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.

A city that sizes me up.

This city makes me feel small.

This city can make me feel tall.

What a simple way to phrase the complex feelings of a woman, especially this woman.

This week has really been a rollercoster for me. I've been job hunting in a city where I feel I have minimal connections. The feeling of being sized up and judged has been constant.

Unfortunately, I can't work in the field in which I'm studying because it doesn't pay. Sure, media outlets love to have interns for the summer but none are equipped to help me bring home the bacon.

So an office job it is. Hunting for one has become a full time occupation.

Tragically, the week started off with a tainted chime. My phone kept ringing, but no good news was to be received. I've been working through a recruitment agency who's supposedly trying to find me a longer term contract as an office administrator. This hasn't been going so well.

I had a one day contract last Friday. I was to simply answer the phones for a government office. Strangely enough, the phone never rang. I was paid for it sure, but I need to be challenged. Blankly staring at a white, chipped, wall all day will not suffice.

So, after the string of bad news phone calls I decided it was time to hit the streets. Don't worry I don't own the right shoes for 'that' type of work.

I hit the streets with my resumes, silly.

So, I've been handing them out left, right and centre, mainly at restaurants. There were a few mistakes as I strolled through Little Italy. I guess I didn't notice the skeezy, grease ball owner as I introduced myself to the bartender. Yeesh I'm not going back there for the interview he gave me.

I really wanted to find this job all by my big girl self. But, by mid week I began to feel like my options were running out. The call to the family had to be made.

My uncle has worked in this city for years and is now the head of the IT Department for a company in the Financial District. I just wanted to know if he knew of anyone looking for summer staff.

The day after I forwarded my resume on to him I received an interview from another department within his company. I really couldn't believe how lucky I was.

So, I'll find out tomorrow, hopefully, if the job is mine (fingers crossed).

Has Hallmark invented an, 'I love my Uncle day' yet? Let me know. If so, he's getting a card and maybe even a box of chocolates.

Summer's here and I'm ready to play

I was patient. It finally decided to arrive and now that it's here I couldn't be happier.

It's been a day where Spring feels like Summer. And I lived it like it was my last. I adore those days where you get up and just want to feel every moment.

I fully realize that within my few posts I've mentioned the weather quite a few times. But don't you find it has great bearing on how productive or how enjoyable your day turns out!?

I felt like a pretzel. Random, yes, but, oh so delicious.

So, I made my way into the shopping village that comes complete with the sweetest bakeries and mom and pop type shops. Everyone and their dog was out and about and they all seemed to be sporting a smile, even the four legged ones.

I too had a lot to smile about. My lumberjack and I were permitted an evening together, finally. With work and school there haven't been enough hours in the day. As I walked along I felt like bursting; I'm so lucky to have him.

I basked in the sunshine on a bench that appeared to have survived several, hard decades. Unfortunately, the warmed pretzel and grande americano were not as lucky, only surviving mere moments.

The day also permitted a snooze beneath a winter stricken bare oak tree in High Park. The blossoms are there, just awaiting their queue.

Little India was the destination for dinner. The street was flush with vendors and sidewalk sales that sparkled. The sequins and vibrant saris were elegantly flowing in the evening breeze.

Our dinner was just as colourful. Although Gillian pointed out the food was too mild, she wanted to feel the burn. Glancing around the packed buffet house it was clear that they were cooking for a specific clientele, people like me (whimps).

Everything seems to be thriving again.

The blossoms have the right idea; it's just about the right time to come out to play.

With just one word at a time.

I'm afraid to write.

I used to love the freedom of writing. Sadly, this is why I moved across this great country.

I wanted to make my writing a career, a tool I could use to change the world. Yes, at this time I was an optimistic teenager who thought she knew EVERYTHING, she had the world by the tail.

With moving to Toronto I figured as soon as I learned the tricks of the trade, journalism would be my new passion. Tragically, this was not to be.

I've been working towards my degree in journalism for the past three years now. So far, all I've truly learned is to fear what I have to write. Not because I'm blunt or mildly offensive, no, quite the contrary. Many of my instructors have labeled me whirly and unfocused.

It's been only recently that I've come to voluntarily move myself towards a keyboard.

I came to the decision quite recently that these 'instructors' love themselves and their work far too much. So what if I'm whirly - deal with it!

I suppose I'm just tired of paying an institution thousands of dollars each year for them to tell me, 'We're sorry you suck."

There's only two more weeks left to this semester. I'm grinding away at the remainder of my assignments. It's an uphill battle, but I'm almost there.

My bones are weary. This isn't my flamboyantly dramatic side coming out to play either - I'm just dog-tired.

I’m ready and willing for something new to challenge myself with.