kick a blah blah blahhh

After Tiffany informed me of more ridiculous Kick a Ginger Day antics, I had to look it up for myself. So ridiculous. Another cultural reference blown way out of proportion.

Maybe I didn't get kicked because I was out in the sun most of the day? They probably didn't suspect a thing. Besides, if they did decide to kick me, I'd probably allow it out of sheer admiration for their gall. Especially when I'm carrying a dizi in my backpack.

the secret machine

Sunday's, believe it or not, are usually the most eventfull day in my week. I'll try to put myself into harms way as much as possible.

After clearing my head from last nights mosh-fest with a good old sleep in, I decided it was time for a proper meal. I settled on a breakfast of homemade hash browns, bacon, carmelized onions, creamed spinach, and fried eggs. This took forever because I haven't fully figured out how to make perfect hash browns yet (recipes are my enemy). I cook by trial and error.
Once I was done eating I called my mum and lovingly wished her a happy Mother's Day. She deserves every bit of it, because I have the best mum on the planet, no matter how much you argue with me.

Now, something I usually do with my Sunday's is to go for a nice long walk. This walk usually starts somewhere around St. Clair station, as I will take the subway up there on the Yonge line, just to walk home. However, I decided this was too short for my liking and headed west on Bloor St. I had a savage headache at the time. Listening to Stockholm Syndrome on full blast didn't help too much either, but who cares?

Upon walking into the Annex, I decided visit the local BMV. Here, I do as I usually do in any book store: walk to the travel and maps section. To be totally honest, I have no idea why this happens. It is simply the most attractive section of any book store to me. I think books on travel and maps are romantic and mysterious, full of honesty and curiosity. I have a serious love for old world exploration maps. I'll go into further detail about this love at another time.

Around this time, I got a call from John Bean. Oh John, my friend. We decided to meet up for a pint a half an hour from the time of his call, so it was time to get some food first.

I stopped by the local Ginger to grab a quick bite. It was here that I also experienced my latest panic attack. I should first mention that panic attacks are nothing new to me. I used to get them quite predictibly when I was young. I couldn't watch an IMAX movie without having a freak-out session. The sheer size of the screen would cause panic. Yet they have become less frequent, thankfully, over the past several years. But by god are they horrible. It feels like a bad drug trip without the excuse. With drugs you can at least convince yourself that there are powers at work that are beyond your control. When it's a straight-up panic attack it's scarier because it's just you and your mind working against each other.


These are your usual symptoms:

• Rapid heart beat, pounding heart or palpitations
• Sweating
• Shaking visibly or inside
• Choking sensations or lump in throat
  
• Smothering or shortness of breath sensations
• Nausea, bloating, indigestion or abdominal discomfort
• Dizziness or unsteadiness
• Feeling light-headed
• Derealization (feeling unreal or dreamy)
• Depersonalization (feeling outside yourself or like you don't exist)
• Fear of losing control or going crazy
• Paresthesias (numbness or tingling sensations) in face, extremities or body
• Chills or hot flushes
• Skin losing color
• Blushing or skin blotches

However some symptoms are more present than others, the major symptoms I experience are Derealization, Depersonalization, and Paresthesias (and not because they are all big words). There may be others but I am almost always alone when they occur.

Basically, try to imagine that your head is floating, severed from your body, and that you aren't even present existentially. The only way to remind yourself that you have arms and legs is to either attempt moving them or to pinch them, just to remind you that they are still there. Anti-gravitational pull seems to take effect and you'll feel like you're about to be sucked into the ceiling at top speed. You can't read, you can't hear a thing, and the person you thought you were is reduced to a pile of functionless matter. Everything shakes, and everything is scary; even the comics section of the paper you so dearly love.

Luckily, the thought of seeing John kept me grounded enough to stomach my meal and meet him at Bathurst station.

Long story short: we went to the Green Room, downed a few jugs of Tankhouse, and chatted each other up. John is a great listener. He lets me chew his ears off. We talk a lot about film, hip hop, girl problems, old friends, modern day technological problems, and things that make us laugh - amongst other things. Our usual policy is: meet for a beer when the sun is up, leave our beer when the sun is down. Tonight was no different. John is one of those friends that I know I'll be checking out girls with when we're 60. I can just see it coming.



Regardless, that was my Sunday. How was yours?

kiss me, i'm andy

i'm honestly a bit nervous for tomorrow,
seeing as it's st. paddy's day.
i'll be rolling with some really bad influences and will probably drink my fool face off.
i don't think i've ever had a really ridiculous st. paddy's before.
i know, i know, it doesn't mean anything and it's just an excuse to drink and i've been against it in the past, but this is a day for gingers, and it's the only day of the year where it's actually somewhat cool to be one.
i'll keep everyone updated on what happened and maybe even throw down a drunken podcast when i get home, who knows.

shine on, ginger

I have red hair, and it took me 22 years to realize it.

To be honest, I've never really liked my hair color. In fact, I constantly forget that I even have red hair until somebody mentions something. Some people (a select few), love my red hair. They think it's unique and a nice shade of ginger, especially my mom. I can still remember the disappointed look on her face when I chopped it all off for the first time a few years ago.

There was even a period last year where I dyed my hair brown to cover up the ginger-love. I originally colored my hair to match my fake moustaches, but decided to keep it up, probably because I got tired of hearing about it.

Although, I have recently come to not only the conclusion that I have red hair, but that I actually like my hair. Should I repeat that? I LIKE MY RED HAIR! BOOYEAH!
I guess I've just decided to embrace my genetics, because that's all I'll be for the rest of my days. I've even started cracking jokes about ginger-ism, kind of like how black people bring up slavery jokes every once in a while, except mine are usually about the sun.
I do consider myself a fortunate red head though. Why?
Because I didn't really get any of the downsides to being a ginger cunt. Such as:

a) I can probably tan better than you, and I rarely burn.
b) I don't get a lot of freckles, which I'm bummed about
c) My body hair is blond, and nothing like my red head
d) I don't bruise easily, which is apparently a genetic default for those with red hair
e) I probably won't have red headed children either, considering that I am the only one in my family

So, there you have it. A first-hand proclamation on my new found pride into the world of gingers. So crack all the jokes you'd like Matt Stone, because for the first time I'll actually laugh with you, because I really don't care anymore. Shine on, you crazy ginger.

Photo credits: top - Kathleen, bottom - Darcy