Singing in the Fucking Rain

A transcript of Pixie's thoughts (1 per block!) while walking home from work:

- Hey, it's raining. When did that start?
- Crap, there goes the bus.
- Oh well, I'm sure the rain won't last long.
- Raindrops keep falling on my head...
- I wonder if my books are getting wet.
- Holy shit, it's really raining out here.
- May showers my ass! It's June here people, June!
- I wonder if this store will give me a plastic bag to wrap around my bag.
- I think I have now crossed the line from damp to freaking wet.
- Hindsight - probably should have gotten a second bag for myself.
- I wonder if this mascara is waterproof...
- Gee that thunder sure is loud. So glad I already had a headache.
- You know what sucks more than damp socks? Water sloshing around the inside of your shoes.
- If it were raining men, at least I would have company for this unpleasant adventure.
- Why the hell doesn't one of the many many cars driving past me stop and offer me a ride? Stupid people.
- Oh my god, I can wring out my sleeves.
- I wonder if my hair dye will run...
- Jeans are very heavy when wet. I am actually walking slower my clothes are so heavy.
- Walking without reading is boring!
- Why does the water running down my face taste funny? Oh right, hairspray.
- Squish, squish, squish.
- Warning: The first 29 blocks will get wet!
- My shoes are so wet at this point that avoiding the puddles seems kind of pointless.
- Ack! New cold water in my shoes! Nope, not pointless.
- Why did I think that walking in the rain was a better idea than standing around waiting for the next bus in the rain?
- Did that man just quack at me? That man just quacked at me!
- Memo to self: Bring umbrella to work tomorrow for future such events.
- You know, I am so drippingly soakingly wet at this point, that I am going to have to strip before I can even go into the house.
- At least this will make a very good story...

Erasing the Past

So I spent the afternoon working on a project that I've been meaning to get to for a while. I archived the old posts from this blog and then deleted everything except the last 4 years. I'm tired of wallowing in the past, of reliving the same damn experiences over and over. And that's not me anymore - the last four years, I have changed more than I ever thought possible, and that's the person I want people to see now. It's selfish but I don't want new people to my life having to wade through all that shit to get to me. "I was young, I was stupid" really only goes so far as an excuse. So this isn't a fresh start, but it's a fresher start. And that's gotta be worth something.

And on the subject of the future, as of this Monday, I start a new job (hereafter, cleverly referred to as The Job). I'm excited and nervous and happy, but also slightly terrified about leaving the book world. I have spent so much time defining myself by my profession that I don't know how /not/ to be a bookseller anymore. Plus I'm really really going to miss the Advanced Reading Copies and the staff discount. That will be the suck. I may have to actually get a library card...

On the wedding front, the invitations are almost ready to go out, both my dresses (it's a long story) have arrived, I talked to a caterer and in general, things are tumbling along. I find myself freaking out at points that everything is going to unprepared and go horribly wrong, and then I realize that it really doesn't matter what happens the day of - it'll happen, we'll get married and everyone will be happy. It's a plan.

Bookworm

I've decided, it's not fair - I want to live in the YA Author Mansion too! It isn't fair that Cassandra Clare, Shannon Hale, Holly Black, John Green, Scott Westerfeld, Libba Bray and all the others get to be friends and hang out together just because they happen to have written fabulous and highly-succesful YA novels. Just because I don't have the patience or attention-span to write anything longer than a blog entry, doesn't mean I'm not a fabulously interesting person too. And how unfair is this whole 'never-touring-to-Canada' thing? I object. Our independant bookstores are just as friendly and welcoming, our fans just as crazy and desperate to meet you. I read these people's journals and they talk like our kind of people - they're just another group of geeks who grew up to try and take over the world. They'd fit in perfectly here. However, we are not nearly cool enough, apparently. Grr.

But I'm an addict, and so even though I think it's unfair that I don't get to be one of the cool kids, I still read their books and journals. In honour of that, here is a list of my favourite YA books currently:

Top Ten Awesome YA Books That Pixie Recommends

1. 'The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian' (Sherman Alexie)
2. 'Little Brother' (Cory Doctorow)
3. 'Alice, I Think' series (Susan Juby) <-- she's Canadian!!
4. 'Looking for Alaska' and 'An Abundance of Katherines' (John Green)
5. 'The Book of a Thousand Days' (Shannon Hale)
6. 'Cherub' series (Robert Muchamore)
7. 'The Host' (Stephanie Meyer)
8. 'Uglies' series (Scott Westerfeld)
9. 'The Secret Countess' and 'The Morning Gift' (Eva Ibbotson)
10. 'Rash' (Pete Hautman)

And in a similar vein:

Top Ten Fabulous YA-Fantasy Books That Pixie Thinks Are Shiny

1. 'Mortal Instruments' series (Cassandra Clare)
2. 'Looking Glass Wars' (Frank Beddor)
3. 'Triskelia' series (Carrie Mac) <-- she's Canadian too!!
4. 'Skulduggery Pleasant' (Derek Landy)
5. 'Un Lun Dun' (China Mieville)
6. 'Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica' series (James A. Owen)
7. 'Fablehaven' (Brandon Mull)
8. 'Avatars' series (Tui T. Sutherland)
9. 'The Midnighters' series (Scott Westerfeld)
10. 'Song of the Lioness' 'The Immortals' 'Protector of the Small' serieses (Tamora Pierce)

Perhaps somedays when I actually have time again (like after I start the new job), I will actually start writing book reviews for all these things or keep a running book blog of things I read. Granted, the circumstances that would allow me to be able to do that (ie: not working at the bookstore) would also mean not having access to all the shinies, all the time, and not getting sneak previews of upcoming titles. Irony kicks my ass again.

Be Prepared

Today I'm going over to my sister's place to help wrangle children and then to a live-game in the evening. I won't be home until late tonight so I have to take anything I'll need with me now. My bag currently contains:

- two white dress shirts
- a pair of extra socks and extra underwear
- a book
- two pens
- lipstick, eyeliner and cover-up
- my emergency inhaler
- migraine prevention medication
- anti-histamines
- muscle relaxants
- sunglasses
- my contacts
- camera and extra battery
- broken cell phone and charger
- wallet
- small bag of salty crackers
- granola bar
- chunk of chocolate
- my keys
- eyedrops
- small first-aid kit
- lip balm
- deodarant

And the sad part is that there isn't one thing on that list that I can see myself not using today, or haven't needed to have with me within the last two days. I think I may have learned my Guiding/Scouting lessons a little too well...

Mother's Day

Dear Baby D,

I miss you. I don't think I'm ever going to stop missing you. I know in the logical portions of my mind that they were a better family for you - that they could take care of your special needs better than I ever could have - but I still feel as though my heart is breaking everytime I think of you.

I hate that I won't see you grow up. I may see an updated picture every year or two but I won't see you growing and learning. I wasn't there when you started walking and I won't be there when you start talking. I won't get to send you off to your first day of school or hang your silly crafts on the fridge door. I won't see you in and out and in and out of love and I won't see you graduate. I will never get the chance to tell you how proud I am of who you are. And maybe it's selfish, but I hate that you will never know who I was or how much I loved you. You won't know that I was the first person to say, "I want this child. I love this child." You won't remember me. Even if somewhere deep in your brain there was a memory of a flash of red hair, you couldn't know if that was me or K.

I have only kept two pictures of you, because I see you everywhere as it is. One is of us sitting on Santa's lap. You were so good, so calm. You didn't cry or freak out about the stranger with scary white hair on his face taking you from my arms. You look a little stunned in the picture, but you held my fingers through the whole thing. You kept me close just in case. The other picture is from Christmas morning. It's a close up shot of you, your face turned up towards the Christmas tree lights. You look like an angel - really like all of those classic cherub baby pictures. You were my angel; my reminder that there was good in the world. When you looked at me and smiled, anything was possible. I could have melted into your eyes. Your laughter could have powered entire cities. I still tear up when I hold a baby who's used the same shampoo as you. I could have been perfectly happy holding you forever.

I guess what I want to say is I'm sorry. I'm sorry for letting you go. I should have fought harder, should have made more changes. I shouldn't have let them take you away from me. I don't know how K could have walked away without looking back. I still look over my shoulder at least once every day on the off chance that maybe you made it back to me. I didn't want to say goodbye. From what I've heard, you're happy and thriving so I can't exactly regret the choice, but I miss you so much. I'd give anything to hold you and have you fall asleep on my shoulder just one more time.

I will always love you, Baby D. And you will never be far from my thoughts. I hope you're happy. I hope you grow up knowing that there are still people in this world who love you unconditionally even if they couldn't keep you.

Always yours,
Pixie

The Under Appreciation of Toilets

When I used to come home from Guide or Scout camp, one of the first things I would do was to go into the bathroom and flush the toilet. Just to remind myself that civilization still existed. And perhaps as if the painful memories of outhouses could be washed away with flowing water. It was cathartic.

When I went to Greece in high school, most of the public washrooms required you to pay a fee to use them. Some of them were little more than shacks built around holes in the ground but nonetheless, we used them. Upon returning to Canada, I remember loving free public washrooms with all the modern amenities.

However, despite all of these experiences, I have never, never appreciated toilets as much before this Monday. Warning: Too Much Info to follow

One of the many tests the most recent specialist order was a 24-hour urine collection. You may think to yourself, "Is that what I think it is?" Why yes, yes it is. For an entire day, I was forced to collect my urine for the lab to run tests on. Horrified? I was. And to make it worse, you couldn't even just pee into a jug and leave it at that - oh no, you had to actually pee into another container (I chose a yogurt container) and then pour it carefully into the large jug. Still not bad enough for you? Do you know what an entire jug of urine smells like after 24 hours? I mean, with the lid on it was fine, but every time I had to open it to add more, the stench would overwhelm me and take over the entire bathroom. And then, insult to injury, I had to take the jug back to the lab ON THE BUS. Yea, that didn't make me look crazy at all.

What I discovered though is that you never quite realize how awesome our modern facilities are. I mean, think about it - we pee into the toilet and with the press of a button, it's gone. No smell, no mess, no problem. It's big enough that we don't have to worry about aim (unless you're a guy) or issues of overflow. And best of all, there's no preparation. You don't have to make sure you have a container, open it, get it in place - all the while desperately holding it all in - you can just sit and go. Convenience at its best. Everytime I went to the bathroom the next day, I felt grateful.

If I never have to do that test again, it will be too soon.

My Brain is a Scary Place

Last night, my dreams included:

- a graveyard themed birthday party with individual cakes (RIP 'Your Name Here' in sugary icing)
- the kidnapping of all the people I love in the world and the crack rescue team of me, my foster brother and four grade six kids
- a revolving door that wouldn't stop
- Death, capital letters, big black cloak and all, animating headstones to attack us
- an ice cream truck on the back of a dog sled
- electrocution by way of bed frames
- the cast of Seinfeld ((I feel it's important to note on this particular one that I have never actually seen an episode of Seinfeld so I sure as hell don't know how they got into my dream.))
- betrayal by the getaway car driver (featuring Stalker Boy)
- snow drifts that came up past my knees
- holding both of my foster brothers who, with their final dying breaths, begged for my help
- my camera battery giving out during the Rednecked Rabbit's tap solo on the bar table

And I wonder why, when I wake up in the morning, every part of my body hurts and I'm completely exhausted. Fuck.