Fix you like a hotdog...

Shelley made and posted this on her blog site today. I decided that I have rights to it too.

The title comes from a dream I had a while ago, in which my sister decided that she wanted to attend my school. Upon being accepted, she threw a big party in which she gave out hotdogs and t-shirts that said "Vancouver Art Therapy Institute: We'll fix you like a hotdog".

I became really upset with her and tried to explain that you can't just fix a person like you fix a hotdog. It takes time...

Since then fixing like a hotdog has become a popular phrase in this household. It works well for everything. I think we should all incorporate it into our speech. Spread the word (phrase).

strange photos happen in the dark

Ross was in town after his massive roadtrip from Minnesota. Therefore, we decided to camp, and since the ferry going to Bowen Island was the cheapest, we decided to take it. Little did we know that "Bowfest" was happening (which included an apparently stellar performance by the band Raised by Apes) and there is no place to camp on Bowen Island. But, there was no turning back. So, no map in hand, we began to drive across the island until we came to a retreat center. No room there, but the manager informed us that if we could not find any other place at all we could come back and he would take us somewhere.

After a trip across the island and getting turned down from a New Age retreat center, we returned since it was getting dark. Marks, the gracious manager, told us to load up our backs with our belongings and follow him. We hiked a fairly treachorous little trail around the mountain until we came to a plateau on a cliff's edge, overlooking a mountain expanse with ocean in the distance.

Good things happen when you don't go into a situation with expectations. Food tastes the best when you make it on a campstove in the dark. And strange photos happen in the dark.

welcome home/ old and new experiences

There's nothing like getting your car broken into and cd player stolen to make you feel right at home in your new neighborhood. I speak from experience.

I came home this afternoon from taking transit across the city to find my car doors curiously unlocked. Upon further inspection I saw the cubby hole open, papers scattered about, a gaping hole in the dash with cords hanging out of it.

This means that all three of us in this house have, in the last week, had someone get into our vehicles. A talented, fairly courteous someone, somewhat fortunately. Kenda's car they took nothing but a bit of spare change, but did leave a cigarette butt on the driver's mat. Shelley's car she accidentally left unlocked and found nothing gone, but all seatbelts in the back seat strangely buckled up. My car has no damage but a crack through the window sealant where they broke through and, of course, the missing cd player. Plus my favorite sunglasses.

One more incident to add to the long list of vehicular trauma I have experienced in the last six months. The first time I have been robbed of my own possessions, though. What a crappy new experience.

Unfortunately, I think I'm going to need to stop being the optimistic/innocent country girl that I am and develop a city mind.
And sell my car.
And start alarming our house.
And eat chocolate.
And learn to dissociate from my possessions. This evening I almost wished I had no possessions. Life would be, in some respects, so much easier this way.

reunited.

Here it is: living proof that I have been reunited with the college community. We had a beer in White Rock on Saturday night which went late enough that I was unable to take transit home and therefore spent the night at Margaret's fairy tale home outside of Abbotsford. As we ate breakfast off of John Deere plates in her retro home, we marveled at how wonderful it is to not have to explain yourself to someone, but already have an understanding from a history, from being in the same place, a common sense of being. Ah, it was great.

That night we ate how we ate in college and spent the evening in Stanley park outside of the Sarah Harmer concert. We sat outside the gates in a sidestage spot so excellent that we even saw Sarah's underwear before she went onstage. (Or Joshua did. But we were all there so I think we can take it as our claim to fame.)

As Sarah Harmer sang songs from her latest album, which happens to be my latest addiction, I thought of how there was nowhere else I'd rather be, nothing else I'd rather be listening to, no one else I'd rather be with. It was bliss.

home/less

I am sitting in my new place in East Vancouver, now mostly habitable. I like it. In some ways I feel right at home, being able to listen to my records loud while working in my art studio in the basement or cooking in the kitchen without having to worry about doing something wrong.

I realized yesterday that this is, however, the closest to homeless I've ever been (besides while traveling.) I have no phone or internet. I've been setting up office in coffee shops and squatting on the edge of our lawn to steal our neighbor's wireless internet signal. Until yesterday we had no tv and I still don't have a garbage or desk or laundry detergent. I don't know where lots of things in my new place are. I also don't know my address yet. I guess I'm still pretty far from being homeless since I have a home, but I am enjoying the thought.

So much to do to become settled...

One perk: I have an excuse to shop at thrift stores. I have scored myself some pretty funky things these last couple of days including a sweet version of the Last Supper done in wood/reed.

things new:

1. I cut my hair last week. I did it on somewhat of a whim as I was walking down Lonsdale Ave., thinking about how I haven't had a haircut in 1.7 years and how it might cheer me up. I went to "Save on Cuts" and learned, once again, that saving money isn't always a good thing. I asked for an inch off and I got about six in some places! Two haircuts for the price of one, I guess. I thought the fact that this place was Persian-owned would make it a cultural experience... it turns out that a lot was literally lost in translation. ah well, it'll grow back. It is funny how attached we get to our hair, though, isn't it?

2. I moved to East Vancouver. It is a very different demographic than North Vancouver, which was middle to upper class, quiet and naturey. East Vancouver is more lower class and crazy. Nothing to worry about yet, although we did come across a used condom and someone did leave a "Hello my name is" sticker on my car window which said "Crazy" in graffiti letters.... I think we'll be okay.

3. I spent the last few days holidaying in the Okanagan at roommate Shelley's family's "cabin". It was on the lake. It was beautiful--a great way to interrupt the moving process. The only thing that would have made it better is seeing Ogopogo.