Brainsss, brainsss, BRAINNSSS

(Photo Credit: The Walking Dead TV Series)

My inner tomboy just can't get enough of blood, guts, gore and violence. I know I blame my father a lot in this blog, but this too is his fault. At the age of 3 I was sitting on his lap as he encouraged me to take the controller in my little baby hands and "shoot down the Nazis" in my WWII fighter plane. I'm pretty sure this is not the normal childhood upbringing for a little girl but none-the-less this is how mine started and has continued. And so here I am now, engulfed in a new TV series, The Walking Dead, and also anxiously awaiting the new Resident Evil movie. I know zombies are now popular, everyone seems to be into them and everywhere I look there's zombie merchandise. Zombie books, zombie movies, zombie TV shows, zombie T-Shirts... you name it, it's there and zombie themed. I would like to take a moment and express that before they were popular they were part of my interest as a kid and killing them in video games was fun (Only if they die, I can't stand games with enemies you can't kill).

My imagination is a wild place and lately (which isn't out of the ordinary, I just had put these thoughts on a back burner for a while) I have been dreaming up situations in the event of a zombie apocalypse. I am sure I would be among the first to die. But in case I wasn't I feel like there are a few places that would be good for shelter, for a little while anyway. My stock room is actually very secure. No windows, only a door pass can let you in, and granted that no zombified staff who know how to use their hospital pass can get it, I'd be safe. The tunnels in this hospital could actually be used in a zombie movie. There are wires hanging, open ceilings, dripping pipes, awful smells, spiders, mice... all the lovely things you'd find in a sci-fi/horror flick. Every so often I half expect an undead to stumble out from around a corner. Of course, surviving in the Civic would be hard, it's full of sketchy places, too many people, and not enough food. I think a good plan of action would be to keep on the move until some sort of protected civilization is found - if that exists. But in order to survive I would have to convince myself there was. Because I am lame and nerdy I took one of the online "Which Walking Dead Character Are You?" tests. This is what it said:

"Based on your choices you are: RICK

You tend to be two steps ahead. Strong and determined, you believe in the inherent good in people - even if they sometimes prove you wrong. You balance what's best for the group with your own personal safety but often prioritize collective needs over your own. To your detriment, you cling to a humanity that may be irrelevant in this new world."

Sound accurate? Maybe a little. Rick's the leader of the group, not sure I would end up in that role but knowing my pig-headed stubbornness and my inability to cooperate with stupidity... probably. I always imagine it would be and my friends/family against the hordes but every game/movie/book I've played/seen/read it is always a group of randoms who are forced together. Depending on who those randoms are, I may choose a quick death over trying to survive the outbreak stuck with a bunch of lunatics. I would need a shotgun for sure. And a machete. A large axe would also be useful. And any other type of weapon I could find. Not that I'm skilled in the art of weaponry or anything. The only training I have is shooting a pellet gun (turns out I have decent aim) and I took fencing when I was 13. That stopped after I managed to stab the instructor in the neck under the helmet.

So if there's a zombie outbreak and it's the end of the world, the extinction of humanity... you may find me locked up in the stockroom at either the General or the Civic, hording weapons and food. So if you aren't infected, aren't a moron, and consume little.. you can maybe join me.

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An elephant in a china shop

(Photo taken by Anjuli, in NYC, and her caption reads: "Had to keep this photo for the flailing arms and the facial expression." Note: I am the flailing arms)

I've always admired women who were born with the ability to be gentle, graceful and elegant, who could walk smoothly, in a straight line and with a subtle beauty. Grace and elegance were never mine. Not even a little. I zigzag down the sidewalk (don't worry, it's not bad enough that people think I'm drunk), I drag my feet, and I sort of clunk around. I am also very expressive with my hands when I talk which can lead to disaster. So I am not the picturesque woman, you would not have me attend a ball as a débutante (although I know someone who has) and I wouldn't be a candidate for any kind of beauty pageant or anywhere requiring me to walk gracefully. Sometimes my mother will quip about regretting not putting me in etiquette school. I'm pretty sure I am an embarrassment to my family and if I were the kind of person to embarrass easily... I don't blame them. In fact, I am so clumsy that I often find mysterious bruises on my legs from walking into things and not even noticing.

I think a part of the problem is my carefree nature, sometimes. And I know some of you are laughing at that statement because I can be a total spaz-case. But carefree in the sense that sometimes I don't take my surroundings seriously. I am loud and don't care, I flail my arms about like a lunatic when talking, and I walk without looking. In an earlier post I already told you that I crashed on my way to work. What I didn't tell you is that it happened twice, two days in a row and I would use the excuse that it was slippery out but I was wearing winter boots.

The photo above looks like I'm about to hug Andre. Truth is, that's just me talking. And probably not about anything important although it looks like I'm trying to tell him someone is dying and needs help. With that photo in mind I'll tell you about my Christmas shopping escapade last night. And my heart feels for poor Gil who had to stand by my side as I yet again embarrass her and the people around me.

I've discussed nail polish. I've discussed my clumsy nature. Now combine the two. There's a store that I like, Trade Secrets, as it has all kinds of OPI goodness. The new store opened up at the downtown mall in Ottawa so Gil, who shares my love of this store, convinces (she really had to twist my arm) me to go in and have a look around. And as always we pick up all kinds of nail polish and test it on pieces of tape stuck to our hands, and all is well. Until I go to put a particular colour back. I'm not really sure what happened next. As I was turning it somehow flew out of my hands (and I mean flew) and shot clean across the space between me and the wall. Glass everywhere. Nail polish everywhere. A very red, embarrassed Gillian standing behind me and two store clerks calmly looking at the mess. And of course the dreaded silence that ensued for about 30 seconds as my gasp hung in the air. It is a good thing I don't embarrass easily and the two cashiers weren't too concerned so I didn't need to pay for the smashed nail polish. Although we both felt so bad we ended up buying a few things anyway, which I had planned on doing for some small Christmas presents anyway.

So never go anywhere in public with me if you embarrass easily. It usually ends in some kind of mess. The nail polish incident is not the first and not the last stunt I will pull.

As a side note, please vote for me! I am a huge dreamer and I love to travel. I am always imagining my next trip and because I am now somewhat broke, that won't be for a long time unless I win this contest. So cast a vote, only takes a moment! If the site is being difficult, check back later. :) http://contest.youllneverforgetit.com/spotlight/237/

Bathroom wall-hangings

I have been staring at this picture for a long time. It hangs on the bland wall of the washroom,
right next to the toilet, down the hall from my office. I have been studying it for months and in all honesty I am still stumped. I understand what the image is of, I think that's pretty obvious, and maybe I can grasp a little meaning in it. And yet I am still unsure of the full artist's intention but I suppose no one is ever sure unless directly speaking to the creator. Still, this strikes me as a commentary. The other drawings scattered through the washroom are all related, I am sure of it, which only reaffirms my suspicion that the artist has specific intentions with his or her pieces. Here's a closer look at the first drawing.

Odd isn't it? She's hanging by the dress next to her, the dress that actually looks like it would be too small on her when hanging on the hanger.

Maybe the comment is she's being strangled by society's expectations? Or even hung by her vanity? Who knows. In any case there are

multiple drawings similar to this one. I just can't help but look at it every time I take a pee. And I feel it's an odd thing to be looking at while I'm sitting on the toilet. I find myself wanting to look anywhere but. This image makes me uncomfortable. In my experience that

is a key element in dictating what is good art. If a piece makes an individual think or feel or better yet, both, then the artist has done their job. But looking at this I know several children who could produce better artwork than that. But I suppose the intention behind it would need to come from an older audience. No child, none that I know of anyway, would really take the time to specifically address the issue of body image and society. That woman does not look happy. And if that's happiness then life really does suck.

The elongated feet throw me off too. All of the women have these incredibly long feet. Maybe I'm over analysing it but I find it an odd feature. Granted in this picture they aren't nearly as disproportionate as they are in the first but they're still off. Like I said, the more I looked at each photo the more I see the relation. These women all look familiar, hair, style of clothing, earrings, facial expressions... except for their size. There's even a smidgen of height difference. Obviously the weight is really the target. I can't tell what this image is encouraging. Whether it is supporting standard sizing by comparing the two differences and demonstrating a better ideal, or if it opposing just that. I like to think it's anti-conformity.

I mean, who wants to be hung by their clothing? I like my stuff, don't get me wrong, I have a bit of a clothing problem, but I wouldn't want to be consumed by them, hung by them, strangled by them. But maybe these images make me uncomfortable for a reason. Probably because I see parts of myself in them. I can get wrapped up in the ideal of what

is "ideal". Advertising does a damn good job convincing people (not just women, men too) what perfection is. And I am sorry but their "perfection" is airbrushed and no one looks like those models do. And yet we all still buy into it. I like to pretend I'm above all of that deception but I'm not. Like every other woman I have met I have stood in front of the mirror and agonized over how I look. This jiggles too much, that isn't flat enough, why is there a bulge there... the list goes on.

This next picture struck a cord because

of that very problem. Because I had stood, and will probably stand tomorrow, in front of that mirror. I am positive this is meant to disturb. Just look at the proportions! The jetting hip bones, pointed, concave shoulders and drooping breasts. Two of them have their arms crossed in front of them, a symbol of shame, and the smallest has her arms open. Perhaps the comment is that one in three women accept themselves or truly think this is okay? I certainly hope no one thinks that type of body is okay. Of course it's exaggerated but not too far from the truth of what some people think is ideal. No one should be a size 00. Or less, as I'm sure there are. But I think this picture bothered me the most. There is just something so wrong with the whole thing. And it makes a powerful statement. A more identifiable statement. No one has been literally strung up by their dress. But everyone has seen an image of someone who looks dangerously thin and many have thought and criticized themselves on more than one occasion based on the ideal of perfection.

I just find it interesting that these drawings, this artist, was chosen to be displayed in a small, one person bathroom in the basement of the hospital. I've posted the other two below.

Honk if you like OPI

(Displaying "Meep-Meep-Meep" by OPI from the Muppet's Collection)

I've mentioned earlier that I have a problem. I have a tendency of becoming obsessed with certain things, whether it's a hobby, a movie, a product... in this particular scenario I have rather recently taken up the art of nail polish collecting. (Yes, I said "art"). Over a not-so-long period of time I have managed to collect a little over fifty nail polishes. These are $10 a piece so you do the math. I find it amusing that I have developed a passion - if you will - for nail lacquer. Mainly because as a little girl I wasn't interested in barbies, or polly-pockets (do you remember those?!), or make up, or nail polish... I played with trucks, air ports, video games and cars and for imaginary games in the school yard it mostly consisted of playing "war" with the boys and "shooting" each other. Throughout high school I also had no interest, I used to say that it was a waste of time and I didn't feel there was any value in having coloured nails. Usually they were kept short and uneven due to a lack of caring. So it is funny that now I have spent an insane amount of money on a product I swore to never love. I blame one of my best friends Gillian for this recent obsession. Using descriptive words she would sound like my total opposite, even scoring the exact opposite of myself on the Myers-Briggs personality test, but we get along famously and have a lot in common despite our differences. But she is really responsible for this new found relationship. I still refuse to admit it's a girlie side of me coming out from all the suppression it has endured as a child and I label it as my artistic face poking through. I use that excuse for anything feminine that I have a fancy for.

I think a part of my dislike for nail polish stems from my unfortunate genes when it comes to hands. As you can see above, and I tried various angles to get a half-attractive picture, I have been... blessed, with small, stubby fingers and difficult nails. This comes from the Uptons side of my family. Fortunate for my mother she has the long fingers, dainty nails, and delicate hands her mother has passed down to her. Of course my gene pool is the mixture of both bad parts of each family to create me. Life is cruel.

But the picture above is actually showing a paint job I did on Saturday. It is now Thursday and just beginning to chip away. I'm thoroughly impressed. I can't decide if it's the new colour or the Essie top coat I used with it. Either way, it's lasted and although it looks a little shotty now it has still managed to last almost a week with me which is impressive for anything. Despite almost sliding to my death this morning before 7am on my way to work, the lacquer has suffered through it and come out with only a few bruises. Stubborn bitch, eh? I admire her stubbornness.

So the moral of the story is don't fall on your way to work because you may ruin your nails. Or you may not, in this case. Actually, the moral of the story is if you have ugly hands, cover it with pretty colours and no one will notice.

Food for thought

Slowly scrolling through Lauren's food blog is probably one of the most torturous things to do while at work. She posts tons of beautiful photos of pies, steaks, cookies, chicken and all other kinds of deliciousness you can imagine. Of course they are all out of reach as I sit here and gnaw on my boring apple to the hum of my computer. I mean, I'm not particularly good at cooking. I get by and my food doesn't make you want to take your own life so I feel that is somewhat of an accomplishment. I can bake much better than prepare a meal and that's mainly because of the patience aspect of it all. I can't stand being hungry and making dinner, or lunch or whatever it is and having to sit and wait it out. Baking is usually done after I've devoured a good meal so the haste isn't the same. I can wait for the cookies (and so can my thighs).

But food is an odd thing, don't you think? Of course we need it to survive but events tend to be centered around food. I can't even count how many times I've heard someone say "there was free food so I went". Or any kind of party generally involves food even if it's just small snacky platters of cheese and crackers. Going out to dinner is a huge phenomenon and exorbitant amounts of money can be spent in a restaurant on one meal. People spend hours wine tasting and pairing select wines with select food to acquire the perfect taste and combination. Suddenly food isn't just about surviving. People need water to live and social events are not fashioned around the tasting of water. People are not drawn into attending gatherings based on the free H2O. And water is even more essential to living then solid food.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I love food. Food is my crack. But I just find it odd how popular food is. It's not just about eating to get through the day with enough energy, it's about mass consumption. It's about creativity. It's about turning cooking into an art (which I definitely think it is). It's about being the topic of conversation. Before I moved desks most of my daily conversation with my coworkers was about food. I would listen for hours as the two Italian men in my office would discuss dishes, recipes, cheeses, olive oils, pickles, canning, BBQing, boiling, baking... you name it, they talked about it. I always left work feeling famished because the entire day was spent hearing about food. Food is one of the main driving forces behind social interaction. This is not new, of course. People thousands of years ago would congregate because of eating, because they had to. They had to farm, hunt, gather and interact with one another to trade and share for survival. The grocery store around the corner doesn't really require you to barter with the cashier. You don't even have to speak to anyone while shopping anymore, they have self-check out! But yet food prevails to be a number one factor in group gatherings despite it not being necessary anymore.

I'm not complaining. I love an excuse to eat and cook with friends. I'm just word vomiting all over this page because I can. In writing this I've also decided that once I get home I'm going to bake and put on a few pounds.

Liz

It's all about the perspective

(Proof that Ontario can be beautiful :))

"You know those people who say if they won the lottery they'd still work? Well, if I won millions of dollars there is no way in hell I'd ever work again. What is wrong with you?"

This made me laugh. But at 7am, anything can make me laugh. Watching someone fall down some stairs would make me laugh. So who knows how accurate my judgement of humour is at this present time. Anyway, I think it was really the look of disgust on Cody's face as he expressed his sheer horror of the idea of someone working after winning fifty million (the example he picked). I had to agree, of course. I mean, wouldn't you quit your day job? Millions of dollars would set you for life. So why stick around at your awful desk job to get shit on by superiors, get paid pennies compared to the assholes who run the joint and work stupid hours? Only a sadistic person would sign up for that.

Given the chance I would try and change the world. Start up organizations for people in need - whether it be clean drinking water on another continent or the hungry of Ottawa. I would see everything I could see, experience the unknown, travel the world, and become a permanent wanderer of this planet. I would donate, donate, donate. I would pay off my loved ones debts, I would buy a house, I would get my sister through University and give all the luxuries I could give to the people I care about.

But maybe those people have a point. There is value in earning your money. After an interesting conversation yesterday I have thought quite a bit about the value of a dollar. Losing the sense of monetary value can cripple a person. The most important part of life is being in tune with it and maybe those people who have what seems too much may actually have too little. I always hear about those who live in poverty in third world countries are much happier than the rich in the West. It is hard to imagine that a life of starvation would bring joy but there is joy in suffering. And there is joy in community. Those people depend on one another, a foreign concept to our culture which is all about individual gain and success. I think I would rather choose happiness over wealth and prosperity. It is all about perspective, I suppose. Just like beauty. What wealth is to some, isn't to others.

My slight insanity

Christmas happens to be one of my favourite times of year. I love the lights, the colours, the decorations, the gift buying, the gift wrapping (yes, I am one of those sick, sick people who enjoy wrapping presents) and the general joyful feeling around this time of year. Of course it's only the middle of November and there's still about two weeks before December rolls around but I, of course, already have bought my themed gift wrap for the season. As you can see above I have chosen a colour scheme of silver and blues (with a bit of white thrown in for good measure). I have yet to purchase the clear cellophane but that will come this weekend. I've already come up with lists of who to buy what for and I have spent hours making that list as attractive as possible with little doodles and pretty pens. Of course, it's not all about the presents, I actually prefer to bake and share a cup of tea or hot chocolate with a loved one around the tree rather than receive any physical object. My love for Christmas is probably unhealthy, as is almost anything I happen to take a fancy of.

I have a bit of an obsessive nature, you see. I am in constant battle with my tendency to become consumed by things that interest me. I wholeheartedly blame my father for this. And his entire family. Once a hobby is found, or some sort of slight attraction is established they become absorbed. My father generally goes through "phases". In fact, it's so bad that friends of mine will come over and notice the music, or the movie/tv showing playing, or whatever item he has scattered across the living room and they will say, "Oh, new phase?" or "He's back on this one again, eh?". It was embarrassing when I was younger but now I don't care. Mainly because I recognize similar insanity in myself. Currently, and one that doesn't seem to be lifting, is his obsession with photography. I would go into further detail but I won't bother, there are simply no words. But like I said, it's not just my dad. All the Uptons have their "thing". My uncle has his cars, my other uncle is a hermit (that's not a joke, he lives in the wilderness up North in the middle of buttcrack nowhere aka Yellowknife). My aunt has her animals, particularly her cats, about 5 now to be exact plus a rabbit that lives in the livingroom (her house is a treat too. Cat structures along the walls, cat cut-outs in the basement door, cat designed mail box, giant cat cage in the backyard cat photographs and paintings... the list goes on however I love that quirkiness about her), my younger uncle has a thing for videogames and horrendously bad sci-fi movies (if you've been unfortunately enough to have witnessed the tragedy they called "Sky Line" then you should know that my uncle liked it enough to buy it. Enough said). And of course there's my grandmother who needs to have everything just-so. She's a clean freak, which is an understatement, and worries about every little detail possible. Details no normal human being would worry about. Like my father, she goes through phases of what she worries about. There was one year that all she was concerned with was the ply of toilet paper and God forbid you buy the wrong one for the cottage. I am not even going to get into the bizarre, cracked-out craziness of my mother's side. Maybe when I'm over the trauma I'll have the courage to write about it. :)

With all that being said I think you'll be able to forgive me for my own slight insanity. Like my obsession with Christmas. But that's not all I am fond of. I saw this in Costco a few weeks ago and I was so excited I actually took a picture of it. It's a good thing I'm not embarrassed easily because my excitement in the store was visible and I practically squealed to my mother to come have a look at it. And then I proceeded to photograph it with my crappy camera phone (which has since been upgraded, thank baby Jesus). So imagine a twenty-two year old woman standing in a packed Costco (because I am stupid enough to go in there on a Saturday), who would seemingly be normal jumping up and down yelling at her mother (who really couldn't care less) to come and have a look at the Halo themed lego. I don't know about you but that thought makes me laugh (and cry a little because it's me). My boyish side comes out when I see things like this. It's a good thing I recently re-did my room so it doesn't resemble a little boy's video game hideout. One wall was covered in video game posters. And by recently I mean a year ago.

That's not all I'm obsessed with. I also have a thing for scented items. In particular anything from Lush Cosmetics. I don't have a picture of my two "lush boxes" because I would show you if I did. Taking baths has become more like a hobby to me in the last little while and I blame Lush

for it. It's so bad that even before I started this little blog I took a photo of my bubble bath to send to a friend because the water turned blue. This I thought was exciting enough to photograph. But baths are so soothing! Don't you find? After a long day of bullshit a nice hot bath with a bath bomb or bubbles seems to make everything disappear. It's definitely my crack. Plus I like the lovely scent it leaves after I'm done.

I have many other things I am in love with. Like my cat. But I will save that for another post and I will share some pictures of my very own leopard. I figured I should give you a heads up that the blog you are reading is written by a crazy person and you all deserve fair warning of this before you start following me.

Now excuse me while I go back to work and bang my head against a desk.

Liz

A glimpse..

I've had livejournals, many versions, many purposes, and they have always been more of an online diary rather than a blog. I suppose the only "blog" I've ever had was my travel journal from summer of 2010 which chronicled my trip to Europe and back. (liz-extended.livejournal.com) Writing about my travels was by far much more interesting than my ordinary, everyday life problems, joys, battles and loves. But after following a few online blogs of complete strangers and being quite content to follow their everyday lives I decided to start up my own. A clean slate, a new beginning, a fresh blog.

So here it is! And hi. Currently I am trying to figure out why my photo won't upload to this post but I am sure eventually I will get it. I do, afterall, work in IT and if I can't get a picture to load onto a simple blog post then I really shouldn't be in this profession. But I guess that is another discussion entirely.

Ideally I would be writing this in my sweatpants, with a cup of tea, surrounded by blankets in front of a fireplace. Unfortunately I am not in sweatpants, with a cup of tea, surrounded by blankets in front of a fireplace. I am in a cream-coloured room filled with sage-green metal shelving stocked with computers, printers, phones, monitors and other assorted technical parts. There is a constant hum from the florescent lights above me and the PCs constantly running in the adjacent room - which we call the tech shop. I'm actually in a sealed room, only those with special permissions can open these doors and I'm in a basement of a hospital. It doesn't get much better than this? Yeah. Right. I do have my homely comforts while I am here, though. I have a special shelf of my own with tea, a kettle, some nutella (which is running low) and a bag of cereal. These are the things that keep me sane from Monday - Friday, 7am - 3pm.

Such is life for me. Ordinary, simple, a step up from boring and filled with crazy dreams (hallucinations?) of a girl - a woman - with a large, insane imagination. Welcome. :)

Liz