Just a trim.

"Just a trim to keep the ends healthy?" This I totally believed kept my tresses looking good. Apparently I was wrong.

The new stylist in the posh kensington salon leaned in for a closer examination. Her face filled with disgust. "At least 6 inches, what the hell did your person in Vancouver do to your hair?" she said with her icy voice.

If only I had been the kind of person who did not listen to somebody simply because she was skinny and had a sleek black Bob and treated me as If I was a total mess, this story would have ended right here. Instead, I followed her to her to her chair. An hour later and $100 poorer and practically scalped I walked out into Kensington Market a different person. My long hair had been cut into a wedge not the Bob I had been promised. Even worse, as the blonde locks fell to the floor, I was left with what lay beneath them, mousy brown roots. damn. I kept peering at my reflection in various store windows as I walked by them.

That haircut stayed with me for about 2 years, whenever I tried to grow it out, I got weird wings on the side of my face that made me look like a flying nun. I tried to adapt to the change, I wore my hair in tiny pigtails, painted on highlights more frequently, I even had it died it jet black, trying to make the best out of a bad situation. My stupid hair was constantly on my mind. Then I had a brilliant idea - I thought that various shades of bright red lipstick would draw attention away from my stupid hair straight to my lips. I had a basket full of every shade of red Mac and Estee Lauder sold back in the day.

I had no lack of male attention. I was glad I attracted suitors due to my wit and smarts, rather than a gorgeous head of blond hair. Truth be told, I missed the weight of all that hair on my back and shoulders. I missed the way men grabbed into it when we kissed.

That was it. I decided to grow it out. Over the next few years and a few close calls with hair dressers (Caprice.. we should cut it all off.. you have to go short to go long...) I endured the protracted growing-out process. Call me shallow or narcissistic, but i liked the way men admired it. I liked walking around Granville island with my long coat, black boots and yes, abundant blonde hair.

That was 10 years ago. I was a 30 year old without enough self confidence to ignore bad advice. The fact that at my age I have the same hair that I so stupidly allowed somebody to take away from me does not mean that I am not moving forward. It means that I have arrived at a place that I feel fan fucking tastic and I won't let it be taken away from me again.

Ready, set Pack!

List time again to help me re-group and organize my scattered thoughts.
I am actually here in Vancouver for a day more then BAM I am travelling again. Thankfully not very far. I will be out and about, up to no good (hopefully!!) and throwing away my usual fine sense of responsibility. Hells yeah!

Bombay Sapphire Gin
Tonic Water
pineapple juice
new jacket
hunter knee high rain boots (black)
2 pairs of leather riding boots
New red lipstick
Waxing appointment ;)
Pedicure (Why not?)
2 new dresses
new leggings
assorted undies (nice and regular)
jeans
new riding bag
warm jacket
Davida and full face helmet
Iphone loaded.
cash.
Car washed & vacuumed
Vespa tuned and ready.

OMG I am actually looking forward to this weekend. Let's hope I get into much trouble.

C.

Pop Art. I wanna go!

Pop art continues to provoke:

A blockbuster exhibition of works by the world’s foremost pop artists opens at Ottawa’s National Gallery in June, and it’s already stirring controversy for its, well, intentionally controversial content.

Pop Life: Art in a Material World is travelling from the Tate Modern in London, and features some 250 paintings, drawings, sculptures, videos, etc., produced over the past three decades by artists like Andy Warhol, Jeff Koons, and Damien Hirst. The gallery has received the edited version of the show from Tate curators, presumably to avoid some of the issues experienced during the show’s run last year, and some galleries will be off limits to kids under 18 unless they’re accompanied by a parent. I caught a Great discussion on all this on CBC Radio’s Q a few days ago, and you can find details on the exhibition itself via on the National Gallery’s website here.


Fascinating.

Have you ever?

How well do we really know ourselves? Really? Do you really know how or what you would do in certan situations?
Yes? No? Don't know?

I can safely say that I thought I knew myself, but as it turns out, really I don't.

Think about the last time you did something "out of character" something that when and if recounting it you would say "It just was not like me at all".. then stop and think. Maybe, just maybe it is EXACTALLY like you. Maybe, just maybe it is what you want to do, who you want to be.

Let's stop for a moment and think about all the bariers that we blame "life" for putting up for us - but we really put infront of ourselves.

money (or lack thereof)
time
Peer pressure
Fear of disaointment
fear or rejection
self doubt
approval
aceptance of friends / family
hesitation
stying in your confort zone

All the above are shitty, shitty things. Crap. pure crap.

I say FUCK all that - do something today that you have always wanted to do. I don't care if it is trying a different restaurant at lunch, or flirting with that hot married guy who works with you. Go get that puppy you have always wanted. Go buy that dress in Green, red but not the usual black. Book that flight to Paris. Just do it!

Take life by the bollacks and go for it. You never know what will happen if you don't.
And that is an option I am not even willing to entertain.

So call me you idiot because you never know what I am going to say. It might be just what you want to hear.

Fresh start

OK - here is the deal. I look at America is one big movie - or rather many, many, many movies happening at the same time.

What? Yes. Just hear me out. I was thinking this when I was in Maui, sitting on the diving boat with a faux Owen Wilson type, complete with Tommy Bahama shorts, bleached blond "I just woke up looking like this" hair telling us everything he knew about turtles and flirting with all the ladies. Yes, he thought he was Owen Wilson, and had the total Maui lifestyle down pretty good. This included pulling up last minute in a Jeep with surfboard tied to the roof to take us out on our epic adventure. Solid!

You Americans have the ability to reinvent yourself. It's easy... just follow this step by step guide:
Pick a city. Any city. For this example, let's say we want to live in ... oh well I don't know... say Austin Texas. OK. So
pack up your stuff, move to Austin. Get your cowboy hat. Make sure you wear the jeans.. pretty soon you are driving an F150 or a Dodge Ram, hanging out at the local bar waiting your turn to ride the mechanical bull. Perfect.

Let's say you get tired of the old cowboy routine.. that's OK.... you :

Move to L.A. Rent a shitty motel room and go to every audition imaginable, wait tables until you want to scream.. and never land that perfect role. That is OK because it WILL happen, you are making sure it does and to seal the deal you are banging the producer at his Malibu beach house in between auditions, while his wife is at a yoga retreat in Santa Barbara (banging the yoga instructor 20 years younger than she is).

Never did land that movie role? That's ok. You want to try your luck in

Alaska. Yes, you long for the solitude of the wilderness. Get on the next Alaska airlines flight, to Juneau or Fairbanks. Go to the local k-mart (they have them there too now) purchase your checkered mac jacket.. get your fishing gear out, buy a rusty truck, complain about the cruise ships, brag about how cold it really could be and that you have been in colder weather.

For a little while enjoy being the only woman around for 100 miles - that is until you realized that all there are up here are really hairy bearded men who are social rejects. Some time passes and that damn sun never goes down and you can't sleep at all during the summer. Suddenly the thought of never being invited to another party and having to sit in this ugly, cold log cabin playing cards (shudder) with a guy you really don't like named Dan freaks you out, so you quickly pack and head to:

New York! Yes, you shop for sport not for fun, make sure you are on the guest list at all the clubs. You and half of your friends are starving artists, but that is OK because you can take tuns banging each other and then feel awkward and never talk about it, but it totally improves your artistic process and you sit around all day talking about all of your other feelings over coffee in some random place where some 16 year olds are taking turns sticking safety pins in each others necks.

You live off the gratis wine and cheese at all of the gallery and play openings you get invited to. Your wealthy 50 year old married boyfriend (who's wife does not understand him ) buys you the coveted hot pink Luis Vuitton wallet you have always wanted then does not call you again. 3 weeks and many late nights spent crying and sitting at friends drinking gin and going over all the gory details of your failed relatonship with a man waaayyy to old to date, you spot him at a gallery opening making out with your ex-roommate - and she is clutching the very same hot pink Luis Vuitton wallet he gave to you.

Why do I think this is unfair? Because I am am not an American. I may be North American, but that 49th parallell definatley draws the line. I have very few options If I want to move. There are only really a handful of cities I can go to, and let's be honest, Any further east than Vancouver and I am asking for trouble - and stupid winters that go on for 9 months.

I can pretend to be french and move to Quebec. I can pretend to hate the rest of Canada and move to Toronto. I can move to the prairies and pretend I am more important than I really am and always talk about guns and oil and how big my house is.... or I can stay put on the coast and enjoy my temperate climate, European house prices, insane taxes and the fact that there are no happy hours with food that is only $2.00 like there is in the states.

That is why my passport is so damn important to me. 30 Km's to the south of me is a whole land of "theme parks" that I can visit, but can't stay at. You, my American friends have the ability to move and morph yourself to a whole new being whenever the moment takes you. For that I am envious.

I think I need to go and pay more taxes now or something to take my mind off all of this.