about a boy

yesterday one of the little girls asked me if i had a boyfriend. 

“no”

“do you think you’ll get one while you’re in calgary.” like a boyfriend is something you put on your saturday errand list and pickup while you're out getting baby spinach and wholegrain bread at the farmer’s market. 

“um, maybe” 

“who was your last boyfriend?”

“i’ve never had a boyfriend”

“why not?”

“i’ve just never met anyone that i liked more than a friend”

she replied “oh” while simultaneously mushing a slice of banana around in her mouth with her tongue like a toothless grandpa. 

she was completely unrattled by the fact that i am 23 and have never had boyfriend. 

it was refreshing to share this fact with someone else. who like me, did not care. 

my day off

i woke up late. i was up until 2 a.m. entirely consumed in a newly discovered travel blog, nomadicmatt.com. it got me remembering forgotten moments of my trip. the thrill of sitting on a bus and being the only native english speaker. the 'where are you from and where are you going' introductions. it got me thinking of when i am going to travel next and where i will go. i got massive butterflies in my stomach, the same as christmas eve. i closed my laptop and switched off my lamp. i lay in my bed, eyes wide open staring at the black ceiling above me. i couldn't fall asleep. i just kept thinking of my next adventure. when i did wake up this morning, i twirled my unwashed locks in a spiral to form my classic top knot and headed upstairs to share the news with jordan (nanny #2). after unloading my excitement on her i headed out the door for a bike ride to a kensington cafe. while crossing a bridge i spotted a group of questionable looking young men. boys. thugs. i was surrounded by other people walking across the pedestrian bridge too, but i still had jitters while walking past them. i tried to conceal my uncomfort. head held high. while walking past them one shouts "hey girl, nice ass". i pretended not to hear, hopped back on my bike and peddled away with a stern face. inside i was elated. it was the nicest complement i've gotten in weeks. and to top it all off today is laundry day, i was going commando under my lulus. so there was a solid amount of orange skin jiggling around back there.
to the highly inappropriate native american man with a long black braid and beige camouflage winter jacket, it is rude to shout, and thank you. 

my first turkish toilet

When I was with Shellnutt in Italy, she told me about how she went to a concert a couple weeks ago and instead of porta-potties or outhouses, they had ‘turkish toilets’. She told me to keep a look out for one, and that I would know it when I saw it. She said they were dirty and seemed like something a complete bone-head had put together in a pinch for his engineering class. 

Assignment: Provide an alternative to digging a hole in the ground and shitting in it.

After arriving in Turkey I found that this term was a sore spot for many. Yes, they have them in Turkey. But they do in other countries too. My Turkish friends felt that it was an unfair association placed upon the Turkish people. Turkish delights - yes, Turkish coffee - yes, Turkish Bathes - yes, Turkish toilet - NO. 

After an interesting bus ride from Thessaloniki to Istanbul, I met my hosts roommate/cousin on the sidewalk in front of a hospital. After leading me through a concrete labyrinth we ended up in front of the correct dilapidated building. When we got up the dark narrow staircases and inside the puzzle of locks that were bolting the metal door frame shut, I was given the tour. 

“This is the bathroom” he said. 

I peak my head inside. It is covered from ceiling to floor with slimy grime covered tiles. The air is warm and moist from a recent shower. On my right sits a sink, a blue squeegee lays beneath, its neighbor is a small cement hole in the floor. A window at my eye level has city air being drawn in through a thick mesh screen. Grey wings, guts, dryer lint and red string intwined with corse black public hair. Rusting silver towel hooks jet out, all at different heights. On the same wall as the door there is a shower head coming out from the top of the wall. Beneath it is a tarnished silver knob, a worn sticker is pealing off. Faded. Blue on one side, red on the other. Beads of condensation have formed and are smacking the floor. Splat. Splat. Splat. Splat. Streaks of dry patches lead to the cement hole beside the squeegee. I turn my head back to my host and smile. 

“You wear these” he says while pointing to a pair of mens slip on sandals. Something you’d find in a dollar store bargain bin. They are wet. He takes one step to his right and opens a door directly beside the bathroom. It has a small frame, much like a linen closet. He holds the door open for me to peek inside. He continues to the kitchen. I stay and observe. 

“Use the bucket under the tap to wash it down” 

At this point I know I should be following him into the kitchen, or turning around and taking a seat in the living room. But instead I stand there, transfixed on the myth, the Turkish toilet. 

Yellowish brown stains decorate each wall, darker at the bottom, fading in their assent. There is a hole in the floor. This is not like the bathroom hole. This one is porcelain. Specifically planned, meant to be here. On either side of the hole there are grips. I conclude that this is where you put your feet. Foot grips. Beside your right foot there is a white bucket with a smaller white plastic bowl inside. Above the bucket there is a tap coming out from the wall. I believe the same tap is attached to my garden hose at home. To your right, behind the hole, there is a garbage can. It was full. It had pieces of toilet paper crumpled up inside of it. Damp yellow pieces, brown smears, crusted mucous coatings.

“Do you just put your toilet paper in the garbage can?” I ask without moving my gaze.

“Yeah and if it's full just leave it, one of the guys can dump it, you don’t have to do it”

“K”

I return back to the pro and con list that has been forming in my head. 

‘Pro: my stuff is already here, a free place to stay, this may just be a joke and his real apartment is just around the corner, maybe he has a hot roommate. Con: I have to combine a strength training exercise, target practice and skillful foot placement into any body expulsion. 

Every morning around 9 a.m. I was greeted by a large toothy woman who spoke no english. When she raised her gaze to find out that it was me again, her face would contort in such a way that all the wrinkles on one side would gather up tightly by her right eye, her pudgy cheeks pushed up by the corners of her mouth. She reached into a drawer below her desk, grabbed a silver key attached to a large wooden block with the number one carved into it. I smiled, confident in my new schedule, took the key from her chubby little fingers and walked proudly into the tourist bureau’s public washrooms. 

tlc

i dont know if any of you have seen tlc's new series 'long island medium'. if you haven't, you've got to do it! i get chills within the first five minutes, and so far it's batting at 100% for getting me to cry like i did in the first scene of UP! which you should also see, especially if you like kids movies and are in need of a good cry. it will save you from watching shrek followed by the notebook. 

walkman and sweatpant

i have never been a big fan of gym's. i hate working out where people can see me. i just don't think anyone should be subjected to seeing me running(jiggling) about and having to wrench my shorts out of my crotch after they've been gobbled up by my massive thighs, which happens about every ten strides and the resulting skin on skin contact has formed a chafing nightmare. no one should have to see me huffing and puffing during my treadmill warm-up, or see my hand constantly whipping around to my lower back to make sure my v-tee is still in place and no one is getting a crack attack. if i ever want to work out i usually do it in the privacy of my own home, or in a heavily wooded area.
when i moved out here i joined a gym GULP. on the first day i went in with a mission, i walked around looking like i had a purpose. chest out, head up, eyes straight ahead, only ever so slightly distracted by the swedish polo team walking by in their speedos. i located my basic necessities, the locker room and the cardio equipment. it was after walking into the cardio room that i made several observations.
1) i was on average at least twenty years younger than everyone else
2) considering the massive exterior to the building i expected the gym's cardio section to be significantly larger than it was
3) there were no heavily tattooed douche bags, who were so steroid infused that their every move seems to defy gravity.
i was perplexed. there had to be some explanation for this oddity. on my second encounter with the gym, and that's exactly what it was, an encounter. something i feel as if i fell into unexpectedly, kind of like bumping into an old childhood friend that you could care less if you ever see again, but you feel the mutual need to make awkward banter. on my stroll from the locker room to the gym i noticed a large blue sign above a staircase that is directly to the right of the the staircase i take to go down to the cardio equipment. the sign read 'LEVELS 2-6' with an arrow pointing up. DUH! there was more than one level, what a newb!
i have now been going to this gym for about three weeks and today i added up some more clues. level one, my level, is the senior level. even now after knowing the truth about the multi-layered gym i think i will stick with it. i like being surrounded by people of equal fitness levels, who aren't coated in skin clinging brightly coloured lululemon apparel. i like to be accompanied by sweat soaked cotton tee's and gym pants that were picked up at a value village in the 90's, by people who don't worry that they are on a zero incline, and speed level three, people who sign up for the machines with tv's built into them so that they can catch up on missed episodes of 'say yes to the dress' and 'the view', people who wear headphones with an extendable headband and foam ear pieces that are no doubt plugged into walkman's not ipods, and people who take the elevator down the seven step staircase to get to the first floor gym.
the first floor has my kind of people and here i shall stay. 

calgary....enh

when i realized i was moving to calgary, i first was thrilled to have a job...then i thought, enh it's calgary.
i have been here almost two weeks now. my first weekend here was spent with the potters at their cottage in invermere, BC. it was a great way to transition myself into their family life. when we returned to calgary, the house was a little chaotic because of the looming back to school date of september 1st. it has settled down a bit now, but i am definitely enjoying the routine. on my first day off, i borrowed the family truck and headed off to do some errands. i like exploring the city, and it was this day that changed my mind about my previous notion of calgary...well somewhat.
first i parked the beast of a vehicle and then, with my google map print out of downtown in hand, i made my way through kensington and over a bridge to the downtown core. my first stop was the husky oil building, where one of my best friends from nova scotia now works. i was meeting her for lunch. she had asked me where i wanted to go, i replied 'somewhere cheap'. so we ended up at this vietnamese restaurant that was packed with people in suits. i stuck out like a sore thumb. i was still sweaty from my google map lead power walk, and sporting my classic mens vneck tee with black gym capris and, what i believe really tipped the scales of my sticking out...my backpack. i was starving by this point, so i just sat down, ignored the oddity that was me, and picked out something good. and holy crap it was delish! and huge portions! mmmm :)
after departing from the asian goodness, i made my way to sport check for a helmet and a bike lock. the section of calgary that i live in is very flat, and has tons of bike trails, so i figured buying a bike of some kind was a must! when purchasing my helmet i was saddened by the fact that there is very little to choose from in the way of womens helmets. the selection included various shades of purple, white and grey with different artistic flower patterns on them, i wasn't looking to make a fashion statement, i just wanted to protect me head. which i soon discovered was not the thought of most calgarians over the age of 15. in calgary it is mandatory for children up to 15 to wear helmets, but it is optional after they turn 16. so now when i ride my bike here i look like safety sally, cause apparently its not cool to contain your cranium. i left the store with an all black men's helmet.

not exactly like mine, but you get the idea

next stop was the bike. chris (pseudo dad) and jordan (nanny #2) had both recommened a bike shop in eau clair. so i headed there, with my men's all black helmet in tow. when i got there i found out a little more about it. it is called the community bike shop. they rent and sell used bikes for reasonable prices. the concept is that with your membership fee/donation of $10 you get access to their bike repair section of the store, and all its tools and misc. parts. they also give free tutorials for members, so you can learn to fix your own bike. when i arrived i explained that i needed a new bike, and needed to ride it out that day. so the lady helped me pick one out (a neon orange beaut!), and then another guy took me over to the bike lifts, hooked mine up and proceeded to change my brake cables, cap frayed wires, grease my chain, replace my handle bars, straighten my tire, and pump my tires; all the while teaching me how to do these things myself. it was such a cool experience, i would definitely recommend it. after purchasing a 90 dollar neon bike and gaining priceless practical bike fixing experience i found myself peddling back to kensington. when i was biking back up through i passed so many cute little cafes with people sitting inside or out on the street patio. students on their laptops, a grandma with blunt bangs and bold blue glasses reading the newspaper. i could totally see myself there on my days off reading or writing away.
after successfully locating the truck (sans google map print-out) i chucked my bike in the back and drove to the gym to get a membership.
first thing i noticed when i walked in the front doors, after the zing of chlorine, was the beyond dreamy reception guy. he alone will inspire my early morning visits. after nabbing the post secondary price on my membership, even though i am way post post secondary i had another smile on my face, i love me a bargain!
that night i was supposed to go to a CS event. there was a group of about twelve cs'ers who decided to get together and share travels stories, upcoming adventures, and get to know new people in the area. i was wrapped up in a couple kids bedtime stories that made me a little late for the event, and i didn't want to ask to borrow the truck again. so i missed out. but even knowing that get togethers like that happen here makes me excited for the next one. in halifax they happen too, but just not as often, and i lived an hour away, so i probably wouldn't have driven up for one anyway. so i'm looking at these events as a way to stay active in the CS community without actually hosting anyone, well for the time being anyway.
i thought calgary was going to be dull...yeah there are mountains, but what fun can you really have surrounded by rock. but now i know. now there are bikes paths, a cute gym reception guy, a sweet as neon orange bike, a cafe where i can write my first novel and a hippy chic bike shop.

routine, job, commitments

the nanny named fran

during my desperate search for a job i came across several au pair/nanny websites. for kicks i joined a couple and created a profile. i figured it would be a good back up. the nanny named fran was one of my cherished childhood shows, so if i could maybe find a family like fran fine did when she found the sheffield's, and took care of maggie, grace and brighton, maybe then everything could be just fine. before i knew it, i started getting tons of messages from families in europe, the states and all across canada. but i didn't see a family that matched what i was looking for, or what i thought i was looking for. for about a week, i kept in contact with one woman from toronto, who i was going to go work with for the summer. but she found another nanny closer by, so that opportunity disappeared as soon as it had been offered to me. after that upset i deleted most of my accounts and only kept one open. this move drastically decreased the messages in my inbox, and i started to forget about my nanny back-up plan, and focused on all the other jobs that the job-bank's were spewing out. then about two weeks ago i got an email from a woman who was interested! i checked out her family's profile; calgary, four kids, energetic, adorable. ever since then we have been messaging back and forth. it started with lots of general get to know you questions, and then before i knew it we were skyping and then i was picking out flights.
i am leaving in two days. since i found out that i was leaving, i haven't been able to settle on one emotion. sitting at my clutter-filled kitchen table, a damp breeze blows through the window above the sink, my eyes lock on an empty jar of olives sitting on the countertop, and thoughts slowly enter my head. as my eyes glass over, fixated on the olive jar, my thoughts pick up speed and begin to race through my head.

i'm excited, i'm terrified, i'm relieved, i'm nervous, i'm over thinking this, i've got to just enjoy it, i have so much to pack, what if i pack too much and am the kid that has to frig around with shampoo and underwear at the check-in counter, what if they tricked me and don't email me back and this was all some cruel joke, what if i don't make friends, what if i become even more depressed than i was here, what if i get homesick, i've been all the way around the world and wasn't homesick...IDIOT!, what if they dress real fancy and my dog haired cotton picked lululemon yoga pants for the non-yoga addict are cheesy, what if they only eat hotdogs and tacos, what if they pray before meals, what if they are racist, what if they think i'm not pretty, what if the kids don't like me, what if one of them is a noisy eater(my biggest pet peeve), what if i don't feel like i am contributing enough for what they are paying me - inhale - i'm going to do fine - exhale - i'm going to fuck it all up - inhale - i'm nauseous - exhale - i am twenty three - inhale - i can talk really fast in my head - exhale -.

so now i have a routine, i have a job, and i have commitments. now i live in calgary.