Tag Archives: ginger

Just goes to show, you never can tell.

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You never can tell.

There are times I feel like a crazy person. Times I feel ostracized, outed, unsure, uncertain and just straight up envious of others. And you know what, I have wondered, do you think anybody ever feels jealous of me?

I guess I believed that as a kid they might. They just might. Over sports…or my house…certainly not my parents’ parenting or my ginger looks. And I guess I believed they just might when I picked up and moved across the world, littering Facebook with my uber amazing couply travel photos. And I guess I believed it when my beotchy coworker said “Sorry I’m not as perfect as you” immediately after she was reprimanded. And I guess I believed it when I accidentally lost a bunch of weight and suddenly looked good in a bikini and could rock a small.

But, those are all one-offs right? That coworker actually ended up crazy wealthy and on TV. Those sports skills? Well, they created these multi-surgeried, excessively scarred 70 year old knees. And those looks? Well, I’m still a ginger. And that weight? Well, I gained it back…and then some.

So, why would anybody envy me, lil old me, right?

Wrong. That perfect-post, quick to commit, new dog, skinny bod, wildest dreams come true girl you envy? Well, for reasons you may not know, for reasons you would never know from the shiny, bright, outside Instagram perspective…they envy you. They envy your nature, your honesty, your jokes, your ability to understand, they envy what you’ve learned, or the love they think you have. But, who knew?

And there is life summed up as a girl. We all want to believe somebody else’s life is better, purer, prettier, surer than ours. Nobody feels how we feel, nobody doubts how we doubt, nobody envies how we envy, nobody cries how we cry. But, here’s a secret…they do.

“If we knew each other’s secrets, what comforts we should find.”  – John Churton Collins

The Ginga Ninja

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The Weight of the World

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driben-peter-pin-up-girl-on-scaleFor a number of years now I haven’t really had to watch my weight. As long as I was gearing my diet more towards the food that made me feel physically better, well, the scale was watching itself. I could eat until I was full, drink when I wanted and really there wasn’t much to monitor. I had mainly cut out soda pop, limited sugar, minimized wheat…all in all it seemed like the diet modifications I had made had made me! Until recently…

In the last few months, I’m not sure if I can blame Christmas parties and boys, excess beers, or some new medication I’m on, but I gained. I gained what (to me) feels like a lot in a short amount of time and let me tell you, it’s not a good feeling. Now, I’m aware what water weight, pre menstrual weight, scales at night versus morning, naked versus clothed is all about. I can usually tell you my “real weight” within a pound or two just from how my clothes are fitting and know full well to ignore a lot of what the scale says, trust me, I’m a motivational scale guru for many.

That is, until today. Over the last few weeks I’ve actively been a little better. I did a cleanse (oh dear god, why we purposely give ourselves straight up diarrhea is beyond me), I’ve cut back my drinking, I’ve tried to minimize portions and go back to healthy snacking and less meals out. I’ve minimized that bread and returned to my sparkling waters and almond milks. And god bless the current boy as either he is blind and hasn’t noticed those increasingly-tight jeans, or he really just does love big boobs, but I could honestly say I think a pound or two has slid off and I’m feeling just a little sexier, but then again, what do I know, right?

Today the scale lied to me, or truthed me and I’m lying to myself. But, it had me up 3 lbs from a number I already was less than pleased with. And then 2 minutes later down 11lbs from that. And then 30 seconds after I had dropped another 7, and then regained 14 and then went back to the original weight. In a 4 minute window I was an 18 lb size difference, which is a lot when you just wanna know if a little less beer payed off!  I decided you know what? If I (think) I’m doing better, well, that’s step 1 and if my scale can bounce me from mental breakdown to win the lottery weight in a 4 minute window something must be wrong. I can assume that I am probably somewhere in the middle of all that and the most important thing is really the weight off my mind. So, I’m going to ignore it entirely, assume it’s broken and re-assess things base on how I’m feeling and things are fitting, not on a machine that can’t even make up its own mind (oh wait, that’s right – machines don’t have minds).

I guess that’s the best way to handle life. It’s about how you feel, not what you hear, not what you see, not numbers on a contract, things in a house, vacations in a scrapbook. At the end of the day, how you feel about you and your decisions is the only thing that really matters…you are just made up of matter anyway.

You gotta ask yourself this question. Am I gonna believe all those bad things those fools say about me today? Am I gonna to believe all those bad things those fools say about me… – Constantine, The Help

The Ginga Ninja

 

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Lucille Ballsy

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Lucille-Ball-i-love-lucyIt’s long folks, but it’s probably worth the read if you need to feel like a winner today.

I’m clumsy, and ridiculous, and things just happen to me. No, seriously…picture a movie scenario and I bet ya that has happened in my real life. I constantly get told my world is like a sitcom and I’m that bumbling comedic actress with poor spatial awareness and my foot in my mouth. And a beloved ginger to boot!

Picture a scenario where you have a fling with your ex’s best friend…and he tells him at the bar…with you there. You are literally standing in a line as this real-life horror movie telephone plays out…and then he puts his arms around you both and says, “Ya, that really just happened”. Imagine that in all the bars in a city of over 5 million people your common-law ex walks into your very bar with his birthday party, only weeks after breaking up, annnd he doesn’t even live in that  town. Break up on New Year’s Day only to have your car die on the way home in a snowstorm and because of that hallowed day there’s not a gas station open for miles, so your tow truck driver and his son dry your salty tears and obviously, offer you homemade chicken nuggets and fries too.

Stories like this just seem to go on and on. Ridiculous stories. Funny stories. Awful stories as long as they don’t happen to you. You eat Chinese food and you faint at the foot of your Asian co-worker, you get a flu shot and almost land in hospital (oh the irony). You tell your boss that he looks too young to have a 14 year old daughter and he answers “I am, and she’s 17…and I was 17 when I had her. She was an accident, but thank you.” You leave your purse on a subway and end up in a month-long battle with a hooker for its return. You order a cab and walk away with a proposal. Even more insulting? A friend of mine was offered two camels for her pretty little hand…and my cabbie didn’t offer me anything but arranged wedded bliss.  Aw shucks.

Not long ago, the funniest of all comedic moments happened to me. Warning, this may not work in writing the way it would on TV, but do your best to make a mental picture as we go. Trust me, like Nike says, just DO it.

I was trying to throw a load of laundry in at a friend’s place while she was at work, but we had partied like it was 1999 just the night before. She seemed cool with this arrangement, so long as nobody was there when she returned, she was tired, she was cranky, she was hungover. So, I threw in the load and headed triumphantly out the door to tackle some errands. Well, one thing led to another and like is life, everything took longer than expected. By the time I got back to her house I figured I had enough time to toss the load in the dryer and then mysteriously sneak out like I was never there. Like a ninja. Except…..it had stopped. The goddamn washer had stopped.

So, like a pregnant teenager, I furtively tried to convince myself it had finished the cycle, but as I continued to pull sopping, dirty, clothes out of the washer…I realized in horror, it had stopped about a minute after I left.

I just wasn’t in the mood to explain it wasn’t working or see her disappointed face when she got home, stupid people pleaser that I am. So, I did what any logical person would do, I continued to load the clothes into the dryer, literally dripping wet. As more and more water sloshed onto the floor, I naively convinced myself I could get them dry enough to still sneak out in time. It was going to work, it had to work.

But, the closer I got to the bottom of that basin, the more pooling water there was.  Pooling, brown, dirty water. I started frantically searching my mind trying to figure out how to get out of this mess. Soooo, I started scooping out the water with a cup, but, Martha Stewart washes her freaking dishes by hand (even with a dishwasher), so I needed to wash the damn cup to hide the evidence. But, there was not a dry dishcloth in sight, so I had to use a clean one and then refold it in the drawer as though it was never used…sneaky, sneaky. To get rid of the last little bit of water in the bottom of the basin, I was going to use paper towels, but she was out, so Plan B, toilet paper, but that was down to one roll too! Plan C – I used her hand towels. These became drippy, dirty little messes and no matter how much I tried to ring them out…they just didn’t appear dry. So, I threw em in the dryer…with the very, very, very wet, still-dirty clothes.

In the meantime, the inside of the washer was hairy and gross, so I ended up using a bit of the toilet paper to clear this new problem up. And yes, once again, I did what any rational person would do. I tried to flush the wad of dirty toilet paper down the actual toilet (can’t leave the evidence in the garbage can of course). However, as is my fate, the toilet overflowed…annnndddd she doesn’t own a plunger.

So, what now you ask? Well, I ended up having to fish it all out by hand and resort to Plan D, just toss it all in my bag to bring home. Still, there was now water at the top of the toilet bowl rim, so back to Plan A, out comes the now clean cup again to be rewashed. Saga over you think? Now I’ve poured toilet and dirty basin water into her sink…so mother fucker, the sink too you ask?  Oh yes, the sink too.

After all this is said and done, it gets even better…she texts me that she’s on her way back, EARLY.

So I go to grab my now not-even-remotely-dry clothes and all I’ve managed to do is cover the inside of her dryer with hair and animal dander. Ugh, so NOW, I’m shoving wet clothes into my bags, using more toilet paper to wipe out the inside of her dryer and trying to use her shower towel to get the water off the floor. Big sigh and heavy-hearted I hung all her wet dirty towels back in the guest bathroom and hoped by the time she went in there they would be miraculously dry.

Well, turns out they were. And a bit discoloured. And a bit oddly wrinkled. I guess she noticed a couple of weeks later. Also, those errands I went to do? Well, those errands were driving a third friend to a neighbouring town. So, as it turns out…weeks later she did go to use that bathroom…and discovered the toilet was indeed plugged. She blamed it on our friend (I knew she would) and oddly enough, she also wondered where her toilet paper went. So, when annoyed she told me that our friend had plugged her toilet and used all the paper, I burst into laughter. Damn, and I was so in the clear….ish.

Either way, as I sit here writing this, tears are streaming down my face. As they have been for the last hour or so….from laughter. The whole reason I started writing this entry in the first place was because tonight I was painting. Painting something for this very friend. And I used oil paint, which I never use. Bright, neon orange, oil paint. The more I tried to wash this off the brush, my hand and out of the sink, the thicker and more stuck it became. It just kept spreading and was becoming a gelatinous mess and in the meantime, a scab on my hand had peeled off…and I was bleeding…and eventually I didn’t know what was blood and what was paint. Soon it just looked like a murder scene…but, as I stared at my bright orange, gooey, blood-stained hand I laughed and thought…yes, a clown’s murder scene.

So, I hung my shoulders, shook my head, giggled and thought….sigh…this could only happen to ME…or….Lucille Ball.

Ricky, get dinner ready, because I’m coming home.

The Ginga Ninja

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A Mind Unburdened

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redhead writing

A year or so ago I wasn’t as peachy keen and shiny as I am today.  I was hopeful, I was pensive, I was as positive as I could be, but I was a bit lost.  Also, not long ago a fellow blogger liked one of my posts – Coco J. Ginger, and I was delighted as she has an incredibly popular blog.  I hoped to learn something from her – some advice on how to reach people, touch people and relate to people.  The only problem is – she had already healed.

You see, Ms. Ginger started her blog because of a broken heart.  Many years and many posts later she no longer felt a need for it.  It became a possibly cumbersome task that though she loved doing, no longer needed doing.  It had been a place to put her hands, her mind, her time and her heart.

If I’m being completely honest, I do find that a saner, calmer, happier version of me has evolved.  Now, please don’t misunderstand, this wouldn’t have happened had I not gone through lonely nights, uncertain days and a health scare or two.  But, these days, things just don’t seem like that big of a deal.  I mean, I’m more broke than ever, I’m facing unemployment and I just cannot seem to get on top of cleaning or my love life.  Then again, I haven’t really wanted to get on top of my love life.  I’ve been pretty damn content on my own, for the first time in….EVER.

So, like Ms. Ginger, I guess I could say that the line has been cast, I’m not sinking anymore and I no longer need a voice.  But, I won’t.  The reason for that is somewhere along this crazy journey, I’ve fallen in love with writing.  It is an outlet, a surprising passion and a useful waste of my time.  You may wonder how it can be useful if it simply wasting time, but if you break life down to its absolute minimum, well….really everything we do is a waste of time.  But, wouldn’t you like to think you wasted that time well?

This is not to say I am not going to need to vent, or cry, or overthink every now and then.  This is not to say that a bright shiny sun with sunglasses is smiling down at me while bluebirds sit on my shoulder, but it is saying, for today, I’m okay.  And for today, I have no intentions of giving this up.  It has opened up a new world to me; one I didn’t really know existed.  It has actually helped clear my mind and even influence my career.  How many people can say that?  I am not writing out of angst, anger or boredom, but out of love.  It was a loss of love that started this journey and a newfound one that will continue it.

I wish the same for all of you.  I wish for everyone to stumble into something they love and continue to do it simply out of joy.  Not because you are forced to (hello, piano lessons anyone), because it makes you money (nothing like marketing credit cards for a living) or because there is pressure for you to present well.  Who hasn’t put on a beautiful spread or applied to a job at the urging of a partner or parent?  Guilty.  I’m sure you are too.

So, this year I find that I’m my same bumbling self.  I lock myself out of the house constantly and bruise easily.  I gab too much, think too much and pee too often…but it’s different.  It’s better.  So, good bad and ugly, I`m currently here to stay and right or wrong, I hope you can say the same.  There is no perfect version of ourselves, only a good, bad and better and each and every one of those personalities depends on the day, the year, the month even the season.  Remember that the saying, “There’s always tomorrow” was written for a reason, because what you feel today may very well not be what you feel tomorrow.  Remember that when you are at your worst – once upon a time you had a best and one can’t co-exist without the other.

I guess my girl Coco realized that she had found a love too. I don’t think it matters why something started, only why it continues.  10,000 followers strong; her hiatus was short-lived and her blog has lived on. Lucky for us.                                   http://courtingmadness.wordpress.com/

                   Words, words, mere words, no matter so long as from the heart.                                                                                    – William Shakespeare

The Ginga Ninja

Heroine or Heroin, They’ll Both Make you Crazy

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joan of arc, redheadIt’s strange.  You sort of wake up one day, after a period of transition, a period of loss, a period of uncertainty and realize…you are okay….as just you.  You are okay alone and you are okay in your own skin.  You don’t know how it happened and you don’t know what was the tipping point – did you need a certain amount of time alone, did you need a certain number of failed dates, did you need a period of loneliness, of grief, of illness or depression to get you here? But, you wake up one day and not only are you okay on your own, but you feel the most secure you have in awhile.  Heck, maybe you feel the most secure you have in …well, ever.

That my friends is where I am.  I felt secure when I was in a functioning relationship and knew that I wanted a different end to my life.  I felt secure when I was getting high grades and receiving compliments for getting in shape.  I feel secure when people are praising my calm demeanor at work or my ability to handle uncertain vacations, car repairs and health problems, but why now?  I actually got told the other week by 4 different people that I was so positive; they couldn’t believe how positive I was.  ME?  Positive?  Say it ain’t so.

I mean, life hasn’t exactly gotten any easier.  If anything I’m making less money and have less love prospects than ever before – the future is uncertain, my job is a mess and my health is only so-so, but for some reason, I feel more ME than…well, than I can remember.

I have always hung onto this little picture in the back of my mind of my happily ever after.  My  version of life that would kick ass.  I have spent countless hours working hard, playing hard and worrying needlessly to achieve this end goal. There wouldn’t be too much hardship, there would be financial freedom, there would be a doting, yet charmingly badass husband who was a lovable, yet stern father and I would find the relationship with my mother I always dreamed of.  I would live in a world where there were no petty differences or misunderstandings, I would have perfect pets that didn’t vomit on my rug,  I would wake up magically a morning person everyday, my job would transition into something that I not only liked, but I excelled at…and all flawlessly, without a stressful moment in sight.

Well, I can tell you my life is nothing like that.  My life is not picture perfect, my finances are not secure, my cat DID in fact vomit on my rug, I’m debating hiring a cleaning lady for a one-bedroom apartment and I don’t know if and when I will ever transition into a money-making venture that lets me act as an entrepreneur and doesn’t provide daily heart arrhythmia.  But, what I do know, is that for the first time in a very long time…not only am I living in the present, but I’m not really worrying that much about it either.

I have a pretty cool gig when you stop to think about how hard life can be and how much I have accomplished on my own.  My loft is pretty kick-ass for my own place in a big city, my 13 year old car keeps trucking like a friend that won’t let me down and somehow I keep stumbling into decent career opportunities whether they spell long-term or not.  My health is on the rise, my problems are often self-induced (aren’t everyone’s) and even though I thought I was finally ready to let love back into my life, for the first time in my life…I don’t know if I need to.

I’m honestly, truly, at least for today…okay with me.  Just plain, simple, little, boring (yet quirky) me.  As sad as it is, that may go down as one of my all time greatest accomplishments.  The day I could genuinely say I was good enough…or let’s simplify that…I am good, or better yet, I am enough.

Sometimes your knight in shining armour is just a douchebag in tinfoil anyways. If Prince Charming is coming, well, he’s running pretty late and Juliet let me in on a little secret, her light at the end of the tunnel?  Well, he turned out to be nothing but a deadend. Maybe life’s greatest love is learning to love yourself.  Or maybe life’s greatest achievement is learning to live with yourself.  She may have died at the stake, but I guess I would take Joan of Arc over Juliet any day. Oh, my girl Joan?  That’s right bitches, she’s a ginger.  So, maybe, just maybe your fairytale ending is….you.

“My life has turned into a giant pumpkin and Prince Charming is very, very late.” –  Brooke Freeman, Shortland Street

The Ginga Ninja

Why Should You Never Iron a 4-Leaf Clover?

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Because you don’t want to press your luck!

Do you actually have to be Irish to get away with Irish Cream in your coffee?  God I hope not.

Either way, I’m an 1/8 Irish….so I like to think at a minimum, I can pull off Baileys in my coffee without a second dubious glance.  This of course only works when I don’t constantly announce how much I enjoy Baileys in my coffee, or try to use my ginger hair as proof I’m Irish and only if I can refrain from doing it daily.  But, who wants to refrain from doing it daily?

Once again I want to say I’m kidding.  And I can say I am….with a little uncertainty. Maybe I’m just kidding myself.red leprechaun

At Christmas and at cottages, I do get a bit carried away.  Baileys (or my poor girl’s version of it….Carolans, Panama Jack…you get the picture) tastes delicious in coffee, with milk, or just on the rocks. So, trying to refrain for financial, bodily and let’s face it…social stigma reasons do exist.  However, I did have an old co-worker, a creative type, an “Ad man” persay….who kept a bottle in his drawer and pulled it out shamelessly, proudly and in no way, shape or form was he (or did he pretend to be) Irish.  Italian if I remember correctly.

So, this is to my old friend Keith.  Keep drinking that Irish Cream buddy and I’ll raise a toast to you every day, especially St. Patrick’s Day.

The Ginga Ninja

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