Mix (formerly known as The Substitute)

I am beginning my blogspot emporium at the tail end of my Whistler experience, which is rather unfortunate due to the fact that I could have provided those interested with eight and a half months of entertainment. Blogspot was introduced to me through a friend (known to those in the cyber world as Raunchy Paunchy, my beloved companion's alter ego) while discussing the events of a considerable night on the town, which some of you may have heard of, involving bronzing powder, a mini skirt and copious amounts of vodka.

"Raunchy Paunchy has a website you know." She side bared our convo. I put the words being passed on hold to try and get the address from her. She would not disclose this information to me and so I engaged the help of a search engine. I entered the alter egos title, not the 'when did Beyonce lose her virginity' used by those in the past, and the first at the top of the list was just what I was looking for.

"You should start one." The for mentioned said. And see as writing is one of my passions and I have been lacking an outlet for such in the recent months, I decided to take her up on the challenge. So here we are.

I guess I should start off by telling you a little about myself.

I'm 19 years old with one brother (to whom we will refer as Q), three grandparents, eight aunts and uncles, eight cousins and a fuck load of not so immediate relatives. My parents, although not married, are still together. Sometimes when the going gets tough, I wish this were not so, so that I could get away from one by seeing the other. Oh yeah, and I can be a little selfish at times.

I am blonde haired and blue eyed, and although I'm not your typical bimbo, the hair colour does seem to explain a lot.

I was born and raised in the small seaside village of Roberts Creek, BC (I was, ironically, conceived in Whistler), where the prime method of employment is the growing and selling of Marijuana. Roberts Creek is situated on the Sunshine Coast, in-between Gibsons and Sechelt. In passing, RC (known to most as 'the creek'), would appear as nothing more than a hole in the bushes, but once explored, one will discover a community rich in personality in both its eccentric (to say the least) inhabitants and its state. It is, I believe, the most beautiful place in the world. Lush in foliage, water (both sea and creekside), and beaches, I (who have been all across my beautiful country of Canada) have yet to find somewhere as aesthetically pleasing as the Creek.

I experienced a rather normal childhood although was (and still remain) emotionally detached from my parents much to the despair of my mother. I suffered the same grievances and pleasures as the rest of you, the family vacas, the trips to the Grandparents seaside cottage and the non-physically-violent form of discipline otherwise known as the voice. I was brought up to respect others and my surroundings and to not take things for granted. Hugh (see Raunchy Paunchy's page) pokes fun at my peace promoting-hippy tendencies, but I truly believe that it is the way to make it through life. My cynical views and take on life does worry some, but I believe that life is a joke that some people take too seriously. We need to learn how to laugh at ourselves. We only live once, why not make the best of it?

When I was all but four, my mother, an aspiring clarinetist herself, enrolled me in group piano lessons. Despite my many protests as a child, my mother forced me to stick with it because she realized that it truly was something that I could be great at. Something that I will forever be grateful for. Since then, music has been my life. Piano since four, violin since ten, and singing since eight. With dancing and acting also interspersed throughout my childhood, I have managed to acquire a rather pleasing stage presence. I truly believe that I was born for the stage. I feed off the energy of the audience and become this animated person that I do not know. This is my alter ego. I don’t change under the influence of alcohol. Just the influence of audience.

At the age of 10, I took up the habit of smoking for a grand total of two months. My friends and I would sneak off the school property at recess and lunch, and head down to the mouth of the creek to light up our tobacco sticks. We would make jokes and poke fun at our 'I will never smoke' selves of old, as we took drag after drag, learning how to blow smoke out of our nostrils. Our escapades ended one day when I innocently stubbed out a cigarette in the back yard of my then best friend. We left for the evening with her parents, only to come home to a small forest fire. We lied, and said we were playing with matches, but the next day our comrade (who would, ironically, become my best friend for the next seven years) ratted us out, and our smoking days ended with a fizzle. I never did learn how to blow smoke rings though, something that I now regret when sitting with my friends in our pow wow formation smoking the reefer, circles protruding from the mouths of those with more smoking expertise than the rest.

When I was twelve, I was diagnosed with depression and was admitted into the psychology ward at the Vancouver Children's Hospital. I’m not exactly sure why this happened. Not sure where I, or others went wrong but in going back and reading over my hospital files, I have not only confirmed the suspicion that my head is abnormally large, but it also reads that sexual abuse was suspected. This I have not recollection of and if it did occur, then I must have subconsciously, not regrettably blocked it out. I stayed in the hospital for a total of what I believe was two months. This may come as a surprise to some as it is a little known fact. Not that I'm embarrassed by it, I just find that it is a hard thing for me to talk about although, putting it on paper may help me to get passed this. Even though it was seven years ago, sometimes when walking down blank white hallways, whether at school or in the back of the hotel from hell (again, see Paunchy's page), I get a sick knot in my stomach as the phantom hospital smell enters my nose and I am brought back to a place I would rather not visit. The doctors were rather reluctant to let me out when they did because they had managed to make no progress whatsoever with me, as I was completely uncooperative with the staff. What can I say? I'm a stubborn bitch. There are images from this experience that will stick with me forever, from me sitting on one bed, while my roommate sat on the other slitting her wrists, telling me that it released the pain, to the ADHD diagnosed patients handing over their ridolen to the drug addicts who would then grind it up and snort it. Years later, I would watch Girl Interrupted and cry during a movie for the first time ever.

The hardest thing that I have ever had to endure was two years ago. The untimely death of my Grandmother who was killed while getting garden supplies out of the back of her van which decided to slip out of park. There is not a moment when she is not on my mind and I don't believe that I will ever recover fully emotionally from this accident. But is there ever a full recovery after the death of a loved one?

High school was normal. I hated it. I graduated with honour roll status in June 2003 with a scholarship, and spent my first entire summer at home -something that I had wanted to do for ages. It was an emotional summer the phrases of which were "What are you doing next year?" and "Will I ever see you again?" but I have to say, it was the best yet. At the end of the summer I left home at the first chance I got and headed to this little mountain paradise. Well, that's what it seems; but I find that that image is rather deceiving. Whistler is more of a black hole than anything else. It sucks you up and is very reluctant to spit you back out again.

Due to family connections I managed to attain a position at a spa in one of the swankiest hotels in town. My position is basically to sit behind the desk down in the gym and look pretty (not as easy as it sounds for some), and to give towels to those in need. I work for an anal retentive boss who makes us clean the equipment with q-tips, once standing by while she directed us to move the equipment and scrub the dried up yellow puddles of encrusted sweat which had managed to accumulate underneath the equipment on the black mats on which they reside. Not, as you can imagine, the most pleasing of tasks. My boss, however, truly is a wonderful woman although, I never imagined myself working in a place where they felt comfortable charging $4 for a bottle of juice or moreover, where guests have no problem with paying $4.

I have been home only a few times since I came here because of my tight work schedule, and also because up until about a week ago when Greyhound decided to start charging by the km instead of a set rate, it cost an arm and a leg to get to the coast and back. Last time I went home, which was three weeks ago today, I ended up in the back of a bus jam packed, -sardines in a can- wedged between the toilette and two raging-hormoned-teenaged-boys eating spitz (sunflower seeds), and spitting the shells into dog shit bags. Quite amusing. I sat there listening to my music and chuckling to myself whenever I would catch one of them, mouth full of shells, dodge their eyes across my chest. They can’t have been more than fifteen, but I did feel kind of flattered (and creeped out) when I walked to the back of the bus to the only vacant seat and they gave each other those “wow, look who’s coming” glances none to familiar to myself and my girlfriends at the same age.


I am currently looking forward to a trip to Victoria with the gang for a last hurrah and then two more weeks in the hole after which I will head back to RC for a week and then on to bigger and better things in Europe.

And so here I am. Sitting at my behind-the-counter-towel-handing job on this May the second nursing a burned tongue from my second ever Shakespeare's pie and typing away on a computer without internet (I will have to re-enter this down in the 30 + degree Celsius staff room) and looking out at the setting sun. The clouds are high and appear to be being pulled in every direction. They also appear to be remaining still. The night has again decided to disobey the weather mans orders and throw us a curve ball as a star appears in the sky.

Star light star bright,

No clouds in the sky tonight,

Appearing in the fading light,

The weatherman's defiant night