No jackpot

Bright lights and loud noises have never excited me.

I’ve always been frightened by fireworks and I’ve also always hated large crowds.

One town that has both of these is Niagara Falls, Ontario. This is where I spent my weekend.

My Mom flew in last week and whisked me away to this tourist hot spot.

Niagara Falls is a very confusing place; it doesn't quite know what it wants to be.

It is the location of one of Canada’s natural wonders but it is also home to cheap tourist attractions, which advertise themselves with overwhelming neon strobe lights.

Business owners here uphold the motto, ‘Why ask for a dime when you can charge a dollar.’

We did, however, spend most of our time outside of this tourist trap. We sipped locally made vino at various wineries throughout Niagara On The Lake (Niagara Falls' charming neighbour).

Although on our last night there I made the executive decision that I wanted to experience the night life at the Falls. This meant a casino. I’ve never been in one before and they’re in plentiful supply here. But, I never fathomed wasting my money on nothing would make me feel the way it did.

With my non-gambler of a mother by my side we climbed two sets of escalators from the entrance. A weathered looking middle aged woman was gliding down the opposite direction, swigging a bottle of Canadian.

Despite the frantic pulse of the place, my heart slowed a little. I had no idea how to take it all in.

We slowly strolled the perimeter, peering into the sea of slot machines, not knowing where to start.

A cashier, who looked like someone's grandmother, broke the 20 dollar bill I wanted to dedicate to the ‘cause’. She explained with a patient, motherly tone just how these money grubbing monsters work.

“A machine has to speak to you,” she explained pushing forward four 5 dollar bills underneath the cage.

There was one machine that caught my eye a little earlier. Its theme was ‘Phantom of the Opera’ and I saw that show recently with my boyfriend. So, I suppose that machine had spoken to me.

So I settled in and saddled up. There wasn’t much to it and it was far less exhilarating than I had originally imagined it to be.

I kept winning credits, which kept me playing longer. But, in actual fact I just kept losing.

At one point a haggard, middle aged man stepped up to the machine beside mine. He released a 20 and played one round. He spent every cent of that green bill on one spin, lost and walked away.

This sight depressed me. I was finished losing, so we left.

I can’t see this ever becoming a favorite past time.

What is it about wine and cheese?

By no means is my office unfriendly.

But many who work here want to be somewhere else, somewhere with their feet up and a Corona in hand.

Yesterday, a leap was taken and unconventional office behaviour brought the Coronas to work.

It was the first ever Wine and Cheese Social. This was a social innitiative put together by the executive. They wanted to ensure everyone on all three floors had an opportunity to shake eachother's hand.

Being not from this 'world' I thought it would be one of the most awkward experiences I would ever have to face. But a glass of white wine in my left makes everything alright, it's like a green camoflauged helmet. It allows myself, the imposter to comfortably mix in.

After glass three the camoflauge couldn't hold up to my true colours. This of course is a good thing. I realized as the suits swelled their wine and nibbled on crab cakes that I'm more or less pretty interesting to them.

My education and hometown maybe nothing they've heard about but that makes it something to talk about. And their lives of weekend golf games, 4 bedroom homes and brand new cars (with room for their babies of course) is hardly a bore to hear about.

They're somewhere my life may or may not bring me to. The not knowing is what makes it exciting.

Forever

I'm a passionate, over thinker.

As I was jostled back and forth in the subway car this morning, travelling from Yonge to High Park, I let my mind wander.

I once gave a gift to someone who at the time meant the world to me. Yes, my world at this time consisted of 900 people, four classes per semester and daily lunch breaks. Highschool was an interesting time for me and he was there with me the whole way through.

He'd never owned his own Swiss Army Knife. So, for a special occasion I bought him his own with all the trimmings.

I had the blade engraved, 'Forever'. I explained to him when he opened it that it meant that we might not always be together the way we were right at that very moment. But, that we would always have our friendship and our history together.

Today, we speak occasionally and it's generally a brief, friendly exchange. But, it's not as I thought it would be at the time of the gift.

So, now when I say, 'Forever' what I really mean to say is, ' No matter what, I'll remember you forever'.

I have someone new in my life and he too has his own history, which at times can be hard to accept because I'm not apart of it (This is only a problem because at times I'm extremely immature). But, I'm apart of his present and together we'll create our own history.

Life begins at 4:30 p.m.

It's interesting working in an office, temporarily.

It's just that, temporary; I'm temporary.

This is how I start my day.
At 8 a.m. with a coffee in hand I turn on all of the flatscreen t.vs and lights in the reception area. I just 'open' the office and sit on the phones until the receptionist arrives.

I'm at my desk beside the window at 9 a.m. and I work on spreadsheets. But honestly they end up working on me; they test my patience. And then at other times I feel like the computer and I are one; is that healthy?

Throughout the day I make frequent and strategic bathroom visits. This I find breaks up my day.

And then there's lunch and that's always a treat. I generally sit in the same place reading another chapter in a library find. Settling onto the staircase beside the only fountain in the city with no change, used bandaids and hypodermic needles floating about.

At 4:29 p.m I trade my black heels for flipflops and slip the heels into my desk drawer. The sandals are more me.

It's time to push myself through the crowd of sweaty humanity on the subway (boy I sound dramatic). Everyone on the train has one thing on their mind - home!

I'm instantly revived as I make my way up to my second floor apartment. My day can finally begin.