read "modelling." I'm hardly a model, but in the wake of winning the People's Choice, I felt invincible. And although random ellipsis and ampersands in any other professional circumstance would usually turn me off, I've worked with marketing agencies long enough to know that it's often interns or assistants who are in charge of hiring.

Excited and flattered to be contacted, I replied.

Date: Wed, 15 Dec 2010 13:43:52 -0700

Subject: Re: Modeling

Hi Amanda,

Thank you for your email. I'm definitely always interested in picking up work--on top of 10 years of serving experience, I have over five years of experience as a promotional representative, so I'm definitely familiar with working events.

What kind of events/encounters do you typically hire people for? And what other information would you need from me? (Resume, headshots?) Out of curiosity, where did you get my contact information from?

Thanks,

Jessica

Her reply was surprisingly prompt:

On 15 December 2010 14:21, Amanda K. wrote:

Hi Jessica,

Appreciate your reply :)

Were a new upstart operation in Toronto catering to specific events, encounters and rendezvous & we're looking to hire our initial team of girls for positions starting in the new year.

Would it be possible for me to see a portfolio of your pictures?

Also, I should note, while there's absolutely no nudity required on your part - our events do cater to a mature adult crowd, so I'm hoping that type of scenario is something you're comfortable with. If you've got previous modeling experience, I'm sure you understand.

We do have a number of events already scheduled and I'd be happy to send over a more formal list of interview questions if you can get back to me in regards to the above, should you still be interested.

I'm sure you're wondering about compensation - but it varies - from $80 - $2000 depending on the event and what's required.

Thanks & look forward to hearing back from you.

Amanda

p.s. Your email was passed along through a colleague of ours in the industry who had previously posted an ad on Craigslist for a talent position. I apologize i can't say for certain what that project was, and I hope you don't mind the "cold-call"

The "no-nudity" bit, in retrospect, should have been a red flag. Why would I be worried about nudity? Should I be worried about nudity? It hadn't even crossed my mind.

Providing my photos, on the other hand, wasn't an issue. Although it's completely in violation of employment standards to ask for pictures, this is often required for marketing gigs. Oftentimes they don't even want to see a resume--just what you look like and your previous experience itemized in the body of an email. So I quickly sent back an email with pictures from my "portfolio"and further clarified to Amanda that I'm not a "model," but do have extensive promotional experience.

On 15 December 2010 14:53, Amanda K. wrote:

Hi again Jessica,

Thanks so much for the quick reply & for the pictures. If I need anything else from you by way of images, I'll certainly let you know!

I'll start by giving you a little but more info on our operation, as we're pretty unique in terms of our business model. While we mainly focus on events (and we do have a lot already scheduled for the new year), we do also arrange specific/tailored encounters between our roster of women & our very exclusive set of executive male clients. Typical encounters include dinner/dancing, a first class night on the town, or some type of pre-approved private modeling. NO nudity & NO sex is ever expected or implied! We are NOT an escort agency. More to follow about events.

With that said, please do answer the following questions when you have a moment.

1. Your Name
2. Your Age
3. Your Vital Stats (Weight/Height/Measurements)
4. Your 3 BEST Features
5. Please state briefly your previous modeling/promo experience
6. Are you comfortable modeling fetish related items?
7. Are you comfortable modeling in adult-oriented 'sexual' settings? Both in private & semi private venues?
8. Would you describe yourself as an expert 'conversationalist'?
9. Are you capable of entertaining very high end, upscale, male clientele for the evening? (No nudity, no sex!)
10. What is your availability? Can you work week nights? Week ends?

Thanks for getting back to me. Once I have these answers I can go ahead and forward you more info on our upcoming events, and we can see if there's one right for you!

If you have any more questions at all, feel free to ask! Best to be upfront.
But as I assured you above - we are not an escort agency! But a promo/modeling franchise providing exclusive companionship for some of the cities richest guys!..and they tend to tip really well :)

Looking forward to hearing back from you!

Thanks & Best,

Amanda...

At this point, the thing that I found most unsettling was the speed at which Amanda was replying to my emails. (Yes, that's what I found most unsettling. Question number 6? No problem. But the fact she was replying to my emails every 20 minutes? Absolutely unnerving.)

Okay, I'll admit--her insistance that they were NOT an escort agency (despite the fact I had never accused them of being one) was also a little concerning. But hey, I'm bored and unemployed! Why not see where this goes?

So I replied. (My answer to question number 6: "Maybe. Fetish is a pretty broad definition so it definitely depends on exactly what would be required.")

On 15 December 2010 15:22, Amanda K. wrote:

Hi again Jessica,

Thanks for your quick & detailed reply. Glad to see you're comfortable with virtually all of what I've asked.

Since event modeling is fairly self explanatory (a few hours at a specific location promoting a party/product or event), I thought it might be best to detail more about our private encounters service, which tends to bring our girls significantly more revenue. Although if you have any questions about events, feel free to ask.

While many of our male clients use our service to spend quality time with a truly beautiful girl over dinner/drinks or a night on the town, a large portion of our users also come to us to have very specific non-sexual fantasies/fetishes role-played out for them. Think of us as a one stop shop for the high-class executive male who wishes to script out his fantasy relationship! I must reiterate though, we are NOT an escort agency and NO nudity & NO sex is ever expected or implied!

Perhaps it might be best for me to forward over the profile of some of our past clients, as well as a profile of a client we're looking to service in the next week. Your feedback will give me a better idea of what type of gigs would be best for you, or if this is something you think you could handle.

Please do ask ANY questions you have regarding these profiles/encounters!

Previous encounters PROFILE:

1. James, 28, Successful Real Estate Manager

James contacted us in in early November looking to meet with one of our models for the purpose of financial domination. We set him up with Brooke (24, 5ft6, 110lbs, 34C), and James decided he wanted to take her shopping, for mani/pedis, and for a massage at a local spa. He allowed Brooke to keep one of his credit cards for 2 weeks, and through us, authorized her to purchase sexy items for herself which she then modeled for him 2 weeks later. James thoroughly enjoyed his experience, and we've booked him again with Brooke for early in the New Year.

Brooke was paid $400 in cash + she kept over $1000 in merchandise she bought with James consent.

Fetish: Financial Domination/Female Superiority

2. Rick, 27, Software Technician

Rick contacted us in mid November looking for us to provide him with a sophisticated girl capable of satisfying his unique desires. Rick describes himself as submissive, and wanted to set up an encounter whereby he'd be 'outted' for his 'deviant desires' by a truly beautiful woman. We set him up with Ally (25, 5ft8, 120lbs, 34D) for what on the surface was to be a 'traditional' dinner date. With all going well, the 'couple' proceeded back to his luxury condo, where over a glass of wine, she happened to 'notice' Rick was wearing women underwear! Rick tried to 'change the subject' but Ally pressed on, 'forcing' him to show her what he was wearing. After stripping him down to his 'panties', Ally began to 'laugh mercilessly', teasing and tormenting him. After some light bondage and humiliation, Ally was instructed to leave him there...completely turned on, instructing him to 'NEVER' call her again!

Ally was paid $300 + tips in cash for 3 hours of company.

Rick is in continual contact with us, and is currently shaping how he wants to evolve his own personal storyline with Ally, and she looks forward to their next encounter.

Fetish: Female Domination, sissification

As you'll see from the above, by acting as the medium between our exclusive male clients and our roster of female models, we have the power to make this experience as seemingly 'real' as possible - with NO sex or nudity required on your part!

We've also got a number of male clients, who as I mentioned, are looking for an encounter in the very near future!

Below you'll see the profile of one of our return clients who is looking to meet with a new girl. I'm thinking perhaps it might be a good first encounter for you to see if this is something you can handle!...Let me know

PROSPECTIVE CLIENT

Alex, 26, Successful Writer/Producer

Alex is a return client with a very interesting, albeit unusual fetish. He's very good looking and successful, with no problems attracting girls, yet admitted to us he bears great shame and humiliation as a result of the fact he has a very small penis. The type of encounter Alex is looking for is very basic - he'd like to meet for dinner + drinks, where you two would 'connect' on seemingly all levels. Once he sees how 'incredibly interested' you are in him, he decides to ask you back to his midtown condo for a follow up glass of wine, which you enthusiastically accept. Once back at his place, he begins to question what you like sexually in a man. You admit your proclivity for men with extremely large 'members', reiterating you can't settle for anything less! He begins to get sheepish, at which point you inquire to what he's packing. With a little prodding, you discover that he's small - at which point your feelings completely change, and you give him a heavy dose of verbal small penis humiliation. Completely non nude on your part!

Fetish: Small Penis Humiliation, Female Domination, Female Superiority

If this is something you think you could handle, I'd be happy to discuss compensation. He has met with one of our girls in past, and said he was quite a gentleman despite his shortcomings :)

I hope this info helps! If you have ANY questions PLEASE don't hesitate to ask, as now would be the time :)

Do you think the Alex gig is something you could handle? Your feedback or any info pertaining to your experience with a fetish of this nature would be great. Is it an encounter that coincides with your personality?

Thanks & Look forward to your reply,

Amanda...

I couldn't bring myself to reply--but not because this clearly wasn't a brand ambassador job. The truth is, I was seriously considering it. (Perhaps I had a burgeoning career in Gonzo Craigslist journalism? Joining an escort agency would make for a fascinating story.)

No, my problem was much more specific. It was the fetish: small penis humiliation? I don't think I could intentionally be mean to a guy for that, even if it's what he wanted. I really didn't think that it "coincided with my personality."

Despite the speed at which we'd been emailing back and forth, I decided to sleep on it.

At 7:30 am the next morning, I got this email:

Hi Jessica,

Hope you had a good night! Just wanted to make sure you got my last email containing the profiles of some of our previous clients, as well as the profile of a client were looking to service in the near future. If you have any questions whatsoever, please don't hesitate to ask! :)

Thanks,

Amanda

After all was said and done, it was Amanda's sense of urgency that turned me off. Our relationship was moving forward too quickly. I just wasn't ready to commit.

But I didn't want to hurt her feelings after she'd invested an entire day trying to recruit me. So I let her down gently by letting her know that it wasn't her and it wasn't me--it was my boyfriend that was standing between us.

Hi Jess,

That's too bad! I think you would have been able to do a fantastic job and do really well for yourself! I do however, respect your decision.

However, in life, things change, so should you find your sans boyfriend in the next while, or simply decide it's something you want to persue regardless, feel free to let me know!

So you know, the gentleman I was going to have you meet with has met with 2 of our girls, twice each over the past 2 months. After his second encounter with Chelsea, he gave her a $500 ring from Tiffany's. For the other girls, since he works as a successful tv writer producer, he was able to land her a guest spot on an american tv show where i was told she made a couple grand! I mention this not because I'm hoping it will help tip the scales, but so you see how this service can be beneficial to you by providing amazing networking opportunities! Thoughts?

As for events, we expect them to start picking up in the new year with a few already on our plate. Holiday season is usually very big for our private encounters service, so that's where most of our focus currently resides - but I will get back to you with info on events as they unfold. But please do let me know should you reconsider the private encounters - as I said we can have you on a gig immediately!

Thanks & look forward to hearing back from you!

Amanda

Ooo! A real ring from Tiffany's? That changes everything!

Unfortunately for Amanda, I am not a girl who is easily wooed by bling.

I never heard from her again.

Dyscalculia

2011-03-30T15:56:00.002-04:00

I'm all out of words, it seems.

The Hazing

2011-03-24T14:25:00.016-04:00

Maybe I was silently disapproving and didn't say anything--this is the way I want to remember it. (These are the kind of games my memory is playing on me. Did I provoke it? Uncertain. Did I deserve it? Maybe. But was I guilty of the crime? No.)

It's eighth grade. Gym class.

The locker room is divided in two--the front room for those who belong to sports teams and have lockers (the popular, the loved), and the back room for those who do not (the unnoticed, the undeveloped). I change in the back, near the showers. (On an unlucky day, those who change in the back might return to find their clothes in the shower, soaked. Better the shower than the toilet, though.) We pull on our matching gym uniforms, silk-screened with our maroon school letters, ripe with weeks of sweat and fear.

From the front room, there's the smell of smoke. A lit cigarette. No--lit cigarettes.

This is where my memory falters. (Surely, I said something? I had a sharp tongue, strong opinions and little foresight. I want to believe I was silent, but it's unlikely.) Shoes untied, I leave the change room, smoke wafting out the door behind me. I join the class sitting cross-legged on the gymnasium floor and wait for direction.

I won't rat them out. Jenny B, who I love and admire, is amongst the smokers. (Only two short years before the change room divide, we would take my red wagon into the woods and pretend to run away. We would share a bed at her grandma's house in Crane Lake, squealing when the pet pig charged after us. We are friends, I think.)

I won't rat them out, but someone else will.

After class, I'm cornered. They are suspended from school and I am to blame. (Jenny B tries to defend me, but it's useless.) I am innocent, but there's no way to prove it. I'm the obvious suspect. I am the sitting duck. Me and my big mouth. Me and my strong opinions. Me and my complete lack of foresight.

What they don't understand is that I don't follow the rules because I'm a brown-noser--I follow the rules because I want to be different and it's the only way I know how. Their brand of rebellion is inconsequential to me.

Maybe the daily threats to beat me up start then. Maybe they start earlier. But after school, they begin to follow me in a pack, teeth bared and profanities echoing down the street. They finally have a reason to bite.

One night I decide to walk home from school and get caught up in flirting with Justin along the way. When I finally arrive shortly before dinner, my mom breathes a sigh of relief. She was certain I had been jumped and left in the ditch.

These are the memories that I've forgotten to remember. (Or maybe they're the memories I forgot to forget.) And suddenly, they're coming in waves and I can't stop them.

Queen of the Nerds

2011-03-22T11:53:00.004-04:00

It was the kind of spur of the moment decision that only teenagers have the luxury of making.

Over homemade cinnamon buns and hot lattes, Janet told me that I would love it--it being the Seminar for United Nations and International Affairs (SUNIA). She had been a camp counsellor there once. It would be a week of intellectual stimulation and flirtations with politically savvy peers. It would be an escape from the monotony of slow nights at the Harbour House and slower days spent with Kenny sucking on popsicles outside the 7-11.

It would also undoubtably be a nerd camp. After all, who willingly signs up to attend a political camp in the middle of summer? It would be my last chance to feel popular before I returned to the torment of having food thrown at me daily in the school agora.

Four months earlier, I had attended the Forum for Young Albertans, a model provincial legislative exercise, where my fellow attendees admired the audacity with which I shredded apart my mandatory pantyhose during lectures. It was one of the best weeks of my life.

SUNIA would be no different. It was the summer before my grade 12 year and I had a penchance for Sailor Moon inspired hairdos (pink-tipped hair piled high on my head in two spiky braided buns) and matching outfits (pink tank tops embellished with silver stars and jean mini-skirts). It would be nerd camp and I would be be queen of the nerds.

At the Forum for Young Albertans, April 2001. (I'm the one with the pink hair.)

Only five minutes into the bus ride to Nordegg, I realized that I was horribly mistaken. Everyone else had been signed up months in advance and sponsored by their student unions. (My parents paid out of pocket to send me.) They were city kids, who came from schools that had their own model UN and debate clubs. (My school barely offered a French class.) They came from the kind of schools where drama club was something you had to audition for and high marks were a bragging right. They were beautiful, smart and athletic.

It took only five minutes to realize that I was the only nerd at nerd camp.

By mid-week, I called Kenny and my parents crying. I was exhausted and didn't have any friends, really. Everyone had come in groups from their schools. Every event, activity and meal was an exercise in solitude. There just wasn't room for me in the pre-formed cliques. I didn't have dreadlocks, I wasn't athletic, I wasn't experimenting with my sexual orientation and I didn't belong to a Model UN. I was nothing.

I made just one friend that week--on the bus ride home. It was one of the longest weeks of my life.

Laying in bed two weeks ago, this was all I could think about. Every time I sign up for something like this, the anxiety returns. It was going to be SUNIA all over again. I was going to be spending a week in the Dominican Republic supervising 275 high school students. What if they somehow knew all this? Teenagers know. They can smell it on you.

Relaxing in Punta Cana on a very rare and much-deserved break.

As soon as I arrived at the airport, the anxiety intensified. Based on their complete lack of acne, private school education and ability to afford a parent-approved trip to Punta Cana for March Break, I could only assume they were the popular kids. And I had the added uncool disadvantage of being the adult who had to play bad cop to their planned debauchery.

I sat down beside a group of boys in the departure lounge, nervously flipping through my staff binder and trying to look busy. Glancing over at the boy beside me, his passport was open to his photo page. And there, in plain font, was the solution to my anxiety. Date of birth: 1993. A decade was sitting between us.

This week wasn't the best week or my life or even the longest week of my life. But it was the week I needed to realize that that bus ride was over 12 years ago.

I wish I could into the details and stories of all the hilarious, awesome and awful things I witnessed in the past week, but unfortunately, for the sake of professionalism they'll have to stay locked in the vault. (Although I'm happy to share in less public forums.)

This week I also learned that I really do want to continue working with youth in some capacity. I hated the long days, the late nights and the trips to hotel clinic, but I loved all the students. For the first time, I was actually able to see the results of the work we were doing and from that, I got the kind of satisfaction that a steady paycheque has never been able to give me.

I'm beginning to realize too, that Year of the Deal isn't so much about saving money. Instead, it's a deal I've made with myself to experience as much as I can this year. The students kept asking me what I do for a living. It wasn't an easy question to answer. I'm a freelance writer, I guess, but I also fact-check, work with international development organizations, clip coupons, join beauty pageants, travel excessively and talk about my feelings way to often.

Even though I'm poor, it's the best deal I've ever made.

Point: Me

2011-03-11T20:20:00.005-05:00

Here is the culmination of my worklifeexplosion: tonight I'm catching a flight to Punta Cana. For work. I'm busy and can barely catch my breath, but feel like I'm winning at life.

WORKLIFEEXPLOSION

2011-03-09T19:35:00.000-05:00

That is all.

Deal or No Deal?

2011-03-03T10:38:00.000-05:00

In addition to discovering the wonder of personal finance and frugal shopping blogs, Year of the Deal has also introduced me to something else that I had never considered blogging about: organization. And yet, organization blogs are probably on par with personal finance blogs in terms of popularity.

Although I considered becoming a personal organization at one point during my pre-layoff career crisis last summer, it's beyond me why anyone would want to read about anyone else's organization methods.

That is, until I got this question in an email:

"How do you transport your coupons? I always find myself going to Shopper's or Metro spontaneously and discovering all the stuff on sale and wishing I had my coupons with me."

A lot of friends have also been asking me how much time couponing takes me. The answer is next to none. Here's how I've been maximizing time and savings, not to mention ensuring that I never leave the house without my coupons:

The Expandable Folder

I use an expandable folder to carry my coupons. It fits neatly into my tote bag, so there's no excuse not to have it on hand. Added bonus: it's marginally less embarrassing than carrying a binder. (You can read more about different methods of organizing coupons here.)

Coupon as You Go

Much like everything else I do in life, I search for and file coupons using my "clean as you go" life philosophy. So basically, I coupon as I go.

I order coupons online every couple of weeks and file them as soon as they arrive in the mail. (My mom also sent me a HUGE package of coupons a couple of weeks ago, which was amazing.) Most coupons are perforated, so "clipping" doesn't even involve using scissors. Time spent per week: Maybe two minutes.

Coupon What You Need

Since I just shop for two, I've been focusing on stockpiling pharmacy items. What this means is that my coupons are organized into really straight-forward categories in my coupon folder. They are organized by the aisles you find each item in. (For instance, deodorant and razors are typically in the same or nearby aisles.) Here are the categories I'm currently using:

-Dry Food

-Cold Food

-Cleaning Supplies & Toilet Paper

-Toothpaste

-Shampoo

-Cosmetics

-Deodorant & Razors

-Other Pharmacy & Tampons

Shop By Aisle

As I walk down each aisle, I quickly review the coupons I have available in that category. Then, I review the shelves for sales. If I have a coupon for Colgate and it's on sale, I'll do the math to determine if it's a good deal. (And I'm getting a much better idea of the "good deals" by tracking everything in my spreadsheet.)

If it goes into my basket, I'll pull the coupon out of its category and put it into the very back of the folder. At the till, I'll simply pull out all the coupons at the very back of the folder and hand them to the cashier. Easy.

And if it's not on sale, I don't buy it. Basically, I'm not learning how to coupon--I'm learning how to buy things on sale.

Read the Blogs

Most bargain blogs like MrsJanuary or SmartCanucks will look through the flyers and find the best deals of the week for you, complete with links to the appropriate online coupons. I check them quickly at least once a day to see if there's any new coupons available or good deals for the taking. (You could go overboard checking frugal shopping blogs because there's tons out there. Most have similar information and posts so one or two is enough.)

Find the Lowest Common Denominator

As previously mentioned, I've been tracking all my purchases in a comprehensive Excel spreadsheet (with the exception of food). This is what takes the most time per week. Part of the problem is that I shop primarily at Shoppers and their receipts don't itemize the "regular" prices. What this means is that as I shop I have to write down each "regular" price systematically as I go. It's annoying. And it takes me twice as long to buy stuff. But I'm getting quicker.

Filling out my spreadsheet takes probably about 30 minutes per week, but if you become a couponer, it's an optional activity.

Basically, if you want to start couponing, prepare to spend a bit more time shopping, but also to save a lot of money.

Year of the Deal: First Month in Review

Spent

Pharmacy Spent $222.72

Grocery Spent $393.26

Total Spent $615.98

(I spent a lot of money this month. But now have about three to four months' supplies of dish soap, toothpaste, laundry detergent and toilet paper. March will likely be similarly expensive, but I expect to spend considerably less from May onwards.)

Saved

Total Value of Coupons Used: $46.25

Total Saved by Shopping Sales & Using Coupons: $155.36

Lowest Prices to Date (aka Why I Will Never Pay Full Price Again)

Colgate Toothpaste: 0.99 (I know you can get toothpaste for free, though)

Aussie Shampoo: $2.24 (I'm sure I can get it for cheaper)

Tide Laundry Detergent (26 loads): $2.50

Sunlight Dish Soap: FREE

Dove Deodorant: $2.50 (I'm confident I can get it for cheaper)

Kotex Tampons (18): $2.99 (ugh, so much wasteful packaging)

Royale Toilet Paper: $2.99

Colgate Toothbrush: FREE