tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26633880431547734052024-03-14T03:32:38.385-07:00lowercasecarmenbecause capitals would be a little too pretentiouslowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.comBlogger144125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-78396015484939815122010-10-19T20:00:00.000-07:002010-10-19T20:30:39.373-07:00Freedom 25<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQPWqCfdEiFPvSkYN7WHAQ494qhD8muyfxvf_tP7DZW1a3Qv9niIL5LCJQRDR9L67c7XXrkp0HcPPWqn11zv25bDhlcsbCWzr9xdK80jNDWQqnb5-tYFK0hlkckvKPIruLUC4xjSSOHHM/s1600/Photo+on+2010-09-24+at+15.26+%232.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQPWqCfdEiFPvSkYN7WHAQ494qhD8muyfxvf_tP7DZW1a3Qv9niIL5LCJQRDR9L67c7XXrkp0HcPPWqn11zv25bDhlcsbCWzr9xdK80jNDWQqnb5-tYFK0hlkckvKPIruLUC4xjSSOHHM/s400/Photo+on+2010-09-24+at+15.26+%232.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529964868206399602" /></a><br />Today I have spent $0, which is rare, very rare pour moi, but it is a decidedly good thing. Looking at this observation more closely, let's draw some conclusions. For me to have spent zero dollars (okay, I am partially lying here because I tipped my friend Maggie a buckaroo for making me an americano) today, it means that I have drank zero beers. Now wait a second I hear you scream! You could have just drank beers in your fridge that you bought on a previous day.<br /><br />This statement is mentally retarded for a couple reasons. First of all, beer does not 'store' in my fridge. Beer gets cold in my fridge, and then promptly gets poured down my throat. Second, there is no second.<br /><br />And yet, again, I am partially lying because there are beers in my fridge right now. My dear dear friend brought them for me (and him) to saviour, lugging them all the way from a far off land that has lots of mountains and trees and apparently lax liquour laws. So anyway, I don't drink these beers alone because they are like a precious flower that can only truely be appreciated in the company of another brewskie dork. <br /><br />Moving along. Zero dollars spent, zero beers drank, (rarity), contemplation. Being sober on a day off just makes me reflective. And here's what I'm thinking about. I can't stay here, in Toronto (as much as I do, swear to God, actually like it), doing the same old shit. I hate serving, it's terrible, and making me lose faith in the greater good of humanity. I can't keep spending the majority of my week having hateful thoughts for complete strangers that I serve. I've considered different serving gigs, ones that don't involve working for a giant corporation, but I sense that the solution is greater than a mere change of scenery. I don't know if I'll ever be okay to stick around in one place, and for now at least almost all my thoughts seem to focus on leaving. The difficult things is, I don't want to leave for the sake of leaving. Conversely, I'm not the kind of person who needs a job or security waiting for me. <br /><br />I love riding my bike for very long periods of time. This has been an important discovery for me. Most endurance activities make me weary, but cycling is entirely uplifting and gives you (me) mobility beyond the most immediate sense. <br /><br />I love knitting and sewing little notebooks and turning small meticulous handcrafting hours into finished projects. I also like the seclusion of these activities, the long hours of thought.<br /><br />I love beer. Not the fizzy yellow shit, but delicious, innovative, craft brews. I'm fascinated by the process of turning some grain and living yeasts into the most delectable beverage -- and want to learn everything there is to know about it. <br /><br />I love the south, or the image I conjure in my head, where all my favourite authors were born and once lived. Reading is integral to my enjoyment of life and understanding of myself. I long to seek out the stomping grounds of all the writers I revere.<br /><br />I love the Canadian coasts, I'm not picky about which ones, and recognize that be it nurture or nature, they are where I feel best. I briefly glimpsed the maritimes this summer, and I am nowhere near finished with them. I joke that ending up living there is my five year plan.<br /><br />I love writing. <br /><br />So I think, and I daydream, and I weigh the possibilities. Travel through American micro-breweries and write about all that I experience (drink)? Tour through the maritimes on my bike, camping in the most beautiful surroundings? Hole myself up in a remote coastal cabin homebrewing beers and writing short stories? Sell handknit toques online and get wasted? Southern US roadtrip complete with brewery tours? Write a book after?<br /><br />Somehow, strangely, staying in Toronto and slinging pints to douchebags on the regular doesn't factor into my idea of happiness. Suffice to say my fuse is getting short and something big has to change soon -- hopefully I can decide which path to take.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-14322159806481095322010-10-06T12:08:00.000-07:002010-10-06T12:25:50.661-07:00some days are diamonds, some days are rocks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKOZu3P2YffFZFcRBMunj41eWea1ofdovJ_X9gHu80l1r4Yup4du1BFDVwqa_kDWVmXTVhKb49AemqdKQQQFGlClcGrF2IVZSy-cXvsSYcZNTQnFX_zLQCIz-lxCnl-gOe0ntggavcs0s/s1600/46_632824236675781250.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKOZu3P2YffFZFcRBMunj41eWea1ofdovJ_X9gHu80l1r4Yup4du1BFDVwqa_kDWVmXTVhKb49AemqdKQQQFGlClcGrF2IVZSy-cXvsSYcZNTQnFX_zLQCIz-lxCnl-gOe0ntggavcs0s/s400/46_632824236675781250.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525015555698344514" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">This is a non-shitty gueze. Family run in Lembeek. Word<br /></span><br />I have the day off and the only item on my agenda was to procure a) Gueze and b) cheese. Why? What's gueze? Gee, so many questions my captive readers.<br /><br />Why? Cause it's a yummy pairing. What's gueze? It's a style of beer made from a varying ratio of young lambics to aged lambics. Because so many factors affect the final outcome (ie. the strains of naturally occurring yeasts in the air, the length of aging, the residual sugars that the yeast doesn't have time to gobble up, etc) it's actually a very difficult beer to maintain consistency, or 'quality control' with. But hey, that's the beauty of it. A surprise in every bottle!<br /><br />Anyway, in my quest for this gem of a beverage I suited up with a jacket, fingerless mitts, a toque and a scarf -- ready to brave the harsh easterly winds and nagging rainshowers. I biked all the way to the Queen's Quay LCBO only to find that (yes, this is like an easily predictable sitcom) they had none. There were plenty of shitty Ontario dark ales that lack creativity and depth of flavour. There were a billion shitty lagers, and some Hoptical Illusions (not shitty) I briefly contemplated buying. But in the end I was difficult and choosy, deciding that if they didn't have gueze then they didn't have me. Boo hoo.<br /><br />You know what I did get today though? An abstract splattering of innercity muck water sprayed casually up my back. No big deal though, really, my ass looks like a Jackson Pollock.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-23243444942988285512010-02-28T11:11:00.001-08:002010-02-28T23:02:07.925-08:00Happy Birthday To Me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFPO22QHowX1_DlnW2UjNKPv70qUzzkcucrdu44eUfzDaCKH_qXnDUZx-dMHQc1LU3bOatl38c3gMjiGZn-Sw1Onk7Wx2W2BH1iWwfQ3UKskZMMOIv97vlB6HQ3mWVLLgZnNSSlG3CYOU/s1600-h/CIMG3378.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFPO22QHowX1_DlnW2UjNKPv70qUzzkcucrdu44eUfzDaCKH_qXnDUZx-dMHQc1LU3bOatl38c3gMjiGZn-Sw1Onk7Wx2W2BH1iWwfQ3UKskZMMOIv97vlB6HQ3mWVLLgZnNSSlG3CYOU/s400/CIMG3378.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443557088286809122" /></a><br /><br />Dear Carmen,<br /><br />Today is your 23rd birthday. I don’t really know why I’m addressing me as a ‘you’ in the third person, but there aren’t exactly rule books for this sort of thing. How does…one, address…themselves? Am I writing to the 22 year old me in the past (and I’m now in the future)? Do we just talk like we’re in the same room? Are we a we? Fuck, I have no idea. Figure this out by the time you’re 24, okay.<br /><br />Anyway, I think if I had to characterize the events of this past year it would fall into some sort of I-Never-Would-Have-Guessed-It category. If someone had told me five years ago that I’d be living in Toronto of all places I probably wouldn’t have believed them. I know for certain there were moments when I believed I would never graduate on time, that the weight of unbearable anxiety would eventually just crush me like a bug. And yet, voila, I made it out of that bitch alive. (The bitch here being an arts degree). I don’t think this whole sentiment is negative though, because I like to think that in a year I’ll be somewhere else in a situation I can’t anticipate right now. The idea of settling into any one place right now is…well, unsettling to me. I guess I see Toronto as one little dot on the larger connect-the-dots shape of things for me. I bet that shape is a pineapple, or maybe something way more complicated like a tidal wave pattern from a geography textbook. <br /><br />In terms of surveying the past in an effort to grab the future by the balls more aptly, I would say this Carm Carm: everything works out, everything eventually becomes okay. This whole being calm thing, not worrying as much, being positive – it feels good. Aaaand, you’re probably not shaving years off your life anymore (like you certainly did while writing essay after essay after essay on the marital practices of Hindu women in rural contemporary nationalist communities). Thank God though for that eastern religions minor! Surely it will come in handy at a dinner party in your future.<br /><br />If I were the type of person to make prolific check lists (I am not), we might go through the past year and try to evaluate which categories of life were accomplished. There was that graduation (bravo bravo), that terrible surgery that involved wisdom teeth, percocets, and ongoing physio a year after (ozay!), that move of cities (why not?), that giant life change (let’s not go there on the internetz), and that new realization that making limoncello when life gives you lemons is totally doable. Okay, this is getting cryptic, moving on…<br /><br />So what now and forever more? You drink a lot, but you worry less. You don’t make a lot of money, but there’s always stripping (joking mom!). You are…older, but surely the wisdom meter has increased too. (Alright, I’m not so sure about this last one but whatever). As for advice in the next year: stop cutting your own hair, you look like an idiot, call your family more often, write a book, and for the love of God, answer your fucking emails you dead beat.<br /><br />Sincerely, <br /><br />Yourselflowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-49280275460550027262009-12-26T22:49:00.000-08:002009-12-26T22:51:22.755-08:00exclamation points in titles!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYpALN_o2uSGEIDfZsBweLxc_wxBYRCM23nRZkhj3NRPkTpQkgUDr_vgEzF1oBM5pLHwjwB9L4cF33jF_Poy2itxfqv4xzSEntKX5STuNnMVmacIZFkSjeIbfhnMZ8jRBzcgRVnbEpawc/s1600-h/Photo+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYpALN_o2uSGEIDfZsBweLxc_wxBYRCM23nRZkhj3NRPkTpQkgUDr_vgEzF1oBM5pLHwjwB9L4cF33jF_Poy2itxfqv4xzSEntKX5STuNnMVmacIZFkSjeIbfhnMZ8jRBzcgRVnbEpawc/s400/Photo+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419804711806675410" /></a><br /><br />Bought this today so that my luggage will certainly be heavy weight. Or maybe that's just my brain, ZING!lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-64037922364926020882009-12-25T21:58:00.000-08:002009-12-25T22:02:20.123-08:00Just me, Rudolph, and a polar bear.No big deal, just hanging with my Christmas posse while my sister creeps personal on Craigslist. I decided to give you two gifts this Jesus day: <br /><br />1) Christmas posse gangsta face<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60orDwOH0YhfGwmS001JBy0q7k_EwEYJZCYenWzcQ9mZnUMtRNyJ256GCs-p9M3pyWqhguG8ib8ubxRQqqsYr2J9GPr0R9lhkpre0YTtGrZjajAu1z-vZcJLoM2IXVL8ucqJd74jM_q0/s1600-h/Photo+168.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60orDwOH0YhfGwmS001JBy0q7k_EwEYJZCYenWzcQ9mZnUMtRNyJ256GCs-p9M3pyWqhguG8ib8ubxRQqqsYr2J9GPr0R9lhkpre0YTtGrZjajAu1z-vZcJLoM2IXVL8ucqJd74jM_q0/s400/Photo+168.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419420337543039890" /></a><br /><br />and, 2) Christmas posse straight up<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ0Kt0s9Sm8oy6VWp0RrDdtZqurD7CzGgPsO-dbFMVjUr41-Gk112gtlOxRMcADviSjdauK_2CIsObdvRJ_XJ-vOSUrMdAf-BgSyrYTuZiLxc-rYbKhF7PTocOhag8LKMdq-H_nafU09g/s1600-h/Photo+167.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ0Kt0s9Sm8oy6VWp0RrDdtZqurD7CzGgPsO-dbFMVjUr41-Gk112gtlOxRMcADviSjdauK_2CIsObdvRJ_XJ-vOSUrMdAf-BgSyrYTuZiLxc-rYbKhF7PTocOhag8LKMdq-H_nafU09g/s400/Photo+167.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419420993785616978" /></a><br /><br />Yer welcome. Peace and love.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-26559963584351082472009-12-15T16:14:00.000-08:002009-12-15T16:18:15.903-08:00merry flunkin' christmas<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0TmETYMQd5AyqjE9shCnPwtSKcjvsuTsGNPwsgDdX6xGcd7VnyZ4yjET2TDvJP3ivUqZ6jLzjXAvzM_jeXztrVBXh6CQ4bgbj-ADW9A4W7yYqzbgYfa4EzIfkNpYayBjrPhZR0j2b0g/s1600-h/-2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0TmETYMQd5AyqjE9shCnPwtSKcjvsuTsGNPwsgDdX6xGcd7VnyZ4yjET2TDvJP3ivUqZ6jLzjXAvzM_jeXztrVBXh6CQ4bgbj-ADW9A4W7yYqzbgYfa4EzIfkNpYayBjrPhZR0j2b0g/s400/-2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415620813563332082" /></a><br /><br />My parents have reindeer headbands and juiceboxes on hand at all times. Also, cheese and crackers that I top with sundried tomato pesto. I told them they're living like kings.<br /><br />Peace out for now, some minute maid in the cutest box form is calling my name.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-24920433137375090592009-11-05T07:46:00.000-08:002009-11-07T06:52:47.950-08:00Plumbing Issues<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fcqXFID9AzrkJG9lTQXY9QB9KlqryK4ZNCWHzLGzsdrPk-LSSa8QhCGNhwKBG2l-6bDmi4bMHST_mSoCPnid5FGKPCMd_Bp4fJXShsNmb7K7fnyFJf5uZOvJiUkZmRe787a2RrtSMQE/s1600-h/4076675421_1df10ef1df.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fcqXFID9AzrkJG9lTQXY9QB9KlqryK4ZNCWHzLGzsdrPk-LSSa8QhCGNhwKBG2l-6bDmi4bMHST_mSoCPnid5FGKPCMd_Bp4fJXShsNmb7K7fnyFJf5uZOvJiUkZmRe787a2RrtSMQE/s400/4076675421_1df10ef1df.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401374695066055410" /></a><br /><br />We've had some people replacing the tiles in our bathroom because of some mold/sealing issues. I know, I know, riveting stuff, please Carmen, go on about bathroom renovations!<br /><br />Shut up.<br /><br />Anyway, what was supposed to take three days has been stretched to two weeks and counting. Not having use of your washroom is annoying for obvious reasons but the one positive is that they're knocking off some rent. Suddenly, not using my washroom is bearable with the understanding that I'm saving rather than spending money. This also happens to be a timely arrival for rent deductions because Christmas is around the corner and the past few years I've given only smiles, hugs, and the grace of my presence. <br /><br />Right now two workers are singing "Killed By Death" and recounting scenes from the music video. <br /><br />PS -- the above pic was my halloween costume. I went for gangsta but sort of came off looking 90's. Oh well.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-59450583034190893052009-10-23T07:35:00.001-07:002009-10-23T07:42:01.883-07:0090's Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmZNHmPZCqahOzeUGCgJhe29Ma1AOwrrDfraAYJLhYJgHc-OIqcBIhy9IdvuO3001g2squ6SHa5CffQjoTjTc7KuIQNZ9fi4HPDrYn1O1DxKCXK3U_ZHlhE9uLw7z572oRvbl5hpaCIPs/s1600-h/33470021.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmZNHmPZCqahOzeUGCgJhe29Ma1AOwrrDfraAYJLhYJgHc-OIqcBIhy9IdvuO3001g2squ6SHa5CffQjoTjTc7KuIQNZ9fi4HPDrYn1O1DxKCXK3U_ZHlhE9uLw7z572oRvbl5hpaCIPs/s400/33470021.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395805573605132802" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ6IjUJVLozsLXDn3oDEgPBq082Lsddg0OGo5WpqKWnaNtJqBqSza4EUIxhwhdNlFlCNpBn4g8ALx2bcDJc6DroipWqBOwY-Zv6qcl64gc7UoeD02qP7kGB4YqZ8RLdDIx7GvbTkW4c-c/s1600-h/33470022.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ6IjUJVLozsLXDn3oDEgPBq082Lsddg0OGo5WpqKWnaNtJqBqSza4EUIxhwhdNlFlCNpBn4g8ALx2bcDJc6DroipWqBOwY-Zv6qcl64gc7UoeD02qP7kGB4YqZ8RLdDIx7GvbTkW4c-c/s400/33470022.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395805459691548290" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixRQkYXJ-dn27xaudU7_icjUI6bbioNlpFsO9jaE1DBA9WOsyulLvgB5TKXu9gT4W5XSRuWYhSN7yETBAm4FexUXmcgp3UvFQRz3xmWMYa7zWCa9WVSUT04MbKLP_cU1RWC3hMDwt8Zl0/s1600-h/33480013.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixRQkYXJ-dn27xaudU7_icjUI6bbioNlpFsO9jaE1DBA9WOsyulLvgB5TKXu9gT4W5XSRuWYhSN7yETBAm4FexUXmcgp3UvFQRz3xmWMYa7zWCa9WVSUT04MbKLP_cU1RWC3hMDwt8Zl0/s400/33480013.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395805331396553298" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAQeMx199lXcvB5HOMqJUCwannjRTfWe5tfPVCFZ8T7zxDIF7Civu0YclauGjPaFQgHnBKAoUfSaKr8d3TZBJMwTwLqWblu9Y_xsxdjAQuLAtWgw_3Vd9Rojpcq9YAni17GKCeT9FvtZE/s1600-h/33470023.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAQeMx199lXcvB5HOMqJUCwannjRTfWe5tfPVCFZ8T7zxDIF7Civu0YclauGjPaFQgHnBKAoUfSaKr8d3TZBJMwTwLqWblu9Y_xsxdjAQuLAtWgw_3Vd9Rojpcq9YAni17GKCeT9FvtZE/s400/33470023.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395805066983233554" /></a><br /><br />These photos were taken in the summer with an old digital SLR that, unfortunately, has a light leak. I think it's a Yashica? I can't remember, sorry.<br /><br />At first I was going to photoshop them, but then I decided against it. They have this funny quality to them --sort of faded or washed out-- that reminds me of pics from my elementary days. Do you know the ones? You and your brother are standing in front of a forest, him in a No Fear t-shirt, and you sticking out your tongue like a loser.<br /><br />Sigh.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-62430162307735174162009-10-21T19:34:00.001-07:002009-10-21T19:50:37.137-07:00love is for assholesI've finally managed to arrange my three separate work schedules into one, barely feasible, work week. I don't remember the exact moment I cracked, but after too many doubles in a row I just said no. No more doubles. <br /><br />I think, that in most other areas of life, doubles are generally considered a good thing. For example, a double shot of espresso is far more effective at fighting off exhaustion than one. A gin and tonic, times two, is a better investment in your future. A toonie, versus a loonie is simply no contest. And twins, I would imagine, are double the fun.<br /><br />Anyway, just because I haven't talked about work enough, here's a gem. I was working on coat check, frustrated out of my mind with the general congestion of the bar, with people who wanted to check their coats in and out with every smoke outside, and with the drunken bros who want to spill life stories to me. The Beatles were playing overhead, and everyone was singing along (remember folks, simply being drunk doesn't make every song kareoke) "All you need is love." Suddenly my coworker pops his head around the corner, looks at me and says: THIS SONG IS FOR ASSHOLES!lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-47328959507711256262009-10-18T23:20:00.001-07:002009-10-18T23:23:06.182-07:00so fresh<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9yXbaqZ8PO3bOU45_U7yyIejm5iAGLtJAjxvrC9emD7Spa46K_tT2mKW5owVhjk19nBp495IxREbnXQ9xslVR_VuSj4ABsj4WIR8pdETuF8NtG8V8LRFYgDoPrLzWvGjxbEOwBqtMAs/s1600-h/IMG_4808.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9yXbaqZ8PO3bOU45_U7yyIejm5iAGLtJAjxvrC9emD7Spa46K_tT2mKW5owVhjk19nBp495IxREbnXQ9xslVR_VuSj4ABsj4WIR8pdETuF8NtG8V8LRFYgDoPrLzWvGjxbEOwBqtMAs/s400/IMG_4808.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394192392445685234" /></a><br /><br /><br />When my boyfriend says I'm dressed weird I just want to show him a picture of this chick and be like, WHAT-EVER!lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-27123461034189322982009-10-17T12:17:00.000-07:002009-10-17T12:19:48.865-07:00They're Calling Us a Hero<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_SsoCBytTb7xdn92VPO6RlzHWSg-U8OszqFXQkyyDoHT1ixRvXbH2LQA52AtUZsbMGHltYcrIyH0zHKfPaWKvZ9FhTQtuqmOZw_IMDyu1irUlIfgNHOT_Y_DsGaWks6KHLF1u-AIA5j4/s1600-h/fashionheroes6_468.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_SsoCBytTb7xdn92VPO6RlzHWSg-U8OszqFXQkyyDoHT1ixRvXbH2LQA52AtUZsbMGHltYcrIyH0zHKfPaWKvZ9FhTQtuqmOZw_IMDyu1irUlIfgNHOT_Y_DsGaWks6KHLF1u-AIA5j4/s400/fashionheroes6_468.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393650489815103650" /></a><br /><br />I'm the one in the middle, sitting down, staring in the direction of nothing, and laughing. Glad they captured my good side. <br /><br />Here's the link to the briefity brief article: http://www.nowtoronto.com/lifestyle/story.cfm?content=171729lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-16549355890193109392009-10-15T20:33:00.001-07:002009-10-15T20:38:51.442-07:00UPDATE!In shift number 1 of the day (yes, there was more than one) I managed to cut my hand. No big deal really, except for the fact that I cut it on a FUCKING BAGUETTE.<br /><br />Okay, gotta go back to wondering why in the world I don't have a real job. <br /><br />CHECK YA LATER!lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-9744778074215578472009-10-15T03:31:00.000-07:002009-10-15T03:36:11.816-07:00It's 6:32 am. I am going to leave for work soon. I sat down to drink my coffee -- a small but effective bribe I use to convince myself that the feeling I have when I wake up at this hour is not physical pain, but exhaustion.<br /><br />I see the wine glass left over from last night and think, hey, I could totally understand how drinking (steadily) before work comes about.<br /><br />Just sayin'.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-10875067687243904422009-09-30T06:10:00.000-07:002009-09-30T06:16:52.493-07:00You Know Your Mother Is An Internet Scam Artist When...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5e38O2mKub6ADpNkXjhnPfCS3tEFk3hR9Xse4qMkooXJxL4XyDjA3k7mSNG468XXuB3Js24bs8fOmr9h1TZhiKsN8x5I6Eca_UJ4FLSRxyj0zSyQx1vSpIiTpK4moI7cSsOu9D14jKlQ/s1600-h/_DSC1709.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5e38O2mKub6ADpNkXjhnPfCS3tEFk3hR9Xse4qMkooXJxL4XyDjA3k7mSNG468XXuB3Js24bs8fOmr9h1TZhiKsN8x5I6Eca_UJ4FLSRxyj0zSyQx1vSpIiTpK4moI7cSsOu9D14jKlQ/s400/_DSC1709.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387248413757898866" /></a><br /><br />An email I received from my mother this morning:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Sent by:</span> (mom)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Subject header:</span> Do you want to spend Christmas in the Carribean?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Content of email:</span> (as copy and pasted) http://vancouver.en.craigslist.ca/van/edu/1397999317.html<br /><br />xo<br />mom<br /><br />Now I'll just go click on that link and before you know it some lovely stranger will have stolen my credit card info and bought nine orders of 7-11 nachos, 13 packs of rollies, and a ferrari.<br /><br />THANKS MOM!lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-75806248939284321412009-09-21T08:58:00.000-07:002009-09-21T09:57:13.442-07:00Sippin' on Gin and Juice<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxtH79IKBVSOmXZP83JssiKowH80kn_7FyndO5XjfcHZPub1-O-D54l7TR8VP8Rhd9ZQMeShMpTfR48aeN67aF3XASJhKlrx3cCUy8A6nzp8jILOLhMYqPx8E4Qg2iD2Mw-AESQ6GYacI/s1600-h/carmenstripes.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxtH79IKBVSOmXZP83JssiKowH80kn_7FyndO5XjfcHZPub1-O-D54l7TR8VP8Rhd9ZQMeShMpTfR48aeN67aF3XASJhKlrx3cCUy8A6nzp8jILOLhMYqPx8E4Qg2iD2Mw-AESQ6GYacI/s400/carmenstripes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383963618793594626" /></a><br /><br />Yesterday on the phone my mother informed me I wasn't blogging enough. She laughed out loud (lol'd if you will) about my Twitter page. "For Pete's sake Carmen, everyone still thinks you fell off your bike!"<br /><br />First things first mom. I did fall off my bike, it sucked, and now the moment is immortalized on Twitter. Second, I think your "everyone" comment is cute, duly noted, but you are the only person who reads that page.<br /><br />Okay though, yes, I do need to update. We live in different time zones (yes, I'm just addressing my mom directly now. Dad, you're welcome to read along too) and catching each other on the ol' telayphono can be difficult. <br /><br />The problem folks, is that I'm not sure my snooze-fest of an update is worth your time. Currently I'm pretty hung over, reading lying down because I can't manage to perform any task while vertical, and mentally preparing myself to go to work. I don't know if the rest of the world does that pre-shift mental prep? The pep-talk that involves a few "I'll quit if they talk to me like that one more time!" and at least one emphatic "I can do this!"<br /><br />All I can think about is that the distance between myself and a real job looks like the Grand Canyons right now, and what I have to work with are these two bony legs. Please give me a call when you acquire an atv and the penchant for random acts of human kindness.<br /><br />Until then, follow my lead and keep it real homies.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-62779539562046544472009-09-06T06:49:00.000-07:002009-09-06T07:15:37.659-07:00i'm like sunshine on a rainy day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisG7iN8dVRvJkrwrG35ANr9KjWB3vVmK7V6tWTprBhImjePCjxIYHsaIXMz8F8hLmYO0Pq_rckEC7aNNtoCqx0W0KrtSlYoA1pieC5tR9RHwfdbnt4hN-uYD8KFXJQaA3l9B-tYNoVNJc/s1600-h/IMG_8220.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisG7iN8dVRvJkrwrG35ANr9KjWB3vVmK7V6tWTprBhImjePCjxIYHsaIXMz8F8hLmYO0Pq_rckEC7aNNtoCqx0W0KrtSlYoA1pieC5tR9RHwfdbnt4hN-uYD8KFXJQaA3l9B-tYNoVNJc/s400/IMG_8220.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378357431536236210" /></a><br /><br />Working seven days a week has been so fun. Fun like getting a blood test. I'm noticing that I say things that make me (sound) very old. Have I had a conversation with you yet about how my feet always hurt? Last night as I was falling asleep I thought of the old lunch lady at my elementary school, of the taupe coloured orthotics she used to don. Now, I sort of envy those cushy, faintly medical looking things. <br /><br />My grey hair count is at 2, which is about an orange on the pandemic scale. One was excusable, but two? When I found the second it wasn't one of those sad but hilarious moments that I then go and tell my coworkers about, I literally stood in my bathroom while my youth flashed before my eyes.<br /><br />No one will love you, Carmen. No one.<br /><br />Though, I must say, there is light amongst the darkness. The other night at work, (WHY DO I WORK NIGHTS AGAIN?!) we were swamped, everyone was running around frantically trying to do nine things at once, my angelic coworker turned to me and said, "Hey, you want a break? I've got a burger in the back, it's all yours."<br /><br />I just sort of looked at her, dumbfounded. She could have said she had some spare dry almonds, or maybe one of those shitty granola bars that's not even covered in chocolate, but a burger?! I sat in a storage closet atop a spare folded area carpet, a coat rack dangling above my head. With weight off my feet and something greasy in my belly I had never been happier.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-3169288204587585642009-08-29T07:45:00.000-07:002009-08-29T08:08:51.875-07:00what-ever<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD2NVsFLVykSQ82n02Z_UG8QJu-oPpF0SyRGKPV3PIe09LPCvkmIOonzp23nS7Re30Xh-nT2lVbTMHIWS5SMb8UC6cz-QvGVzgYskeMZpatQ6j1Li0BFiGz9_XqQx7r6-P9BP1TlODn7I/s1600-h/IMG_8308.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD2NVsFLVykSQ82n02Z_UG8QJu-oPpF0SyRGKPV3PIe09LPCvkmIOonzp23nS7Re30Xh-nT2lVbTMHIWS5SMb8UC6cz-QvGVzgYskeMZpatQ6j1Li0BFiGz9_XqQx7r6-P9BP1TlODn7I/s400/IMG_8308.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375402920123092498" /></a><br /><br />The music is blasting, Noah is wearing a football jersey, and I'm trying to down as much coffee as possible before leaving for one of my three jobs. It's morning, yes, morning I think.<br /><br />I can't remember (anything) whether or not I've talked about the roster of homeless men who set up shop outside my building/in my yard. I know that I've brought it up at staff meetings, but internet, I may have thought at one time or another that it was inappropriate to share. Anyway, there's the young gang who scowls at me and then talks on their cell phones. There's the crack conniseur who can smoke rock 18 times between calling the cops and having the cops arrive. There's also the rather harmless man who likes to sleep naked, his filthy sleeping bag barely covering his junk. <br /><br />Okay, so when I started this post there was going to be a reason for talking about the homeless clan...and I can't really remember what that reason was. I have an inkling that I was going to attempt some sort of parallel --that my coffee consumption is just no longer doing the trick, much like their crack use. <br /><br />But who knows, my memory has taken a trip to Exhaustion-ville, which is really not much of a ville but more like an impound lot. You show up, and you're like hey, can I just get my memory back? And that dude behind the little glass box is like, well, what's the serial code? And you're all, what? Serial code? Wtf? I don't remember.<br /><br />And then that little man just laughs, a hearty laugh that shakes his whole body, and he looks at you. Get some rest kid, then you'll remember. <br /><br />Oh, thanks, philosopher! I couldn't figure that one out. Rest? I DON'T HAVE MONEY FOR REST SO I'LL JUST WORK THREE JOBS AND SAVE UP!<br /><br />I think I'm going in circles.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-46150148821937703762009-08-24T18:10:00.000-07:002009-08-27T17:19:15.563-07:00thisblogsucksnowcauseihavenotimeorcreativityleft<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOGRkuxEBcTHnnGNksG3uvCcy0byrTfODA2MBQpu3lte2t9DKP9bjSh_apA08LYUsgMBghWO79p6m5loYAu5eEbF7_QIamv_n_-17tFTmb5pEQSTZgA8GVQ2MSdyIdPh_uMjO-DbN6ElE/s1600-h/jeeeen.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 191px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOGRkuxEBcTHnnGNksG3uvCcy0byrTfODA2MBQpu3lte2t9DKP9bjSh_apA08LYUsgMBghWO79p6m5loYAu5eEbF7_QIamv_n_-17tFTmb5pEQSTZgA8GVQ2MSdyIdPh_uMjO-DbN6ElE/s400/jeeeen.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374802074457513634" /></a><br /><br />Guyz, I work too much, like all the live long day, and you know what, that means I just don't have time to use proper punctuation like periods, and probably if the copyeditor at my work looks at this she'll cry (Hi Kate!). Okay look, a period, there it is again.<br /><br />My hope is that one day all this work will pay off, and I won't have to wear short skirts to one job, and wake up inanely early for the other, and well, I really like the third one but anyways, yes, that's number three. THREE.<br /><br />At least I don't have to walk to work. Uphill. In the snow.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-32339678000464037332009-08-18T20:15:00.000-07:002009-08-18T20:35:05.759-07:00croissantzzz<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh89FwSuhZBoqg4xXGNkx1mkld1xx_yGJ0CGP5_O22ltxTQ_CA2bCdpeDJH0lAlDa4S_ER44rkvJWtohTiV57wLAySkVLHQI3byjoKDRCpvrhcdBrk0_fHJqISs6g0uc4CpV6_2LlJS24/s1600-h/numbaone.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh89FwSuhZBoqg4xXGNkx1mkld1xx_yGJ0CGP5_O22ltxTQ_CA2bCdpeDJH0lAlDa4S_ER44rkvJWtohTiV57wLAySkVLHQI3byjoKDRCpvrhcdBrk0_fHJqISs6g0uc4CpV6_2LlJS24/s400/numbaone.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371509327157764834" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_J-au-RQmAV-kVKjK4gszs8iJ06NUejUDad3iT20Yr96l9UjT3Je2oWQi7w2lr8uew9IwYJWawRf5cwdUxqpeMvvVluRNK_GZPn8LCvX2k1z1g5k2TOZ-Cpo52ilnbV3LPB8b1O3j1GY/s1600-h/numba2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_J-au-RQmAV-kVKjK4gszs8iJ06NUejUDad3iT20Yr96l9UjT3Je2oWQi7w2lr8uew9IwYJWawRf5cwdUxqpeMvvVluRNK_GZPn8LCvX2k1z1g5k2TOZ-Cpo52ilnbV3LPB8b1O3j1GY/s400/numba2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371509072515983138" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjcocKrQxGZaWyUfUdq-U1-lp26IOpHJmZRlUyjyo3t6JCnPOS2v1kjuJmxFxUYqLtr3OWPq7QC3nxBtGA71e0cPDjm8s8Bc_AyToB0crSLleQIZq2HvqwvMUjWt6iJyUpo3_ttvvl8s/s1600-h/numbathree.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjcocKrQxGZaWyUfUdq-U1-lp26IOpHJmZRlUyjyo3t6JCnPOS2v1kjuJmxFxUYqLtr3OWPq7QC3nxBtGA71e0cPDjm8s8Bc_AyToB0crSLleQIZq2HvqwvMUjWt6iJyUpo3_ttvvl8s/s400/numbathree.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371508384797630818" /></a><br /><br />I don't know what to say folks. I go to work, I sleep, I go to my other work, I eat chocolate bars and wonder if I'm gaining weight. Then I go to work and eat croissants while I wonder about the fat thing.<br /><br />I repeat this quite a bit without much variation --oh wait, I lied. Sometimes the croissants are chocolate, sometimes they're almond, and every once in a while they surprise me with chocolate almond bad boys. On those days I think I'm lucky and wonder what good fortune will come my way.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-63552590525138562602009-08-11T19:41:00.000-07:002009-08-11T19:53:22.087-07:00The Little Things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s_6zbdiyCXibACZ2qkJ482GErDHukbORn-_XAIGDqyYPjcfQItknzarLXc-WYoVg6J15leorBoNzt2D4JtpO-iGf53Wc1FqLDbhlO1R3U17rH_EeLqlzhvn2aAaE2A-AW1y4LWJTh4o/s1600-h/IMG_8077.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s_6zbdiyCXibACZ2qkJ482GErDHukbORn-_XAIGDqyYPjcfQItknzarLXc-WYoVg6J15leorBoNzt2D4JtpO-iGf53Wc1FqLDbhlO1R3U17rH_EeLqlzhvn2aAaE2A-AW1y4LWJTh4o/s400/IMG_8077.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368903220287585362" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHDuLy4_bNp_SO4ql4UA7iqnQg_dEPnHhMDZvj0U6_0siWodgg-87pQnTM1zyjlpZ96Oev9RC1jplVY7jjP0sZ9TvEbSp91B9YsaDJF-GwQRldJ0Vv-QDwprHwZdL2ln-65DNhwTxYGw/s1600-h/IMG_8072.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHDuLy4_bNp_SO4ql4UA7iqnQg_dEPnHhMDZvj0U6_0siWodgg-87pQnTM1zyjlpZ96Oev9RC1jplVY7jjP0sZ9TvEbSp91B9YsaDJF-GwQRldJ0Vv-QDwprHwZdL2ln-65DNhwTxYGw/s400/IMG_8072.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368903646681964530" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkvpQEVdXwkQGuFz5drquWZpjph-fVhNOyWIuVlkX4dEr3Rei5XBbiazkyu44DpLn2zXnSkqnMWqQ1qmO-WTaMPtBPiNafx0Ehb6PYA54Eo0os_cfOgwDUhPUfqfaAJ-qKtrWmxeXnY30/s1600-h/IMG_8089.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkvpQEVdXwkQGuFz5drquWZpjph-fVhNOyWIuVlkX4dEr3Rei5XBbiazkyu44DpLn2zXnSkqnMWqQ1qmO-WTaMPtBPiNafx0Ehb6PYA54Eo0os_cfOgwDUhPUfqfaAJ-qKtrWmxeXnY30/s400/IMG_8089.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368903890833225074" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkUKJ_905hqXbh1epvpXHJxzOlMp4ENbCKcZOGURrlmhMq9_ob35jWv_FhG8GZtEYY6mDDEHceBYyQomIjQU_7p3rrn_c6jRwffy7SXyOEOLpilQeJpiPxt3rJYjYbO9At2xLSw620kLs/s1600-h/IMG_8049.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkUKJ_905hqXbh1epvpXHJxzOlMp4ENbCKcZOGURrlmhMq9_ob35jWv_FhG8GZtEYY6mDDEHceBYyQomIjQU_7p3rrn_c6jRwffy7SXyOEOLpilQeJpiPxt3rJYjYbO9At2xLSw620kLs/s400/IMG_8049.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368904320383753634" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwb1dNvJwIwelaQLMZBuT-YLJEkQZUrYo0t-C3GNEGyP3eUG3b6D69dTzc5d4ckoAEegCojawBLGH-As77EGZL4rlVENauhxLRL364uYY47cYGPXSaq_gfig4Sp6X92HSaoxIovOTbmw/s1600-h/IMG_8120.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwb1dNvJwIwelaQLMZBuT-YLJEkQZUrYo0t-C3GNEGyP3eUG3b6D69dTzc5d4ckoAEegCojawBLGH-As77EGZL4rlVENauhxLRL364uYY47cYGPXSaq_gfig4Sp6X92HSaoxIovOTbmw/s400/IMG_8120.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368904535225014306" /></a><br /><br />Stuff I've been thinking about:<br /><br />-I need to do laundry<br /><br />-I wish the crazy lady outside would stop screaming<br /><br />-I like my new nail polish colour<br /><br />-I don't know what I'm doing with my life<br /><br />-I wish we had more chocolate in the apartmentlowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-38255475027100315272009-08-09T11:24:00.000-07:002009-08-09T11:35:01.066-07:00Letter to No Ma'am ClubWhat up spicy gals,<br /><br />Hey losers who didn't get the memo, emails and fb messages are the way of the dusty past. Blog-to-blog messaging is the new way to get in touch. See a tumbleweed just bumbling around in your inbox? Oh right, I told you so.<br /><br />Anyways, Amy, Bilyana, I just watched your <a href="http://nomaamclub.blogspot.com/2009/08/just-couple-of-gals-looking-at-some.html">sweet vid</a>. Reminiscing about pics is my favourite hobby. Watched any Jon and Kate Plus 8 recently? Let's have a conference call to discuss.<br /><br />Toronno's okay but can you guys move here already? I'll make you Hello Kitty waffles and when I get home from work and Noah's playing squash we can hang and say stuff like, men! pfft. (love you Noah!)<br /><br />Bilyana, I want to go to a gala with you. Amy, I want to be your cam ham.<br /><br />I had a cinnamon bun for breakfast and i don't know how to end this new genre of communication.<br /><br />Peace ladies, write me back,<br /><br />Charmin' Carmenlowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-64439594159593667162009-08-07T14:21:00.000-07:002009-08-07T14:22:47.810-07:00Awwwwww<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxp7Qx_5nXdUoN4lV1JaWvzP9gqm7cTtDGGTgsqFponLgscO0-u8NmrNxaoJXLzUO141uRk5w00drLAOEmhlvnetu9myOvb-61qtyhRL2H_P5sjfSpNKHap_rKxkTqo3A8lpcblMIeX6Q/s1600-h/c+in+stripes.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 271px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxp7Qx_5nXdUoN4lV1JaWvzP9gqm7cTtDGGTgsqFponLgscO0-u8NmrNxaoJXLzUO141uRk5w00drLAOEmhlvnetu9myOvb-61qtyhRL2H_P5sjfSpNKHap_rKxkTqo3A8lpcblMIeX6Q/s400/c+in+stripes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367335255770766818" /></a><br /><br />I think that I still look exactly like I did in this picture. The bangs at least are spot on.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-13604951524834694682009-08-04T08:48:00.000-07:002009-08-04T08:51:39.015-07:00Work It<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTVrA0Y_6IWtZ3_gaDLo6gEMW6bsXk9NQo6qIJsvA6B5EWJJexnBExBi-XmnDrlO6gugC72Cvu80QrsgkwEPJrDf-rQQIzh7ag3fCFuOy4XUVXzcsRTkQUYR-TTYcWxImKGtnr59C_z5w/s1600-h/callforsubmissions.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTVrA0Y_6IWtZ3_gaDLo6gEMW6bsXk9NQo6qIJsvA6B5EWJJexnBExBi-XmnDrlO6gugC72Cvu80QrsgkwEPJrDf-rQQIzh7ag3fCFuOy4XUVXzcsRTkQUYR-TTYcWxImKGtnr59C_z5w/s400/callforsubmissions.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366136325731339826" /></a><br /><br />Have you guys checked out the other blog I work on yet? <a href="http://www.wornjournal.com/html/">Cause you should</a>.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-2264667036908022642009-07-29T00:49:00.000-07:002009-07-29T00:53:08.924-07:00Not Well-Endowed.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh18vQnW_gSESIpoDdJmHeWqCN4IwmrTtXj4qGxadfRgOwOsC5zAto8EXHKpdKIJBsoCkf9GeT-Pv6Vcr-65hIQ-ReTuWrjF68JsRwNV8TfTGDGc49iA_3OlYlXxCzJYF5nq_MOOG46so/s1600-h/Photo+136.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh18vQnW_gSESIpoDdJmHeWqCN4IwmrTtXj4qGxadfRgOwOsC5zAto8EXHKpdKIJBsoCkf9GeT-Pv6Vcr-65hIQ-ReTuWrjF68JsRwNV8TfTGDGc49iA_3OlYlXxCzJYF5nq_MOOG46so/s400/Photo+136.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363786506953523474" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpksO7rX_jBE2sXyPUghSNmwm_fYsNUyyravGzORJ3fcegZjWELrGvqU49PMoGmQF_zQk9phIPRZvb-3jklEQ2SZAoonPnVBcGPgXUmRpodPSp4k3kYcAU1oL9mAR31vneqw4-L8M6lfE/s1600-h/Photo+132.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpksO7rX_jBE2sXyPUghSNmwm_fYsNUyyravGzORJ3fcegZjWELrGvqU49PMoGmQF_zQk9phIPRZvb-3jklEQ2SZAoonPnVBcGPgXUmRpodPSp4k3kYcAU1oL9mAR31vneqw4-L8M6lfE/s400/Photo+132.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363786375016445282" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF1XS8IbkU1aLzSOLnMfZ0L9BTU77cWSfbHAlhe0VWzRHxZVrwTSl_PeqkrN1yfEO_DL1ONMtiQrq7CmOlOEA-SFtIkg65BJBjOm-IylOZPaKllysUOJq90ryLFZnN8Y_xw48T2S2c1bs/s1600-h/Photo+133.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF1XS8IbkU1aLzSOLnMfZ0L9BTU77cWSfbHAlhe0VWzRHxZVrwTSl_PeqkrN1yfEO_DL1ONMtiQrq7CmOlOEA-SFtIkg65BJBjOm-IylOZPaKllysUOJq90ryLFZnN8Y_xw48T2S2c1bs/s400/Photo+133.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363786240260428066" /></a><br /><br />It's so hot in my parent's house I could just melt. My dad told me to suck it up about the whole AC issue, and my mom told him to be quiet because he doesn't have to wear a bra in this heat. <br /><br />It's true, who knew boobs could sweat so much. Suddenly I don't mind being on the smaller side.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2663388043154773405.post-61025176582859175532009-07-27T12:21:00.000-07:002009-07-27T12:35:33.552-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnh991EMOrHfGCCpVuSMNA-9UVD4ROP3N_YIrlmzgmSxQL_RkUWUyfafH4L5_Frj16ezGv_mDpXsmtYcYrliIDZaOKpYulA27IeDor-7lh46fJQLFsXI2otQ1DBSB-V1GL9RGlOBUGLW4/s1600-h/Photo+107.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnh991EMOrHfGCCpVuSMNA-9UVD4ROP3N_YIrlmzgmSxQL_RkUWUyfafH4L5_Frj16ezGv_mDpXsmtYcYrliIDZaOKpYulA27IeDor-7lh46fJQLFsXI2otQ1DBSB-V1GL9RGlOBUGLW4/s400/Photo+107.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363222496157412802" /></a><br /><br />I am back in Vancouver at the parental unit's home right now. Late last night I biked around my old neighbourhood and felt all nostalgiac for a time that I didn't necessarily love. It's not that I didn't love my childhood --because I really did --but I would gladly forget those awkward junior high years. Bushy eyebrows and a penchant for good grades never helped the pursuit of popularity.<br /><br />I've been looking through old pictures for a project at work, and though I've seen these same photographs more times than I can count, I feel like I'm noticing new things today. For one, I look a lot like my mother. Also, my brother, sister, and I wore stripes <span style="font-style:italic;">way</span> too often. <br /><br />I can already see that I won't be able to sum up the kinds of things I'm feeling right now without sounding painfully sentimental. Suffice to say it's nice to be home, hard to see things that have changed, and comforting to return to people with a shared history.lowercasecarmenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15939927227810641872noreply@blogger.com1