Thursday, April 28, 2011

If you're going to Penticton, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.

I suppose I should update you all on how my absolutelyfantasticIneedtoleaverightaway vacation went. It. Was. Awesome. In a nutshell, I'm moving back. Not tomorrow. Not next month. Probably not even the month after that. But I am doing it. I may or may not have even started perusing ads for places to rent when I do move there [not tomorrow]. I packed completely inappropriately because since there was still frost on my car every morning here, I assumed it would be just as chilly there. I was wrong. It was too warm to wear any of the 65 hoodies I brought, so I wore my Lulu capris all weekend. Except Sunday I fancied it up for Easter dinner with 20 distant relatives by wearing jeggings. Stretchy fabric is the way to go. Always.

I also may have decided over the weekend that my next vehicle is going to be an SUV. Not an obnoxious one. A cute, girly Honda CRV like my momma's. I got used to driving it everywhere anybody needed to go (including home) because the kind policeman reminded momma that her license expired three days prior on her birthday (even though she claimed to have changed her birthday this year to June because she wasn't feeling up to celebrating at the time of her actual birthday). I also learned that backseat drivers make me want to kill anything that crosses my path. Even momma. Here's a snippet of a conversation had approximately 15 minutes into driving home:

Momma: You're going too fast.
Me: slows down.
Momma: The guy behind you wants to pass you.
Me: I know, but there's someone beside me.
Momma: Don't pass yet, there's someone beside you.
Me: inhales, counts to ten.
Momma: Okay, you can move over now.
Me: moves over.
Momma: Slow down to 120.
Me: slows down to 120.
Momma: This is the perfect speed. Keep going this speed.
Momma: Well I just get nervous when I'm not the one driving.

She wanted her license to be renewed so badly that she made me drive by the access centre when we got home just in case it was open on Easter Monday. It wasn't. I was right. It's not important.

So her car was so fantastic to drive I told her I'd like to buy it, since she spent the drive home analyzing every truck we saw because she's decided she wants a truck now. She didn't say 'no', so let's assume that means 'yes'. I've learned a lot of assumption lessons, so maybe let's not do that. But I feel like that's what I want my next vehicle to be.

Anyway, back to my trip. I got to cook a lot and play a lot of games and blow a lot of bubbles with nephew (and by blow a lot of bubbles I mean get bubble solution in my hair because it was windy in every direction so blowing bubbles was probably not the most ideal activity) and got to cling to g-pa, just as planned. We had a pretty solid heart-to-heart one night, which is really all I wanted out of the trip. The nice weather and living-in-luon was a bonus. I actually always live in luon, so that was normal, they just got to be shorter pants because it was warm, that was the bonus.

There was a photo shoot with the family. I'm curious to see how those turned out.

There was a lot of whining done by nephew. Good thing he's cute.

There were Easter gifts. I now feel pressure to make endless amounts of cupcakes.

There was arguing and laughing and competitiveness. No one in my family should be allowed to play games.

It was a very quick three days, but it was also a very quick drive to get there. So I predict I will be spending a significant more amount of time there. I should get used to the city I plan on living in anyway. It only makes sense.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go.

My life has come to the point where having 4 days off in a row is a vacation. I feel like I'm taking off to somewhere tropical and relaxing, that's how excited I am to have this time off. In actuality I only have one extra day off in addition to what I normally get off every week, but this week I'm leaving Abbotsford for my days off! I'm already packed and I don't leave until tomorrow afternoon. But I don't care. My packed bags by the front door are not a fire hazard because roomie's small so she can fit around them. It may or may not look like I'm actually leaving for 10 days based on the amount of luggage I have. I'm only gone for 3 nights. My mother will roll her eyes at me. She likes to constantly remind me I'm not actually a celebrity. She should feel privileged since she's the one that gets to ride with a celebrity for 3 hours in the car. I picture myself wearing my oversized sunglasses whether it's sunny or not, sipping iced coffee, flipping through a trashy gossip magazine. I picture her either turning up the music extra loud hoping it deters me from looking at pictures of my fellow celebrities reading, or turning off the music completely with the hopes of me talking her ear off. I'm a fantastic multi-tasker, I can talk and be a celebrity at the same time. She should know this.

So where am I going, you ask? Back to my old stomping grounds. To relive my childhood via Cherry Lane Mall and Tickleberry's ice cream parlor. To possibly cry myself to sleep every night I'm away (and for another 3 nights after I get home) because I want to live there again. It is...PENTICTON!!!!! I was born there. I was mostly raised there. I'm from there. I miss the Okanagan with all my heart. So when I get an opportunity to go back for a visit I get more excited than when the people that live above me leave the house. It's my grandparents that the whole fam is going to visit. The. Whole. Fam. (Minus MiniSis) (*that's a lot of the same letters for two words) Easter is almost as big as Christmas in my family, so let's refer to it as spring Christmas. Getting all six of us to all have the same time off to all take a road trip is an almost miracle. But at g-pa's request, we part the waters to make it happen.

My g-pa is my world. We have a mutual adoration for each other and I hate that we're so far apart, so this weekend I plan on attempting to make up our distance. I also plan to make up for his angel getting inked. At least it's pretty, nice, feminine ink...? This was the last conversation the g-rent's and I had:

G-ma: Don't forget to bring your bathing suit so you can go in the hot tub!
Me: Ohhhh...about that...I won't be able to go in the hot tub...I'm getting a tattoo...*winces in anticipation for response
G-pa: Har har har
G-ma: Oh...of what?
Me: Explains
G-ma: I'm just about done getting my tattoos.
Me: Uhh, what? What tattoos?
G-pa: Har har har (he's a man of few words)
G-ma: I just need the last line of my eyeliner done.

Oh right, I had almost forgotten the g-ma got her eyebrows tattooed, and then decided she needed her eyeliner tattooed as well. Because being able to just get up and put on some lipstick was convenient. I guess I can't argue with that, but eyeliner?! Let's not forget my aversion to eye touching. I could not imagine a needle coming within a foot of my eyeballs. It makes me want to die.

So in 26 hours I will be en route to the beautiful, [hopefully] sunny Okanagan to stare at makeup tattoos and cling to my elders. I hope I don't return from my vacay wanting my eyes tattooed out of pure convenience.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

I'm inked.

Last night I experienced the most painful two hours of my life. When I told my mother this her response was "you've obviously never birthed a child." Uhh, well, no, I actually haven't. And if it's worse than a tattoo I don't think I ever will. Ok, I'm being dramatic. It hurt like an S.O.B., but in a few weeks I'll be over it and re-evaluate all major life decisions I made based on last night.

Getting "inked" (I'm a gangster so I will use that term freely) is unlike any pain. It's hard to describe. To a fellow woman, I would say it's similar to cutting yourself shaving in the shower and having a constant stream of water run into the cut. Over and over and over and OVER again. For two hours. It didn't resemble bee stings to me, and it surely felt nothing like a needle, so I don't know how else to describe it. To a man, I don't know what to say because you guys are tough and feel no pain so it may be like a tickle to you. I have quite a high tolerance for pain. I love getting pierced and waxed (too much information? Sorry.), but getting inked (is it weird I creep smile when I type that as though I'm soooooooo funny?) was not okay. Nearing the end of two hours I started to cry. It was so far from enjoyable, and my so-called "endorphins" did NOT kick in after five minutes like promised by the artist. I felt the needle the ENTIRE time.

I especially felt the needle when it started making a weird sound that wasn't weird to me, but made the artist say "that's a new sound..." Excuse me? No new sounds, thanks. We want regular, I-hear-it-all-the-time-everyday sounds. She tells me my skin has toughened and the needle is bouncing rather than going into my skin. WTF? I attribute this tough skin to tanning all the time. Why is the hockey game on in the background? What if they score and she gets excited and inks a line down my side? What if she's paying too close attention to the game and I end up with a Canucks logo on my side? These thoughts do not make this process any easier, btw.

For two hours I was squeezing Mexican's hand with all my strength. Unknowingly, of course. Afterwards she tells me I have insane upper body strength and she's surprised her fingernails are still attached to her fingers. I honestly didn't know I was clinging so tightly until I relaxed [momentarily] in between...words? Letters? Probably not even letters, it felt like the same letter for two hours. I appreciate her tolerance with me. Had she not been there my ink would be something along the lines of the letter 'e' and 'l', and that's it.

Finally she's done. She calls me a trooper (do people not generally get a big script that takes two hours on one of the most sensitive parts of their body for their first tattoo? I guess not.) and I look in the mirror. I love it. I adore it. It's beautiful and everything I thought it would be. After I get home I was convinced the whole thing was on an angle, but I'm hoping it was my neuroticism, or my eyesight.

My sleep was terrible. I'd rather have stomping children running above me than have to sleep on my back or my left side (I'm a right side sleeper), but I was slightly paranoid that it would rub off. I guess in my head I had endured that pain for a stick-on tattoo, not a permanent marking on my body. Permanent. That's a scary thought.

This morning I had to peel off the clear wrap that she put on it to keep it clean. It felt similar to what I feel slowly peeling a stuck on band-aid off of your upper, inner thigh that is about the size of an 8"x11" piece of paper would feel like. It took me five minutes to get it off because I was convinced that every word was going to come off with the plastic. I'm not paranoid at all.

Now it's bumpy and sore-looking, but I still feel like walking around with a belly shirt on so I can show it off. Ok, I would never do that, my love for waxing pain was enough sharing for today. I am, however, happy to report I will not be one of those people that will become addicted to getting inked. My grandparents will be happy to hear that.

*Books appointment for next tattoo*

Monday, April 11, 2011

Life is changing and I'm okay with it.

It's creeping to the end of semester. Actually, this is the last week of classes, and with only one final and all but one of my final papers done (what? Only one paper left? Who am I?), it IS the end of semester. Another 4 months gone that I don't remember leaving, and, most importantly, it was the last time those 4 months will so quickly pass. I'm finished school? The thought freaks me out. I've been going to school since I was 4 years old. I don't know not going to school. A real job? No thanks. I don't want to be a big girl. It doesn't help that I convince myself daily that I'm only 23 years old (or secretly 65 years old). I still have years left before I need to worry about a career. Ok, I should have had a career 4 years ago. But I like my carefree life. I like being comfortable in my workplace. I like seeing my people everyday and knowing I get to hang out work with them everyday. 2011 has by far been ten zillion times better than 2010 and it's only April. I have high hopes.

I've neglected this little blog though. Maybe that's because I was doing homework? Real homework? I know, it's foreign to me too. What a fantastic feeling having my work done more than 26 minutes before it's due though. Why didn't I do this all along? To fellow procrastinators, try just one time doing an assignment ahead of time, I promise it's worth it. Judging by my random word-vomit thoughts I need to not neglect this blog ever again. Racing thoughts are more than just a symptom of a manic personality disorder, they are my life. Am I manic?

Where was I? Oh yes, this is a big week. It's the last week of classes. I have more than 46 seconds of spare time. I have nice hair today. I discovered an [almost] love for peanut butter (specialty peanut butter of course, my tastes are anything but regular and normal). I AM GETTING A TATTOO. All those other things were just leading up to that last one. I have pretty nice hair a lot of the time.

So it's a good thing I have nothing to focus on this week. I will spend the next 53.5 hours obsessing, going through waves of nauseousness and excitement, emotionally eating, then emotionally purging, and being more than a handful at work on Wednesday. (I'm sorry to all I work with on Wednesday, I may or may not be the biggest mess in the world. And by may not I mean most definitely will be). My ink will not be visible to the outside world. I'm getting it solely for me, and I could laugh-cry because this could quite possibly be the biggest, most permanent thing I've ever done in my life. What tells me it's the right thing to do? I haven't gone back on wanting it done. Not once have I even faltered or wondered whether I should or shouldn't get this done. I've only changed the placement 65 times. That doesn't count.

My next post will be about the experience. I have no idea what to expect. The lady that's doing it says she's had people fall asleep while getting tattooed? Who are these people? That won't be me. What if I laugh? What if I sneeze? What if I flinch? What if my blood doesn't clot and I bleed to death? What if she senses my neuroticism and refuses to tattoo me?

I hope I don't end up with 2 full sleeves.