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Category Archives: Self Improvement


I think I’ve figured it out.

I am afraid of commitment.

This could explain why I hate changing my address on government mail (It’s still my parents’ house, even though I haven’t resided there in about 5 years), why I refuse to get a pet yet, why I have such a hard time with relationships. Why I was so unsure about buying a new vehicle and why it still doesn’t feel real.  Why I hate signing leases and get burned out with long-term employment and volunteering with a Scout Troop….

Throughout my childhood and teenage years, I watched the Disney princess movies and read literature which reinforced the fairy-tale romantic love that I desire. Country music also reinforces these notions with their love-story songs and they impart a very fanciful way of thinking I might one day have something even a fraction like the love they sing about.
My relationships have been long-distance, which gave me freedoms to stay known as myself and not as half of something. For a while, I’ve known I would not be happy only being known as half of something and to have my worth based off my significant other.

I am in love with the idea.

The ideal of a relationship – of having someone be there for you, to care about you and to make sure you’re okay. And I quite like the idea of doing the same for someone else. But… I have a feeling theory and reality are very different beasts.

I don’t know how to be a girlfriend. I don’t know what is and what is not acceptable in terms of how often to contact them, how much time to spend with them, when I should or shouldn’t break other plans to be with them, what to discuss, how to act, how to present myself… It’s all a mystery to me.

I use physical acts to show my affection, which apparently I’m not supposed to do/show too early. I’ve never really known what to do in a relationship – except that it gives me pretty much free reign to have a lot of sex with the same person.  (Sorry Mum and Dad.)

So dating is foreign to me. I don’t know how much to hold back. I don’t know what to do with this other person who apparently enjoys my company and finds me attractive. Relationships… No wonder I have such a trainwreck history.

Well. Now that’s out in the open.

City Beautiful

Where I live is pretty blessed. It’s full of  upper-class, old world citizens that live on these huge, extravagant estates with Million-Dollar homes, heritage designations and acres of lawns and gardens.

The other side of town is newer, but no less nice. Cookie-cutter houses with uniform patches of green out front, scattered with children’s toys and the detritus of life.

Everywhere you look there is a park near by, a green space for the locals to enjoy. We’re home to Mile 0, where Terry Fox started his journey across Canada.
The city has planted hundreds of flowering Cherry and Apple trees along avenues, parks and in the downtown core. Many of these trees have been strung with Christmas lights that twinkle and glow year-round, but look especially magical in the winter and right now, when they are in full bloom.

The petals create drifts of pink and white snow on the sidewalks, you can literally shovel the fallout from a day of wind.

It’s surreal to walk through a street, lined on both sides with light-wrapped trees displaying their showy flowers in the twilight. Like a romantic scene in a movie, where she is standing amongst the flowering grove and he comes walking up behind her to declare his true love for her… Or like Alice discovering Wonderland is strange, but somehow, just like home.
A sense of calm, a sense of peace. A sense that I won’t be able to enjoy this for a long time to come.

The city plants gardens everywhere it can – park borders, planted meridians in the roads, planters on the sidewalks, flowering trees, flower displays in parks, rose gardens, natural meadows, and anything else it can think of. Plus Buchart Gardens is a rose in our cap.

We are a tourist town, no doubt about it, but the citizens have long been concerned with the appearance of our city. Shop owners keep their sidewalks clean, stains on the sidewalk are washed away on a regular basis, the graffiti removal companies are always busy, and we have a relatively small visibly homeless population which stay out of the downtown core and are located a few blocks away.

I’ll miss it. I don’t see my new city being nearly as beautiful, sprawling for miles and miles, with nothing to contain it. I didn’t see many places for flowers or a lot of trees, but maybe once they reach spring, this will change. It’s still wintery there, so I’ll be sure to pack my woolens and warmest coats.

Lost Alice

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Wandering through life, like Wonderland’s forest
The path changing and disappearing.
There are no maps in no-man’s land; your guess is as good as hers.

What do these paths hold?
Mad Queens, black rabbits, or the way home?
One path holds a tall, sturdy Oak,
Another becomes a free
through the earth.

She’s scared to jump. Climb those rocks, it’s pure adrenaline getting you to the top.
Crushing indecision – The “what-if”‘s fly like leather-winged bats in her head.

Just a lost little girl, stuck at a crossroad. St Christopher around her neck; a comfort, never a noose.
No one can guide her now, her path is her own to pick.
How can you find home when it is no longer there to come home to?

Winter’s Glory

Bright green, brittle winter’s grass crunches underfoot.
Millions of diamonds sparkle from the deep frost, illuminated by the brilliant white moon.
Navy skies, speckled with silver stars, twinkling in the crisp night.

Clear air inhaled rejuvenates a soul,
Pale blue eyes marvel at the beauties of the night;
Douglas Fir and Red Cedar trees silhouetted against the yard light.

Silence and stillness envelope the land.  It’s peaceful – Absolute and fleeting.
A sense of belonging and home settle onto my shoulders,
Lifting weights of the world; release the shoulders, relax.

Ranting and Raving

I’m a chick.  I’ve got boobs and a vadge.

I like them.  I wouldn’t give them up for a dick any day.

I don’t intentionally use my sex and sexuality for personal gain.  I’ve never gone to profs or job interviews wearing suggestive clothing or flirted to get a job or a grade.

And I will never do those things.  Those only pander to the gender ideas/ideals/stereotypes imposed upon me as a woman.  Plus, my skills and abilities run deep and are numerous.

I might have to call my man to help me figure out the quick release mechanism on my new bike-lock, but I figured out how to tighten the bike seat and already had the screw-drivers needed to install the bracket on the bike.
I know how to change my oil, spark plugs, do a rad flush and change a tire all by myself.  I can assemble my ikea bed in an hour or less, by myself.  I can drive stick.  I can toss a motherloving haybale up to the trailer.  I can chop/stack firewood and split a months worth of kindling in 15 minutes.

These are things men are “expected” to do.  These are things my brother can do and does regularly.  Ditto with Dad, who taught us both how to use an axe, a knife, how to fix our cars and figure out what was wrong with it, even if we can’t fix it by ourselves.

Maybe me growing up in a rural area makes me a sort of anomaly in today’s society, being able to confidently enter into the men’s sphere of tasks with a pair of tits.

I saw an ad recently that was, to me, wholly disgusting.  It’s an Australian ad, and I’ve been informed that they have a “dry humour” over there. But it’s still gross.

It’s so blatantly sexist, it feels like the whole of Australian men should be apologising to every woman they see about it.  Hah, men apologising.  What sort of fantasy land am I in? (I must still be in Wonderland from last weekend!)

My friends and I had a HUGE debate over it.
I will admit that the one personal attack I made was made during a moment of frustration, in a desperate attempt to get him to see anything other than his own opinion.

After the argument ended/we all ran out of steam, I went to read another blog. And found these gems:

About how society treats a women who left her family, but is still really involved in her children’s life.  Full-time fathers are “saints”, and full-time mothers are “normal”.
How is this fair?  Yes, for centuries women were the primary child-care providers.  So really, we can’t expect men to be all over being a full-time caregiver in today’s society.  We’re still dealing with gender ideals, stereotypes and “gender norms”.  But why must we exalt men for having an active role in parenting?  Whoo, a dude’s bein’  a daddy, better throw a freakin’ parade.

As someone who does not want children in the forseeable future and will probably adopt/foster care children  instead of spawning any podlings myself, this only reinforces my stance.  I don’t, and haven’t really ever, wanted to be a mother.  I wasn’t that great at babysitting.  I don’t have a lot of patience for my friends’ kids, though I try very, VERY hard for their sake.  They wanted kids early, or had them early at any rate.  Which is fine for them.  I, personally, don’t agree, having had the experiences I’ve had, and knowing what I still want to do, and how hard it could be to do what I want to with a podling.  Also, my mum had her kids young, and I think she resented/resents it, to a point.


Women are only allowed to be as strong as men let them be.  Sex is used to sell again and again.

I really want to see a change in advertising.  I would LOVE to see less gender stereotypes, racial stereotypes and less sex in my daily life.  Now, not to mean that I don’t like sex.  I just don’t want to be continually bombarded with sex and sexuality and women in various states of undress all day, every day.  If I wanted to see a pair of tits, I’d look down.  If I want to feel bad about my body, I look at a Cosmo.  Or a haute couture advert.  Or watch me some America’s Next Top Model, which I am Addicted to.  (Shut up. I love it.)

I would love to say that in today’s modern, liberated, liberal society, these have become non-issues.  But this may never be the case.  Women are just as capable as men in like, everything.  PLUS we spawn podling-monsters the size of a smallish watermelon from an orifice that is decidedly NOT the size of a smallish watermelon.
And March 8th was International Women’s Day. I wish I had the article that this one responds to, I’m sure it’s found easily enough, but I am currently multi-tasking while writing this post.

The comments are worth reading too.

Sexism is discrimination. I don’t care if you find a definition that speaks otherwise.  If you use a person’s sex or gender against them, to portray a stereotype, to bully or belittle them, you are discriminating against the person.

Women are still not seen as equals to men.  We’re paid less in many job circumstances (I’ve only had a few jobs, which were unions meaning equal pay for the position, where I was paid the same for the same work as my male counterparts.  Even when I had more experience in the job/worked for the company much longer), we’re expected to be mothers, work outside the home, make dinner, do the laundry and generally keep the house clean.  All while looking pretty and slim.  The 1950s housewife ideal has not gone away, it has only shifted in its expectations.

I don’t hate men.  I don’t have a hate on for women who submit to the gender roles/stereotypes or whatever pressures are placed upon them by general society.  I simply want more equality and respect across the board.  And not just in white/Western/North American cultures, too.  Why are people so very against the idea that having tits or a dick makes you superior or inferior?  And for people who quote the bible at me, Do Not Bother.  I will not go into my religious views here.  Though, I will say that I think the bible is a collection of stories and myths, not true facts.  I wish men would see how objectifying women day after day after day isn’t cool.  I wish advertisers would be more creative in their marketing.  I wish people treated each other with respect and that more people would try to see both sides of an argument or at least educate themselves in a less biased manner when discussing issues.


I’m a grown up.

With the passing of my birthday recently (Which we will not discuss), I’ve realised I’m in my mid-20s. This is strange to me. I never thought I’d make it out of high school alive.

So here I am, in my mid-twenties. I’m a college student, who, after five years of trying various courses and changing majors and programs a couple times, has finally settled on an education path. (For now. I will probably change again.) I’m going to be transferring to a new school in the autumn and I’m excited, though approaching with trepidation. It’s a very large school, and I am just one person, afterall.

I’m also applying for jobs like crazy. And writing a lot of cover letters to go with my résumé. With writing all these cover letters, I have a) gotten better at writing them and b) realised I have the training and experience to go for higher level jobs.
And that I can be a manager, supervisor, etc. Because I’ve done it before.

I have “Been there, done that” for serious.


Growing up is strange.
I know I have much more growing to do, and in the past few months I’ve gone from a shoo-in for a crazy cat/dog lady to having a relationship. I’ve also realised I want kids, but am scared beyond words at the actual prospect of them. I still want to adopt/foster rather than spawn my own.

I find I’m able to think about consequences, I’m trying to be less petty, trying to be more level-headed. In some respects, this is easy. In others… not so much.

This growing up and being an adult is strange. I do really enjoy making my own decisions, but I wish I didn’t have to pay rent. If I want to have a “undies and Tshirt Sunday” I totally can! I can have a bagel and cream cheese for dinner because I don’t feel like cooking.But then I have to pay bills.
Why can’t I be independently wealthy?! Sigh.

I suppose my consolation is that I am a pretty good person, I was did done raised right, y’all. I’ve grown to be a well-adjusted, productive member of society.
Yet, I still have fun, and plan on doing so for many years to come. (And I am ever so glad I’m done with the drama of adolescence. Thank the Good Lord for that!)


Gettin’ It Together

One of my biggest frustrations with myself is that I am not active.

Years ago, in high school, it was SO damn easy to be active. Gym class was mandated until grade 10. I also played rugby and was on the wrestling team. Between the HARDCORE workouts in wrestling and the mass amounts of cardio in Rugby (I ran up and down the field a lot as a blind-side winger) I was a skinny thing. Never realised it until I found some pictures from grade 11 new years a while ago with Courteney.
Also, my friends were still more shapely and thin, so I felt like a fatty anyway.
(I love my friends, and my besties Em and Court were model-worthy from like, grade 10 onwards. It ain’t fair.)

Then, of course, I graduated. And stopped running laps around a field or doing 60 crunches and 40 push-ups as a warm up to the workout.

Now, I haven’t changed a whole lot size-wise. Well, maybe I have, but I didn’t really realise it. I wore a medium shirt in high school. I wear medium still, though now that I’ve got a rack (finally grew in during college), I like larges for the breathing space.
I wore size 8 pants then. I think I’m a 6 now. (These jeans say a 27, which in Gap means a 4, but gap runs a different size than everywhere else.)
As I mentioned, I did grow some in the bust area. I was a hopeful B-cup in high school. As in, I really hoped I would fill my B-cup. Now I’m spilling out of a D. (UGH) My band size has changed from a 36 to a 32/34.

So I don’t feel like I’ve changed much. I also still fit very easily into the dress I wore to Commencement.

But I’m inactive. I’m lazy. I am inherently lazy. It’s BAD. I make myself cringe with how lazy I can be.
I’m currently in a pole-dancing class, which I’ve done before, a couple years ago. It’s fun. This class is also a beginners level, but somehow more advanced than the classes I took last time. I’m getting better at pole-climbs, which means I’m getting some strength back.
(Oh yeah, I also used to be wicked strong. I had BICEPS! now, they are sad little imitations.)

But the class wraps up next week leaving this hour-long hole on my Monday nights.
But they offer another session in March! The studio also offers some other classes, like cardio and some boot camps.
and man oh, man, am I ever tempted to register myself in a boot camp.
I feel fat and lazy a lot these days. It’s not a nice feeling.
Boot camp would mean hauling my lazy, not-keen-on-mornings butt up early three times a week for six weeks. But it would probably be worth it.
It would be more a quick-fix rather than a long-term solution, I know. It could also be a great place to get a jump-start into something more long-lasting though perhaps not as intense.

I also want to start biking to school and possibly other places, too. I first need a bike. I have to look into my magical budget for that.

So, in my quest for making myself happy with me, I’ve discovered I used to like my hectic crazy, “I’m doing something all the time, every day for the next 4 months, so if you want to do anything with me, you have to book now” life. And how damn active I used to be.


My friend left a comment that’s made me think. And instead of leaving her a massive reply comment, I thought I’d share it. It’s worth it.

Can I ask a silly question? Since you can’t answer I’m gonna go ahead and do it.

At the top of your blog it says ‘making myself happy with me’ but everything you write about is concerned with changing yourself, more specifically your outward appearance. To me these seem like contradictory ideas. I’m all for being healthy, but you’re forcing yourself to not eat things you enjoy in order to lose weight, and once your challenge is up and you want to eat cheese again your body will then gain back some of that weight and you’ll be unhappy again. Wouldn’t a better goal be to learn to be satisfied with yourself AS IS? Like I said, being healthy and strong is great, but if your self worth is based on your waist measurement maybe you should spend some of your energy finding out why you feel you have to be skinny to be acceptable.

I hope I haven’t offended, I really didn’t mean to if I did, I just want to make sure you’re doing all this for the right reasons.

She’s right.

I should learn to like me as is. And for the most part, I do.

I really just want my clothes to fit better, and to not look like I’m several months pregnant.
I have come to understand and accept on some level that I will never have a flat, taut midsection.

As for the veggie thing, it’s something new. Like I said in the post, I don’t know how long it’ll stick around. I “slipped” in December, it was easier and more convienent. Plus I LOVE turkey and I only get it at Thanksgiving and Christmas. And the dairy-dropping is something to try. I do love me some milk, but I also don’t eat cereal or drink it every day. More than once I’ve had to toss a half-full jug (I usually get the 2L) b/c it turned off weeks ago and I didn’t drink it. So it’s not the biggest deal ever.

I’m not offended. She raises a valid argument. I’m just… I don’t know.
I guess the media/society has placed a higher value on the hourglass-and-flat-middle bodfy ideal and I’ve become “one of them”.  And it was a goal of mine to drop the weight. Not to be “Finally. I’m a this size and therefore my world is complete” more for a challenge and acheivement.

I know my body won’t stay at a smaller size without a lot of dedication, which frankly, I lack when it comes to self-care. I don’t want to find the time to spend hours at the gym or ruining my knees running on pavement in the city.

“Making myself happy with me” was aimed more at trying to get past my roadblocks of not feeling good enough due to never being good enough for my Mum growing up, as she never had a kind word for me, only reprimands and criticism. which is pretty damaging. I wrote that one post about it, I should think about revisiting that.
For years I never felt good enough, and in a lot of respects, I still don’t. I don’t think I’m worth exploring to find the gold and diamonds.
This is probably why I’m so nervous about job interviews.

So, while I can’t promise more uplifting posts about how pleased I am with myself, I will keep some more clearly defined goals in my head.