Monday, October 4, 2010

A Million Little Pieces... without the Oprah drama

I was searching through my friend Maddie's Tumblr account today, admiring the many pictures that perfectly capture her quirky essence. So thank you Maddie for this one which I have lovingly re-posted here. 

     The last few days I have been feeling like this: like everything I have to do is their own piece of confetti. Sometimes I just simply can't care anymore, throw my hands up in the air (saying ah-oh?) and watch them all sparkle as they fall to my feet. The shitty part is when you realize that you do have to pick them all up, lest your mother screams that she will never give you confetti... glitter, anything entertaining... ever again! Ever notice that its almost impossible to do so? That no matter what there will be that one little scrap that eluded your careful eye? And you think to yourself, there goes my arts and craft privileges for life? And as you get older, those pieces of confetti aren't just sparkly bits, but the many duties we juggle everyday- relationships, jobs, school, anything under the sun. Just like the real stuff, you will always miss that one thing that in the grand scheme of the chaos appears insignificant. Eventually, you look down around your feet and see that sparkly bit peeking out from under your toe; suddenly that same heart-wrenching feeling that you forgot something, or worse yet someone. I am not a superhuman. I make choices everyday and sometimes I question them. I have to choose the red confetti or the blue one. Some days, I would just like to stay in Wonderland, peering into the depths of the rabbit hole, lavishing in the deadline-less utopia I have escaped to.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

That Song in my Head

I'm not sure how others get inspired, but if I can get a beat, some lyrics and a rhythm, I almost instantaneously get a stream of ideas flowing in my head. Music speaks to me in a way that other mediums simply cannot. Heck, I wrote an grade 11 Great Gatsby essay to a Kanye West song. Yes, for two hours I listened to one song on constant repetition, and it was evident that by the end of my conclusion that I did not want to hear that song again for a long time. But it was the strength of the words and beat that kept my writing punctuated and the ideas flowing until they were actualized with ink. Now when that song comes onto my iPod, I cannot help but be mentally transported back to that classroom to the point where I can faintly feel the cramp in my hand from nonstop writing.

As I was driving back from visiting a friend out of town, I popped in the Hayley Sale's CD "When the Bird Became a Book". It was, needless to say, a refreshing change from the generic Top 40s tunes that frequent the radio and the mix CDs that my sister sneaks into my car. So as a mood-booster on this Wednesday, known affectionately as Hump Day, here are the lyrics to my favourite song: "When the Bird Became a Book".

I see smiles and tangled hair
And finger-painted window sills
Clouds the world they say is real
I've tried to see their way

But now I've found that up is down
Circles don't lead back around
Something lost is always found
It may not look the same 
But some things have to change

Say tomorrow is today that rainy is sunny
I'd rather be a fool than foolish
If the bird became a book I'd run and take a look
While people ran the other way
Afraid to play the fool

Open windows and sandy floors
Scattered tables and paper wars
May at first look like such a bore
But really who's to say 
What is really real

Say tomorrow is today that rainy is sunny
I'd rather be a fool than foolish
If the bird became a book I'd run and take a look
While people ran the other way
Afraid to play the fool

Afraid to play the fool 
Afraid to put their hands in the air and sat
"Damn it! I don't care"

Say tomorrow is today that rainy is sunny
I'd rather be a fool than foolish
If the bird became a book I'd run and take a look
While people ran the other way
Afraid to play the fool (x2)

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Facebook Philosophy 101

After the week I've had, its been hard to not be pessimistic about the entirety of the human race. Maybe it's a combination of a dead-end job and hanging out with people that seem to occupy their time by stewing over things already passed, but somehow it becomes a vortex of negativity.  As I logged into Facebook this evening, expecting a slew of drunk photos and lyrical status updates to clog my homepage, I was met with a quote. Front and centre on my homepage was a single quote that seemed to sum up my entire week, and was the mantra with which I needed to face the, pardon my French, bullshit. I don't know who originally said it, though I would like to thank them so putting it so simply that it seems almost poetic. Thank you Nitharsen for this and for reminding me that I am too good to put up with this undue shrift, despite how narcissistic that may come across. So I impart this knowledge onto you all, to whomever may come across this, because I believe that somewhere along the way we all face this and while the advice seems simple, its the kind we seem to be unable to give ourselves.
"There's a point in life when you get tired of chasing everyone and trying to fix everything. But its not giving up- its realizing that you don't need certain people and their crap."

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Finally someone agrees with me...

Courtesy of
I can be having the worst day and yet when a friend offers a bit of encouragement, it manages to pick me right back up. Words are powerful- written or spoken they have the ability to capture and convince the audience, whether it be a sole individual or the mass.

While I don't intend on running for president or being a world-renowned public speaker like Martin Luther King Jr was in his days, I feel as though my words could impact someone. Even touching one person- to think, to feel, to reconsider- would mean I've done something important. Because for me, it isn't about how eloquent my speech is, or that the presentation is executed perfectly, but that the person on the receiving end is moved to action as I was before them. 

I am a self-professed addict of the PostSecret blog. I log on every Sunday to indulge my curiousity. There is a certain element of voyeurism, despite the fact that these anonymous people willingly let us glimpse into one snippet of their lives. Following in their style, I want leave my mark in various nooks, that might hopefully brighten someone's day. Perhaps someday someone in this wide world will come across my mark, knowing or not that it's my doing, and that it will somehow impact them.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

25 Questions, a la Facebook

Like pretty much everyone on the Internet these days, I have a Facebook account which I use more than I probably should. Yes, it's useful and helps you connect with friends, but it still has that element of creepiness that alludes me, as I continue to post personal information. Last year, there was a "chain letter" style note going around, asking you to post 25 things about yourself that the average person in your life might not know. Reading through it today, I laughed thinking of the things that had changed, or remained the same, and most of all the things that I felt were important in my life. Even though its only been a year, I have changed drastically since then. Here's Erin in 2009:

  • When I was three and living in Montreal, my best friend was a boy Therin. (lame rhyming names) and I thought we were going to get married one day. Sorry Therin, I've moved on.
  • When I was in kindergarten, I meowed to the Canadian national anthem
  • Sometimes I think I remember events from my childhood but its really just a photograph I saw.
  • I can fold my tongue.
  • I have never eaten a burger at McDonalds, even though I work there.
  • I legitimately wanted to be a princess as a kid.
  • Yesterday, I thought I wanted to scrap book for a living. How, I dont know??
  • I sometimes clench my fists and try to look tough when I walk past scary-looking people.
  • I struggle to touch my toes, so every night I attempt to. (remember the fitness test in grade 9 gym anyone?)
  • Sometimes during tests or exams, I will stare at people, believing I am channeling their smart energy.
  • I have a computer routine: hotmail, gmail, facebook, puzzle
  • I'm anxious about who I'm going to room with in New York this year.
  • I hate that I haven't been accepted into any universities yet, and I am jealous of those that have.
  • I watch shows like The Bachelor, True Beauty and all that none sense religiously. If I miss it, I will find it on ROD.
  • I still want to live in Mississauga when I grow up.
  • I am scared of moving out, that's why I'm not going far for university or living in residence. However, I constantly pick out things I want in my imaginary apartment.
  • I LOVE Andy Warhol.
  • I have dressed up in an elephant suit and entertained children.
  • I have a blog but no one reads it. (
  • I bit my fingernails. Unfortunately my mother has bought me disgusting cream.
  • I am obsessed with being on time for everything.
  • I own more coats and shoes than I think I could possibly wear.
  • I pride myself on my present wrapping skills.
  • I had no clue that I was having a surprise party for my 18th birthday, really truly.
  • This probably took me longer than it should have.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

My PostSecret

I just realized that I am not playing the game of "Life". 
I am not a movable piece, but a human being. 
It's a wondrous, fear-inducing realization.

Make My Day

I haven't been posting a lot recently, mainly because I have been lacking in inspiration. However, I think today something clicked somewhere amidst the ceremony of a wedding I attended this afternoon. I will start by saying that by no means am I a wedding-aholic. In fact, I have only been to four that I can recall in my life- one of which I spent crying to my mother that the responsibilities of a flower girl were far too challenging for four-year-old me. Instead, I live out these fantasies by consuming mass amounts of "Say Yes to the Dress" which is a guilty guilty pleasure of mine.

This event was unlike the others I have attended. With green consumption and products in mind, the couple held the wedding outside, requesting that their guests come dressed in "picnic attire". Heck, these two little words printed on the invitation where probably the most daunting thing I have seen since my April school schedule which was crammed full of exams and final assignments. I have an obsession with wearing the right thing to the right event, and it is because of this that my mother always turns to me for advice before her functions. However, picnic attire and wedding just seemed like an oxymoron to me. So there I went, voyaging through the grassy depths of Ontario to the rolling hills and mosquito-infested town of Uxbridge.

The combination of not being quite sure if I got the handle of the dress code, and the constant drizzle had put a dapper on my mood that not even the best French onion soup could repair. It was then that a family friend gave me a bear hug, and told me that I was looking good. And no, I did not have to pay this man, nor was he intoxicated, or that "creepy" uncle that is ever present at weddings! It was a simple few words that seemed to brighten my day. Those words that I don't think we realize have an impact on someone's day. Though it might seem silly that one compliment can alter my state of mind, it was the recognition that despite my frizzy hair and "deer in headlights" demeanour resulting from knowing a total of seven people attending, that I was okay. Screw picnic casual- the other girls there obviously attend some fairly chic picnics from the looks of their dresses. Even though I might not understand what to wear to a picnic, nor have cooperative hair, I managed to enjoy my time and celebrate in the union of two wonderful people. And if someone was snickering about my disheveled appearance, well they simply were no looking in the right direction. The woman in white, with her dashing husband, can steal my show any day.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Love Hate Relationship

I realized a few days ago how often I say that I hate something. Not in a way that conveys passion for the detested object, but in a casual, nonchalant manner.

Now let me back up a moment. I recently started a new job at the University of Guelph-Humber as a START (Student Transition and Resource Team) leader. I will be assisting in the various programs that both help recruit high school students and transition them into the university world. Last weekend, I underwent training for this position and had the time of my life. I know this phrase is overused, but it was an awesome experience to be working, and playing, with people that were so open and friendly. (Having an addition job in the fast food industry, I daily see how rude and ignorant people can be. Perhaps this is a generalization, but the laziness and inconsiderate attitude of some people ceases to amaze me.) During this training session, we had an activity where we each got to write on others' picture page why they were special. From a religious standpoint, I know that as an individual I am special. Yet, I don't continually reaffirm this idea. Looking back at those comments makes me smile.  However I noticed that overwhelmingly these people saw me as a positive person.

Which brings me back to the idea of hating things. I feel like I dwell too much on the things I dislike about my surroundings or situation simply because it has been easier for me to notice these things, sticking out like a sore thumb of discomfort. I vow to now start more sentences with I love, or I like, or I enjoy than the negatives. I feel like its my duty to all those people that saw the "positive", "kind" and "outgoing" girl that I really can be.

  • I like watching the sunset at my cottage.
  • I like listening to the rain inside under a tin roof.
  • I like driving with the windows down on a warm day, letting the wind blow my hair.
  • I like pondering questions that people feel are too trivial or absurb.
  • I like watching How I Met Your Mother when I'm home sick.
  • I like sitting down and putting my legs up after a long day of work.
  • I like having friends call and ask me to do something, as it makes me feel more loved.
  • I like listening to the Glee soundtrack and singing aloud as if I'm the newest character on the show.
  • I like making mundane tasks, like housework, fun by dancing.

What do you love? And do you acknowledge the awesome things in life?
These two questions have lead me to adore the Awesome Project blog. Check out the link on the main page.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Courtesy of:

Story of My Life...

Now maybe I'm showing my adoration of pop music, but does anyone else remember that Amanda Marshall song "Everybody's Got a Story"? In all songs I pick a favourite line, or lyric. From her's, its "dig deeper, deeper than the image that you see".

It got me thinking about all the facades we put up in public, perhaps based on the situation, the people involved or the mood we're in. Now, I could go off into some cliche rant about public perception and some sappy bullshit about "being the true you"- but I'll save you the melodramatics. More than often, I believe it's up to the person on the receiving end to interpret and "dig" past the front that the other individual is using as a shield. Because of this philosophy, I'm known as a chronic over-analyzer. Shock of all shock! I nit-pick, I theorize, I dramatize and segment every little moment, action and word uttered by someone. It gets me in trouble, it sometimes gets my hopes up, but oftentimes it's fun to fantasize about what could be.

My mother always told me I had a vivid imagination. I could sit down and create an entire storyline around a single character or a song lyric. Oddly enough my posts are usually inspired by a song playing in the background of my life. (By this I mean that I always have music playing: whether it be at work, in the car, at home, or that damn tune that you can't get out of your head) This also means I am a closet "shower singer", although evidently this metaphorical closet I speak of is not very sound-proof. My imagination leads me to often weave the moments of my life together into a dramatic narrative. I was recently joking around with my friend that I was going to write the great American novel based on my first year of university. And sure enough, I went home and started typing. I soon realized that while the events seemed dramatic and awe-inspiring, strung together they seemed quite insignificant in the whole scheme of things. Nonetheless, I love the story of my life. There are moment of triumph, heart break and pure stupidity. Sometimes there is a narrative that can be compared to the majority of tweeny hits, other times I would be bored to tears reading how I sat and painted my nails while watching endless episodes of Kitchen Nightmares.

So what would your story be like? An epic adventure, a romance or a comic strip?
And better yet, would you change the plot like if you were the author, armed with a giant eraser and pencil?

Wednesday, May 12, 2010


Today's "secret" isn't exactly the most well-kept one. Instead, I wear it like a badge of honour, despite the taunts and jeers I receive from my ill-tasted co-workers... I love Glee!

So there I was indulging in my weekly dose of the High School Musical hybrid on crack (yum?), when one of my favourite characters, Sue Sylvester, made a snarky comment about going off into a diatribe. I burst out laughing, as my shift manager came running to see what was "sooo hilarious". (Did I forget to mention that having a television at work is the best way to get your employees to be productive? My breaks, or moreover "breaks", are now timed to the schedule of my shows) In trying to explain the line, I got a puzzled look, which made me contemplate whether or not I had grown a third eye, or sprouted another head. It was then that I realized that he had no idea what a diatribe was.

This got me thinking. " A rose by any other name would smell as sweet". Except that a diatribe by any other name just doesn't have the same effect. Yes, the colloquial word "rant" is definitely preferred by the masses, the intellectual prestige reflected by the use of the word diatribe just adds that extra zinger. I hate the word rant. I envision that when saying it, I wear the face of someone that just smelt doggy poop. Hell, the word itself consequently ruins every other word it is a part of. Scranton for example.... (Office fans unite!) It should be mandatory to pronounce that town's name with a slow, pronounced drawl. Which in itself makes the name a tad more trashy. Disclaimer: I do not mean to say anything about those that live in Scranton, but to rather comment on the name of the town.

Back in grade 12, I was enrolled in a "Writer's Craft" course. This program allowed me to explore multiple avenues of writing, and here I learned how much I enjoyed writing diatribes. The rules are "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything" were out the window. In fact, the more cutting, the better. I watched as others around me crumbled under the pressure to produce a rant worthy of submission, yet few had the ability to really get their point across in a sophisticated, non-whiny fashion. Look out for one of my fashion rants in future posts, and perhaps you even think I'm ranting here. Either way, I hope you can stand my bursts of insanity. Today's was brought to you by the letter Q, and working for 12 hours under the strain of crazy, demanding customers...


Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Secrets Don't Make Friends... Since When?!

Wow, what happened with posting?!
Life is what happened I guess you could say in the most cliche way possible.
Though that statement in itself would be a lie. I think in the quiet-ish moments of life, I realize how much time I spend doing mundane meaningless tasks that ultimately add up to the biggest waste. Perhaps this can be considered cynical. Maybe its realistic. While I appreciate the journey, sometimes I also like to see the end result. Recently, it feels like I've had tunnel vision- I can see this light, but I have no idea what it is, nor how I will get there. There is only a long-winding path in front of me.

Random update: Lately, I have become interested in secrets. I've always been a nosy person. Sue me. But it happens to be a great trait for a media student. I can always be on the pulse of what's current because I have an eye- and an ear- out for everything that's happening around me. It started when my professor lectured on social networking sites, like Twitter (my personal nemesis). After reading into the topic, I best liked the description of these activities as a "publicized whisper". Its an oxymoron when you break it all down, but the idea of making public, private intrigued me. This idea can be applied to what is my current addiction- PostSecret. Every Sunday this fellow blogger posts new "secrets", each written on a postcard that further illustrates and brings to life the ideas presented. Each weekend I look forward to reading what people are revealing to the public. Though there are no names posted with the secrets, I believe that the experience of seeing your own secret online must be both freeing and terrifying.

Maybe this is because I've always been somewhat of a private person. (This idea in itself must seem questionable considering I engage in the blogging process) But in all honesty, many people have pointed out the elusive "wall" that I can build up. Yes, I am friendly, but to a point. Its something about the human race that begs not to be trusted. I myself am an oxymoron- I'm a romantic, yet a cynic. A neat freak, but a procrastinator. A friend, and at the same time guarded.

Being inspired by PostSecrets, and the many other individuals who are revealing their secrets virally, I am going to let you in on some of my little "secrets". I can't promise they will be juicy, or scandalous, but they are little pieces of myself that I am slowly able to reveal to people just like me.

Secret One: Even though I have my own laptop, I use of iPod Touch to Google things I wouldn't want my parents to find out about. (neurotic much?!)