Tag Archives: redhead

Cyclical Life…

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Hmmm. The wheels in this head have been turning (a dangerous pastime I know). God, I hope somebody out therethe_red_bicycle picked up the Beauty & the Beast reference. Anyway, it’s kind of strange how many things in life are cyclical in nature – the seasons, our social lives, aging, and well…sadly, breakups too.

It’s always been amazing to me how I can feel soooo strange when the seasons change, kind of like a stranger in my own surroundings. I always feel like something is incomplete, something is still coming and there is something whistful and bittersweet about another year that comes and goes, ebbs and flows. BUT, I realize (in reminiscing by reading my old creepy journals), I feel like this every single year. Oh damn, so not even original in my very own life.

I need to remind myself that this weird, thoughtful, almost unexplainable feeling…has happened before and it will happen again. And for anybody joining this conversation late, I just defined the meaning of cyclical.

And ya know what? Feeling the passing of the seasons over and over again isn’t the only thing that reoccurs. I have clued in to the fact that when you are a child you have organization, rules and timelines. You wake up early, go to school, do your homework, go to bed. Life can be fun, but super routine.

As you get older and you start to make friends, you go to their houses, watch movies, get takeout and eventually start throwing raging house parties (or at least pretend to unless you are blessed to be a popular kid). A few years later you try out pubs, bars, expensive restaurants, musicals, brunches and even trendy clubs. Now you know you have made it…THIS is the cool version of life you couldn’t wait to fast-forward to when you bored and sitting in your parents’ basement. Finally kid, you can say you made it.

However….a few years go by and you begin to watch your debt grow as you accumulate assets and realize that you appreciate your friends more than strangers, some good music more than a cramped bar and hanging around in your sweatpa blue jeans more than stilettos. You can afford nice groceries and have learned to cook, preserve, bottle, marinate, ferment, so what surfaces once again? Movies, pre-drinking and houseparties: The Sequel.

Sadly enough, many may even bypass this version of life and go straight to married with a mortgage and (gasp), children. These people then return right back to waking up early, going to work, helping your kids with their homework, and going to bed….

So, this thoughtful red lass can’t help but notice, for all of those out there constantly trying to reach that next goal, benchmark, stone, phase, manic breakdown…remember…well, everything that goes will come again and every feeling you overcome will be back. There is no such thing as perfect and there is no such thing as complete, so I’ll leave you with this deep thought:

Man appears for a little while to laugh and weep, to work and play, and then to go to make room for those who shall follow him in the never-ending cycle. – Aiden Wilson Tozer

….And this funny one:

The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A Death! What’s that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first; get it out of the way. Then you live in an old age home. You get kicked out when you’re too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work forty years until you’re young enough to enjoy your retirement. You do drugs, alcohol, you party, you get ready for high school. You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back into the womb, you spend your last nine months floating…and you finish off as an orgasm.” – George Carlin

That’s the thing about this bicycle we call life; it’s not that easy to get off.

The Ginga Ninja

 

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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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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  1. red baileys

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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Tartar Sauce with a Side of Love

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Have you ever been fishing?  I’m not sure how many women have.  Maybe that’s just sexist of me…it is assumable that between fathers, grandfathers, brothers, and boyfriends most women have fished at one point in time or the other.  This girl personally enjoys fishing.

I’m no pro, but I can handle the squiggly worm, the frozen bait, and even (if small enough) remove that fish myself.  I must admit that as peaceful as it can be, I’m not always game for catch and release fishing.  Of course if the cute little fish is too small to fit in my stomach, I’ll let him be…but, I do think if you have put that poor little guy through fear, panic, and assumable pain you may as well eat him.  That sounds terrible.  But, a fun quote from my girl Gray in the movie Catch and Release is,“I think catch and release fisherman are heartless weenies. I think putting a fish through agony for nothing more than your own entertainment is just plain cruel. I think if you’re going to torture a living thing if, you’re going to make it look into the eyes of its maker, face its own puny little place in the universe, then, for God’s sake, have the decency to eat it!” 

But, to restate…I like fishing…for FISH.  Not men.  I want to truly believe that there is still some special connection I may have with someone, not just bait that I hooked him with. Now, big breasts do help, but it’s hard to keep that fish once the bait is gone.  You need something to keep it alive, something to keep it fresh, and though this will ruin the analogy, something to keep it real.  If I knew what was needed to make it last forever, well, I may not have been writing this blog right now.  But, I haven’t.  Maybe you haven’t.  But, trust me, catching a fish is not like catching a man.  The key with relationships isn’t to catch, but to keep.

“Catching Fish; I’m sure it’s not that much harder than catching a man.”  (Courtney, The Bachelor, Season Bajillion).

The Ginga Ninja

The Rubix Cube that is Me

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It’s amazing how our dynamic can change dependent on who we are with.  Really, we should all be ourselves regardless of who is by our side – but we aren’t. Or are we?  Is being ourselves a matter of always being the same way no matter what, or are you influenced by those around you?

The reason I wonder is because I catch myself changing all the time.  Or at least I think I do.  I’m honestly trying to decide if I’m changing for those around me or what has really changed is exactly that – those around me.

I have some great friends that I feel like a million bucks around.  Charming, funny, put together, but still flawed and human.  In fact, I can tell them almost anything and we can laugh together, cry together, gossip together, and poke fun at each other constantly.  Just the other day I had the most wonderful afternoon with two old friends.

(Okay, self-admittedly I may poke fun at one friend a little too much, and god bless her, she puts up with it because the things she says are nothing short of hilarious without ever meaning to be), but this is my public admission and apology to her. I love you just the way you are, even if just by repeating the things that come out of your mouth provides endless hours of entertainment. You know who you are, Ms. Baby Duck Feathers and how I love you so. But getting off topic...that version of myself, the courageous, funny and self-assured-to-the-point-of-teasing-others girl isn’t always there.

Sometimes, I am a self-deprecating, sitcom-life comedian who has people in stitches, other times I am an oh-so-wise confidant, others still a Debbie Downer, a motivational speaker, a combative drill sergeant, an insecure little girl, a blubbery and worried mess, a Buddha Zen Master and then there are even those people who get me scared, silent and cowering in a corner about what other below-the-belt thing they are going to say or do next.

How can there be people who make you feel oh so good about who you are and others who encourage you to throw in the towel on life?  Better yet, how can there be so many versions of me….

I guess I’m not the only one out there who has more than 1 side, as so eloquently put by the poet Ayumi http://www.poems-and-quotes.com/misc/poems.php?id=1115131, and if you believe in the power of Google there is a whole whackload of people out there wondering the same thing (or at least bored and commenting on) http://answerology.seventeen.com/index.aspx/question/515812_Does-your-personality-change-for-different-people.html, but I still can’t help but wonder…

Is it me with all the sides, or just the reflections of those around me?

I was a personality before I became a person – I am simple, complex, generous, selfish, unattractive, beautiful, lazy and driven. – Barbra Streisand

The Ginga Ninja

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