It's Time We Talked....

about finger foods and flowers. First, finger foods.

I think Deviled Eggs are the sexiest finger food, possibly even the sexiest food. First of all, there's the name. Deviled = dangerous, dirty, dead sexy. The Deviled Egg is pretty looking and every cocktail party needs them. By the way, the cocktail party is the sexiest party around. To me, that means that the necessary food at the sexiest of parties is the sexiest food. (One time we had a cocktail party and we hid all the unsexy objects, and made bizarre art out of stools and candles. Sexy. I think it was sexy. Maybe the art wasn't sexy...we did add a large bottle of rum to the punch. But the Deviled Eggs, now they were sexy). I like how finger foods feel festive. Stick a toothpick in a piece of watermelon. And like that you've got party-worthy melon. Love it.

Second, flowers.
Why is a pansy a pansy? Seriously. Why did we start calling wussy boys pansies? I love the pansy. I think they are tied with the sweet pea as being my favorite flower. Simple. Sweet. Perfect. They are the Sandra Dee of flowers. Today I bought a bunch of flowers for my front steps. I love flowers and no one ever buys me any. Now I can sit on my steps and read and look at pretty. I like pretty.
Speaking of pretty.... everyone should listen to Pony Up! They are a wicked awesome girl band from Montreal. I heard them open for Camera Obscura a few years ago. I really liked them, but I never bought an album. I took out "Make Love to the Judges With Your Eyes" from the library and I am so in love. They wore pretty shirt dresses when I saw them. I love shirt dresses.
I am probably going dress shopping tomorrow. I am in E squared's wedding in October and she is being a doll and letting us pick out our dresses. I really wanted to wear white, but she's insisting on fall colors. Hello...Bridezilla?

Love Will Tear Us Apart

I am sad. Living in this world I am surrounded by such pain and brokeness. Working in the inner city, the pain that I see is amplified. After a surprisingly short time, loss becomes somewhat normalized. But today I drove a man to identify his wife who died. They were together and in love for eight years. It was a shitty circumstance. They were stranded in the city together and were seperated for a night and the next day he was informed that she had died. I believe in the good of life. I believe there is a Redeemer for all life, and I believe that I will remain sad for a little while.

Jive Talking

The best moment of today involved a lovely young woman who is very ill with schizophrenia. She is really confused and it's sad to see her so broken and vulnerable. She was doing pseudo-martial arts moves in the middle of the drop in. When I went to go talk to her, she started doing the jive with me. I wanted to participate but I didn't think it was the best move, professionally speaking. She's quite the dancer. Thanks God for my friend. Heal her. Please.

P-O-P-U-L-A-R !

Today I realized that I am really really popular. I've never been popular before. I've been quite unpopular - but never p-o-p-ular. I had to drop off some papers at a client's home early this morning and as I was walking I said hi to almost everyone I passed and almost everyone recognized me and smiled at me and I smiled at them and I loved it. Wanna know the real reason I like working with street people? I like being popular.
A strange boy once told me that he liked that I wasn't a "friend whore". Not quite sure what he meant by that but I think he meant that he appreciated that I don't have a need for a whole lot of friends. I may not be a friend whore, but I am becoming increasingly aware that I am an "emotional slut". I will share whatever with whoever gives me the time of day. My favorite "games" or not games at all but talking times where I get spill out my insides. Thank goodness for the blogosphere. It's nice to have an audience (even if it is small).

A T-Shirt By Any Other Name

I like it when moments from the past pull together for a really great present. On Friday I went to Feist and it was overall a fan-flippin-tastic night. On the way there, I saw a man I used to know who always reminds me of a pirate. Then I saw a man running in his really white loafers. I met white loafer man again at the theatre. Then after Chad VanGaalen played beautifully and without an offensive tirade I saw this guy that sat with me and Jess on our first date. It was at the Powerplant. I think Sarah Slean was playing. The main reason that I remember this boy is that he was just so perfectly nerdy. And he asked if we were going to Snoop Dog. We weren't. He was. I can't believe I let him go...

I was really excited about going to Feist because I was going alone and I haven't been to a show solo for two years. In my memory there are few things greater than enjoying music at a beautiful theatre by myself. Well...I was wrong. It was good but it could have been better. One problem was the man who sat next to me. When he first sat down I thought: wow. that guy smells like a bakery. I didn't think he smelt like a baker because the only baker I've ever hugged smells more like cologne than bread. The bakery thought lasted for about 3o seconds and then I realized he reeked of booze. On my time off I would rather sit by a friend than by random stinky drunk man.


I went to Vermilion again this weekend. It has been my goal to go more often to make my family love me. I think perhaps distance DOES make the heart grow fonder. One of the highlights of the weekend was the part when dad was dressing for church and explaining how you never know if it will be hot or cold in there, and how he was prepared. He pointed out that he was wearing a "sweatshirt" under his sweater. After we pointed out that the "sweatshirt" was actually a t shirt, he explained "that's what I call it". What?

Now I don't want to become one of those people who writes a lot about television...but oh my goodness Pam and Jim! The crew at Seattle Grace! It's just too much to take.
I am going to see Feist in under three hours. Yes!

Here's to Getting Up on a Saturday

This morning I left my house at 7:40 because I needed to drive half way across the city and back before I represented Candeo at a woman's breakfast at the church. I've never really understood the need for ministries specific to women and men - and I was quite sure that I could never fit in at a ladies breakfast. But let me tell ya, I was wrong. I'm not planning on joining the planning committee for the next woman's event, but I likely won't scoff at the next event either. There were a few woman who were very encouraging to me about our vision for Candeo. And it was nice to see all ages of women enjoying each others company. But the thing that really made me embrace the morning was a very funny older woman. I often feel like I'm "faking it". I feel like I present as a punk ass kid. I feel like the insides of me are adult and composed but I am very aware that there's lots between my insides and my outsides. And people don't usually see my insides. My outside indicates that I am a kid with poor vision and a sinus problem that has been miraculously cured by permanently installing an unsightly piece of metal through my left nostril. On the outside I have a misunderstanding of the proper placement of the word like and find most everything to be full of awe (ie. that's, like, awesome). I don't think my outside is going to change anytime soon. But for now and likely for the rest of today (and maybe a little of tomorrow) I'm not going to worry much about my outside. There was this wonderful older woman, a church lady, who was in front of me in the bacon line. She was being very silly and making jokes about the sausage still being alive. I know that silly church ladies DO exist, but I see them so infrequently. I wonder if she worries about her outsides. I hope when I'm a silly older church lady (if I become a silly older church lady) that I will finally get over my outsides and just be happy that I have insides.

I'm watching a Pixies concert from the library and it's good. I recommend everyone takes out music videos from the library. It gives a person less reason to leave the house when you have the option to go to shows at home. Joel Plaskett is playing tonight and I'm not going. I have a film on the Clash that's due back tomorrow. Maybe I'll watch that instead. Maybe I will.

PAM TOLD JIM!!!!

Youpee!

Oops

I forgot a key piece to the last post.
Okay, so I just happened to be strolling 118 avenue on Sunday and there behind me was a man. On a horse. A white horse. And this man was just sitting and smoking and acting oh so casual. But the thing is, he was on a freaking white horse strolling along on the sidewalk on 118 avenue. In Edmonton. On a horse. Ha.

Sunday: A Day in Review (Monday: A Day Made of Poo)

Yesterday I went out for supper to celebrate the birth of my favorite Guetalaman. When I got up from the table, I realized that my leg was asleep. My legs and feet fall asleep on a regular basis, but I've never experienced it like I did yesterday. My leg went wobbly. As I walked, my leg just wouldn't stay straight. I kept on thinking of Katherine O'Hara's character Cookie Guggleman Fleck in "Best in Show". Remember when she sprains her ankle? I am always so annoyed when I watch her walk. I mean, no one ever walks like that. Well, now I know. She sure showed me.
Today I found myself in a peculiar position. Just last week I was at Schock-land sobbing on the big red couch because I just can't take the drop-in portion of my job anymore. I just can't do it. The leering and gross man talk has injured my spirit so terribly I felt that I could never be whole again. Today my new boss told me that she wants me out of the drop-in to lower my level of stress. Wanna know what I said to her? I said...I need to be in there. I told her that it is better for my team of colleagues if I am there to give them more of a break. For the sake of the collective good, I will fight to remain in the drop-in. Funny. Huh?
The time I spent on the couch organically removing my mascara was also spent talking with God. (Yes, THE God). Now, at the risk of sounding like a Christian, God is good! Even when I'm broken into a million pieces, I'm not untouchable. I'm still redeemable. I can still experience healing. God also reminded me that she'll tell me when it's time to move on to another position. For now I still have a stupid amount of peace with where I spend my waking hours. That's why when I was given an out - an out that I've been dreaming of - I found myself forming words that I may curse tomorrow.
I fought for my right to work in the drop-in. Ha.

Yesterday I finally got a joke that I didn't know I didn't get for months. Jess/Andy took a photo of a t shirt when they were in Chile. It's funny now that I get it.