Resolutions

I say it every year, “This year is going to be the year I get my shit together". But I really feel that this year, really is the year. I have grown so tired of being broke, feeling defeated and just the general “my life sucks” sentiments.

Every New Year when the clock strikes twelve and we bid adieu to the year past and say bonjour to the upcoming 365, I vow to myself that I am going to change my life and be the person I have envisioned. I write elaborate goals, set a strict budget, start exercising and eating “clean” and open my crisp new day planner and vow to fill it with important appointments, which I, again, vow to keep. But, by Feb 1st, my appointment book is empty or underused, my fridge is full of junk and my bank account is (still) empty.

These resolution revelations have me thinking a lot lately about my goals for next year and the whole idea of resolutions. Resolutions are easy. It is so easy to get caught up in the hullabaloo of the upcoming year, with the noisemakers, champagne toasts and midnight kisses. It is no wonder I get carried with that elation and vow to change the world, or my life, completely. Resolutions ARE easy, I mean, everyone and their dog makes resolutions; but, real life changes are rather hard; I say this from years of experience making empty resolutions. When the champagne is drunk and the noisemakers have gone quiet, that’s when the real work begins.

I have already carefully crafted my intentions for the following year, but I am firm on the fact that they are NOT resolutions. I am done with resolutions, they are only there to make the gyms and therapists money, they are the perfect way to be set up for failure and disappointment; and, failure and disappointment are SOOOO last year. So I say “FUCK THEM”, they are motherfuckers and they deserve to be eradicated from everyone’s vocabulary and thoughts. Resolutions act out hate crimes on people’s dreams; and, I am, personally, leaving all that bullshit behind, and I think you should follow suit.


This year I will be a writer, I will be a full time caterer and most important of all intentions, I will make myself proud.

This year IS going to be my year; and, I cannot fucking wait.

Intentions cont.

I seemed to have left one crucial intention out:

7) Respect the people in my life, by guiding my actions in a considerate way.

It is a simple one but very recently an action that I took, very selfishly, hurt someone, who I respect trememdously. So a revision to my intentions was in order.

Thats it, thats all.

Omission of information

My mom has always told me to watch my mouth, and today I know exactly what she means. My uncensored candor, with which I approach this blog, has come back to bite me in the ass. This is nothing new to me, as I have always said what I wanted no matter the recourse; but, as I get older, the repercussions of my actions have quite a bit more effect than times of old.

I have created a forum for myself where I can be completely honest; however, as honest as I am here, with some people I have not been quite as open. Which is my fault and my choice, but today I was forced to own up to this omission of information. All day I was racked with guilt, as my words or lack thereof, have caused someone to feel as though I was dishonest with them. I hate the feeling of being lied to, it hurts and to know that my actions hurt someone is hard to bear. It is debatable whether leaving information out, is as bad as lying; regardless, I feel like an asshole and there is no debating that.

Long story short, this blog isn't as anonymous as I thought it was; so I had better watch what I say.

Today’s post is going to be brief, as I think I have said enough.

Intentions

The recent dump of snow on this city is a reminder that it is almost that time of year. No, not Christmas, New Years. I, like many others, make New Year’s resolutions every year. This year I started my fitness resolution early but that's as far as I have taken it. Personally I hate the word resolution, it conjures up images of unused gym memberships of years gone by; so this year I am calling them Intentions.

It is no secret that this past year, has been a trying one for me; many changes to my family, my job and my friendships have made for a year full of growing pains. Because or despite all those things, I am determined to make 2010 “THE YEAR”.

A few years ago, I, along with millions upon millions of people, read "The Secret" and in that book, the author details the need to put things out into the universe, thus driving it to work for me and my goals, in a positive way. So today I am doing just that. This is a candid confession of what I want for myself.

Here goes:

1) I want to be a writer, a paid writer. I want to write for the Edmonton City Palate, the Calgary City Palate, Avenue Magazine and pretty much anyone who will have me. I am willing to whore my writing out to anyone who wants it. I have a vision of a column that details my adventures discovering different food scenes and my culinary life, as a new graduate, young caterer and regular bonne vivante.

2) I want my blogs to be read by many. I want my food blog "What's For Dinner" to be a part of the Martha's Circle Group, which is a group of beautiful blogs devoted to lifestyle. I love Martha Stewart, she is a lifestyle genius and to be a part of that exclusive group of bloggers, which I hold in very high regard, would be an honor.

3) I want my blogs to turn a profit, through advertising of course. I am not after anything major, just a little stipend to supplement my income. I write these blogs for the love of it, but a little coin would be nice.

4) I want to write a book, one with pretty pictures and delicious recipes, that people will keep on their shelves as a trusted kitchen companion. This, most certainly, is a lofty aspiration, considering I just began this journey of writing, but 'The Secret" says that I have to put it out there, so that cat is out the bag.

5) I want my catering business to triple its size, to a point where I can make my living off of it. I want Christopher and I's company to be considered one of the premier catering companies in Edmonton. On my own, I feel I probably could not achieve this, but I can honestly say, with my best friend and confidant by my side, I feel anything is possible. And with the universe's help, Martha had better watch out!

6) Love, Love, Love. I have been decidedly single for the last year and half; no one has really caught my eye and quite frankly, these eyes weren't looking. But 2010, is the year of my quarter century anniversary, and I think it's high time I share this adventure I call life, with someone else. I'm a hoot; it would be unfair to deprive someone of me any longer. (Humility is my resolution for 2011)

Universe, work your magic!



**you will notice I make no mention of exercise, I think I have that under control; besides, every year I make that type of resolution, I am trying to get away from redundancy.

Slippery Slope

It would seem that I am a fair-weather vegetarian. After a few slipups and resolutions to keep myself in line, I had meat on Thursday and I felt as though I was beginning a slow slide down a slippery slope. The Thursday in question, my friend Corin offered to make me salad and I, never one to turn down a free meal, agreed; but, when I got there, the salad had chicken in it. Not just any run of the mill chicken, it was moist and delicious and I had a(nother) weak moment, and I ate the damn salad. It was harmless enough, I thought, but then today I woke up hung over, a Saturday ritual, and all I wanted was a steak or wings or bacon, anything meaty would have done just fine. So to appease my hunger and prevent another slip, I ate everything in sight, other than meat; and, nothing. All day I felt hungry. I had a huge salad, a plate of pasta and several snacks and I was STILL hungry; ravenous by the time dinner rolled around.

My grandmother was having the family over for dinner this evening, and she graciously accommodated my new lifestyle choice and made me fish; but, she also had wings and potato skins with bacon, like what the f*#k. So needless to say, I slipped. I didn't just slip, I ate, what felt like, a million wings, 3 potato skins and my pride. Once I started I could not stop.

I mean, I, typically, don't work out on weekends, because I am usually hung over and I think having the expectation of myself and then not following through, only makes for disappointments; so perhaps I should take that approach with eating meat; because it would seem that being hung over, renders my resolve to not eat meat, absolutely useless. So maybe my new approach should be, no meat in the week and whatever happens on the weekend is out of my hands. Yes! I like the way that sounds.

I was telling my friend Corin, the chicken salad girl, that I had slipped again and I was lamenting that I was a lackadaisical vegetarian, to which she replied "those are the best kind!"
I like the way she thinks.

Slip ups and Hiccups cont.

I broke again. I had meat. I was super hungover from Saturday night's antics and I broke. Chris' coworker makes tortiere and she gave him one; he made the whole pie and the smell was so overwhelming, I could not help myself. What can I say, my resolve to not eat meat was very very weak, due to my state. I had a monstrous salad for lupper(lunch and supper), and some quinoa for breakfast; but, the only thing my body wanted was meat. I had the smallest sliver of tortiere and feel horrible about it and made Chris promise not to tell anyone. But I've dusted off my shoulders, spilled the beans, repented and I am back on the wagon. This time I spared myself the scare tactics, I was in enough pain.

I ran

I recently accepted the fact that I am growing up; and, I figured since I am getting serious about my life, I should get serious about my health. I am well on my way, I've already made changes to my diet; and today I ran. I also ran a few days ago; but, I didn't want to say anything until I was sure that I was going to do it again. Today I did. It was hell. Last week’s run was full of hills, 3 to be exact; and, today's run was long, miles long. I cursed many times, but I finished. I'm told that I should feel a "runners high", which must be a euphemism for sick, because I could barely keep my dinner down. I personally don't push myself that hard, but I have been running with my best friend Chris, who is a man machine; he has recently lost tons of weight and knows what it takes to get results, which why I enlisted his help. To give you an idea of his machine-ness, he runs to my house, we run and then he runs home. I mean, wow. He is the perfect person to kick my ass and he is. Despite wanting to cry and quit halfway through, once I get home, sit and get bearings back, I feel great, accomplished even. So even though I want to cry, puke and quit, I think I'm going to run again. And then probably again after that.

(wo)Man up

Growing up is a bitch. It's not my opinion, it's fact. I realize that all the struggles are just a part of the process. Otherwise, what the hell for? Submitting to the process is the pain of this growing up thing, isnt't it? Granted, I can be very hard on myself, especially when it comes to success; I tend to be very high strung and rather impatient when it comes the future I have planned. And patience is a virtue that I have yet to master. Growing up is a slow process, they say, but I feel like it's all happening so fast yet not fast enough. So far my 20's have been wrought with anxiety, uncertainty and failure; my fingers are still crossed for success. I have been told on a number of occasions to relax and just keep doing what I am doing (gotta love grandparents), but it's difficult when I feel like I have no idea what I am doing or where all this work is going to lead; but who does? I realize that lately I have been heavily focused on the negative, especially on here; and, looking back at my previous posts, 1 saying comes to mind, MAN UP. I need to (wo)man up and grow up. Although growing up is extremely uncomfortable, it's happening.

If I can give up meat, I can, most certainly, grow up.

New

It occurred to me, this morning, that I am still very new at my job. Well, it didn’t occur to me, so much as it smoked me in the face, in the form of an asinine mistake. I fucking hate being new, hate it. Just to give you some back story; I sell ads for a magazine, and I will freely admit, that I have never been a great sales person. But, it’s for a food magazine and I want to write…it makes sense. A foot in the door if you will. My first hurdle was learning how to sell, which I am slowly getting a grip on; but, goddamn it, it’s not happening fast enough. I keep making mistakes and mistakes make me feel and look like a fool. Christ, I am also still new at this writing thing too. I just want, so badly, to be great. I know that things take time; but, for heaven’s sake, I am 24 and I am not getting any younger. I’m just tired of being new at things, it is the most uncomfortable feeling there is. The feeling of not knowing what hell I am doing, it's keeping me awake at night. I have been “new” all bloody year. All those stupid job changes over the past 12 months has made for a perma-newness that I simply abhor. It is as if I enjoy torturing myself, I’m a masochist. I must be. For fuck sakes, this tunnel is still so dark. Where's the light??

I’m broke, I’m stressed, I’m new and I want nothing more than to devour a steak.

Fuck.

Shock Therapy

After my slip up yesterday, I decided it was time for some shock therapy. If this is going to be a success, I need to be drastic. This morning, I spent an hour forcing myself to watch those horrible PETA style videos. Even made myself cry. Oh yes, I am serious about this. So I watched, shed a tear and recommitted to this challenge. I also decided that I am going to adopt pescatarianism as a semi permanent thing. My new goal is 6 months. 6 months of no meat, is a daunting thought, especially for an admitted carnivore such as myself; but, the shock therapy worked better than I had anticipated. I have yet to go do a full on "I'm a veggie now" grocery shop, but I am confident that once I do that, things will get easier and I won't have to be so hardcore and resort to scare tactics. But I will say this, and don't think that I am trying to employ hypocrisy; but, I will eat meat, under very strict guidelines. It must be local, organic and sustainably raised and it must be bought directly from the farmer, I want to meet the man (or woman) who raised this animal from infancy and look into their eyes; I want to put a face to my meat, if you know what I mean. I think that is fair, it's the least I could do.

1 (and a half) week(s) to eat

I broke. I ate meat. I was prepping for a catering job and beef stew was on the menu. I had to try it. It was delicious and for a moment I thought, "what the hell am I doing, I love meat, I am never giving it up", then I swallowed the bite and collected my thoughts, just a small moment of weakness. The way I see it, people deserve little slip ups, how many smokers have you seen with the patch?? Anyways, I made up for it after and had a salad with fish. I feel light again. Tomorrow is a new day, one without meat and perhaps with a workout!

Realness. Revisited.

To say that this past weekend was unreal, would be a gross understatement. It has been about 2 and a half weeks since I decided it was time to grow the f*@k up. But this past weekend the old Bianca came out to play. My friends and I had planned to go to Vancouver to see our dj idol, Boys Noize, play a show. The trip was months in the making, but due to recent events my trip was up in the air. But against my better judgement, I decided to go anyways, brokes or not. I commited to myself to do it on the cheap and it was off to a great start; I made a trail mix to quell my hunger and lower my food requirements (good for the waistline and the pocketbook!), I took public transit from the airport and the hotel was down the street from the bar. The perfect recipe for a cost conscious trip. Upon my arrival, we went for lunch, but I kept it real and had soup and water. Confidence was high! Then the vintage shopping happened and sadly I succumbed to weakness' of the flesh. If there is one thing that I cannot control, it is my love of vintage shopping; and, that folks is where the shit hit the fan. $60 later (I know, I know), I had to get out of there, but the damage had been done. From that point, the realness was out the door and old Bianca was back and she was wreaking havoc. We went to dinner, bought copious amounts of booze and god knows what else. My plan was to come home with some extra cash, as that would be the responsible (real) thing to do. After the Vitamin Water at the airport, the total that I returned with was a whopping...wait for it...$3.68. $3.68!!!!! WTF. So I am back to square one, or rather square 3.68. I feel it necessary to reiterate, that I have a major spending problem, I love to do it and apparently no matter how hard I plan to stay on track, I cannot. The icing on this unreal cake is, I had to borrow $30 from my mom to get me to my next payday. I am a prize piece.


The sad thing is that I don't regret the trip at all. That perhaps is the most problematic part of this whole thing.

Give me a few more days of reality and I am sure the remorse will set in...

1 week to eat

I have made a descision. I am giving up meat. Well, just for a week, as sort of a challenge; and, to see if I can hack it. I am starting to develop this nagging feeling in my gut, that I cannot seem to shake. Meat fabrication is ever so mean and I love animals; I certainly don't want to be one of those people who talks about how much they love animals and then eats meat, the mean kind. The million chickens in a coup, baby cows not being able to move around for the sake of tender veal kind of mean. As much as I would love to eat free range, sustainable meat, I cannot (re:b-r-o-k-e); so the only other option here and as hard as it will be, I must give up meat. This new food chapter will come as a surprise to anyone who knows me, as I love chicken, LOVE IT, when I was 18 I wanted to start a website called Chicken.com. And let's not forget the red stuff; on a hungover morning I have been known to cry out for meat, I love it red and dirty. And as awkward as I am making this, I simply want to detail to you how much I love meat. But what must be done, must be done. So for the next week, I will bid adieu to this wonderfully delicious relationship, in fine fashion; I'm having everything, chicken kiev, steak tartar, lamb chops, bacon, if it's from an animal, I am eating it...gross I know. But necessary. I am sure after the initial aftermath of this breakup, I will look and feel, as good as I (deep down) know this descision is. After all, it's only a week.

Realness

I am finally getting real. I say it all the time "be real" or " get real" even "really?!"; but I haven't been real with myself for quite some time. I am an adult now (yikes) and a real part of adulthood is straight talk. For years, I have buried my head in the sand regarding lots of things; my selfishness for one, which I used to blame on the fact that I was an only child, but I am getting way to old for that to have any merit and I am sure people are growing weary of it; my stubborness for two, I can be unbelievably rigid and I hate it when other people are rigid yet that's one of my predominant traits; and, my ability to put things off until the very last minute is the stuff of legend, I am a pro procrastinator, I have (had) myself convinced that I perform better in the crunch, but that's bullshit, the proof is the results and I happen to be very low on results; and, lastly, my realness. You see I have this very tough persona, I am always the brazen one, the one to deliver the hard truth; but, truthfully, I need to turn that mirror on myself. It is no secret that I am broke, I am fairly certain anyone who knows me knows that; but I haven't really done anything to change it or even make it better, I have just been talking about how I am going to make it better. Well the dawning of a new day is upon us, for I am getting real, really real, as real as it gets. I have had the week off and have been spending that time watching alot of "til debt do us part" and taking notes. I started keeping a money journal, every cent in and out is to be recorded no exceptions; and, I am keeping all my receipts, just in case I happen to forget to write something in. It's funny how it's taken my being near destitution for me to change my ways, I blame my former immaturity. It is day 2 of the new money rule change and I feel like an addict craving my next hit, I really really want to spend money but I don't want to write it down, it looks bad. They say the first step is admitting that I have a problem so...my name is Bianca and I love spending money, and I need help.
And that's about as real as it gets.

Mo money, Mo problems??

Biggie famously stated "the mo money you have, the mo problems you get", but I beg to differ. Granted, Biggie is now 6ft under, but still, he was rolling in a pimped out SUV on his untimely exit; if I were to go today, I would leave a cheap Hyundai and a stack of bills, that seems very problematic to me. Contrary to that famous statement, I have no money and it would seem that I have mo problems because of it. Due to my lack of fiscal stability (read:no cash) I haven't paid a bill in 2 months, cue the "oh my gods", and I haven't had a paycheck in 1 month (the horror!) I have bills coming out of my proverbial ass, and to be frank, I wish they really were coming out of my ass, because then I could claim some crazy illness of bills coming out of my ass and collect some sort of disability. But, sadly, my only disability is my inability to manage myself financially. It doesn't help that I seem to have a bit of a job change issue; but, despite having very little to no money, I continue to eat out, go for drinks and shop. But, if I had "mo money", like the big man upstairs and I don't mean god, I would have less problems, correction, no problems. People with money just seem happier; they say that finances are the number one reason marriages struggle, that, again, seems very problematic to me. And the saying "money can't buy happiness" was coined by the broke guy trying to make himself feel better. To be fair, I do have a job, which I love and money is coming to me and not in "the secret" kind of way, it is actually coming. Honestly, I love money, it makes the world go round and while some people do some terrible things in the quest for it, a well balanced and genuinely happy woman such as myself could use a couple extra bucks, it would alleviate some (all) of my problems. Long story short, Biggie was wrong; "no money, means mo problems".

About Me

Hello, my name is Bianca and I am 24 years old. I live in Edmonton Alberta; I used to live in Toronto; but as you can imagine, Edmonton is MUCH better. After years of aimless wandering I have decided that I want to be a writer.

**************

I am what you would call a restless soul. Some call me a quitter, some would even call me a flake; it doesn’t really matter what you call me, it’s all the same to me. Since the day I got my social insurance number, at the tender age of 17, I have had 27 jobs. It seems rather high but it truly did sneak up on me; you could say that I am a victim of my over-romancing.

I wanted to be a singer, in fact I moved across the country to Toronto, spent a ridiculous amount of money on a musical education only to realize that I have terrible stage fright; in fact its crippling, the thought of singing in front of a crowd renders me an off key singing fraud. So I quit school, stayed in Toronto and did nothing really. I slung coffee, twice; worked under the table at a shady Thai restaurant, and washed dishes at a Culinary Center. All were relatively short lived.

After being in Toronto too long and having accomplished nothing other than 1 year of jazz music diploma, a 3 month culinary intensive and a raping of my financial standing, I decided to move back to Edmonton and get my life together. I applied to the culinary program at the Northern Alberta Institute of Technology and after a rather short interview; I was shortlisted and later accepted. Have I mentioned I am a master in the art of the interview? So I left the life I built in Toronto and returned to the life I left behind in Edmonton.

My first job upon returning home was working for the caffeine giant that is Red Bull; I felt comfortable juicing people up, so I went from 1 caffeine giant to another. To this day, Red Bull is the longest job I have ever had. It almost wasn’t; I accidentally stood up the boss the day of my first interview, but she gave me another chance; she is a dear, we are great friends now. 2 years and 4 months later, I left; it was time, I had worn out my welcome.

After 2 years of moderate dedication I (just barely) finished my Culinary Arts diploma. I stumbled out in to the big world and realized, I FUCKING HATE THIS. In the summer after graduation, I had 4 cooking jobs in 4 months; all of which made me want to leap from the 28th floor. The last job I had was the lesser of the 4 evils; but I hated it nonetheless. So I quit like a certified asshole; and got another job, an easy reception job that had sweet hours; no weekends, all holidays off, 2 weeks at Christmas; it was perfect. They fired me after 3 days of work, they said I wasn’t a right fit; I firmly believe the balance of the universe was punishing me for being a dickhead to my former employer(s). Regardless, I was pissed and unemployed.

Then seemingly out of nowhere, this creeping desire to put words on paper began to over take me. I found myself wanting to do nothing else. 27 jobs, 2 educations, a cross country trek and back; and I decide I want to write?!

So here I am; and since I am very new at this writing thing, I feel I am currently unemployable in the field; so I created this place. This is where I write about my feelings; sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s sad, most of the time it pathetic; but it is always real. My only agenda is to become a better writer; there is no specific theme, hence no name that could say, in a few words, what is going to go on here.

My name is Bianca and this is my place, Untitled… because I didn’t know what else to call it.

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If you have a bone to pick with me, feel like rambling on about non-sense (I LOVE non-sense!) or want to give me something for free (I love free stuff even more than non-sense); don’t hesitate to drop me a line at biancaosbourne@gmail.com.

Block, Party

I have been going out a lot lately, due to going aways and the many expectations of being a deejay; and, recovering from my, many, hangovers has proven to be quite detrimental to my writing motivation. And things have been good lately, I got fantastic job, a dream job actually, working for Edmonton's culinary magazine and quite frankly I find it hard to write when I have nothing to bitch about. It raised the question of whether my writing depends on my misery. It would seem as though when I am miserable bitch I am a very clever young writer, but put a little pep in my step and I am rendered useless. Now the last thing that I want, is to be known as is miserable, but I need to be writing more than I have been in the last week. A conundrum, if you will, be happy and have an empty page or be a wet blanket and have pages full of ink, hmmmm... Life and all its mysterious questions have this young lady extremely baffled. But I'm sure I'll figure it out.

F.M.L.

So I quit that really great cooking job and got a really great reception job. They type of job that offered me the freedom to read and write, lots of computer time and all the holidays one could ask for, it was exactly what I wanted! It went really well, all last week, while I was training, then today...I got fired. They said I wasn't a good fit and they needed someone "more proactive". She was really nice about it , but "FUCK!!!" I got bills and now I gots no job. I suppose this is karma, because I quit that really great cooking job like a jerk and now it's back to bite me in the ass. This is the 4th job I have had this summer and I really thought that this one was gonna stick. I have maintained relatively optimistic that my job situation was going to improve and just as I thought it was finally getting there, the proverbial rug has been ripped from right under me. I'm that person whose ship comes in, but I misplace my ticket and get left on the shore. For the first time in a long time, I am really really scared of what is to come. I own a catering company with my best friend, but it's new and we certainly aren't making enough money to do it full time and not get behind on lifes unavoidable...bills. At this very moment, as I have JUST been fired, I have no solutions running through my mind, all that is there right now is FML, FML, FML.

The Meeting

So, I looked online for writer's groups, you know, as a source of inspiration. After very little searching, I found a really nice lady, who shall remain nameless. We emailed back and forth, she seemed nice. In one of her emails she invited me to her home for a writer's meeting, an informal gathering. I thought, why not? It would be worth the price of the wine I was to bring. After being stood up by a certain Edmonton magazine rep, I was still in really high spirits, I was going to be hanging out with writers. I felt like a true bohemian! The house was beautiful, as I drove up, I envisioned well read and spoken artists on the inside, who would certainly offer much wisdom on the fine art of writing. Sadly, my misfortune was to continue.Upon walking through the door I, once again, felt dooped. These people, although I am sure wonderful, looked nothing like the writers of my reverie. It was all women, except for 1 lonely man, who said nothing and sat creepily in the corner, crossed legged just staring. The ladies, half of which, I am sure were lesbians (not that there is ANYTHING wrong with that), were a hodgepodge from homely housewives to, well, very lesbian. They kept telling me I was "a breath of fresh air" or "too cute", which is typically very flattering, but they were looking at me like I was a piece of meat and they were voracious wolves. Matters were made even worse by the fact that very little writing talk was going on. Now, I am all for talking about where you got your Crocs from or where the newest dog park is located, but not at a writer's meeting. I suddenly felt less like a bohemian and more like a fool. I needed to leave, but I didn't want to leave my almost full bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, nor did I want to look like a bitch; but, I was absent from a girls night night already in progress, which I would happily miss for something legitimate , but a legitimate writers meeting this wasn't. Yes, I'm sure they are all wonderful writers (in my haste I forgot to ask) but this was, for lack of a more accurate word, lame. As soon as the smokers began to retreat outside, for what was surely was to be a very small window for me to leave, I took my opportunity. I acted as though I was following and head faked them and went for the front door, leaving the Cab Sauv behind. A $12 bottle of wine is hardly worth my sanity or my evening, which could still be salvaged. I said a passing goodbye and before anyone could notice or comment, I was gone. I walked briskly (I don't run, don't ask) to my car, I was free. I needed a drink and I had many, with friends, sans a creepy man or voracious lesbians!

I had been stood up, ogled by lesbians, subjected to the most awkward 40 minutes of my week and wrote 2 good posts... All in all a good day.

Stood Up...

I was super excited all week, I had a meeting with a representative from a new Edmonton food publication. 2pm wednesday at Second Cup, he said. 2:10, 2:15, 2:20...I feel like a fool, I don't even drink Second Cup. Far be it from me to think that it was going to all happen so fast. I haven't even been writing 3 months. But I have to say I am pretty dissapointed , for a couple of reasons. One: I told all my friends and now I have to tell them that I was essentially stood up and two: I really wanted this opportunity. I suppose this is to be expected, the life of a writer is not an easy one and I am sure many have been stood up once or twice before me. I have a friend Kaley, who is very much into fate, so perhaps, to take a page from her book, it just wasn't meant to be. Well at least I got this little post out if it...all, as they say, is not lost.

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I have a confession to make, I am completely lost. I have decided to change my life and follow my passion but to be honest, in the last 7 days I have written maybe twice and I have only managed to get to page 12 of Oliver Twist. I decided to fully evolve as a writer, I must be in touch with the classics and Dickens is as classic as it gets; poor Charles, not even his legend can get me past page 15. As I have said many (many) times before, I haven't the slightest idea what I am doing, probably because I haven't the slightest idea of who I am. I mean, to be a writer I have to have a point of view, but my view is really blurry. I chanced into culinary school, they say that when you don't know what to do with your life, go to culinary school, I heard it on Entourage. So I had no idea what I wanted to do and having a knack for cooking and saying all the right things, I got into school. I didn't realize how competitive it was to get in until I was there with all the kids who have loved cooking since they could walk. I never had an easy bake oven and could have cared less about cooking, I was all about the eating! Throughout what should have been the best 2 years of my life, I was, for the most part, a miserable complaining bitch. And my absenteeism was remarkable, the fact that I even passed is a feat in itself. And now I am entering something new and I have no idea where to begin. I switched out the Dickens and started reading " The Last Lecture" by Randy Pausch and I must say reading someone's life story, in their words, when they are months from death, helps to realign the thoughts. Finally (finally) the thought of doing something (writing, obviously) fills me with joy, and the thought of writing for a living (someday) makes me really happy. But, as read in Randy's Pausch's book, fundamentals are key and to be successful I need to master these said fundamentals. I am taking a class, a simple continuing education class, an intro of sorts to the art of writing. It's once a week, it's $150 and it's the first step. I may be lost, but I think I'm this close( ) to finding a map.

To write or...

I want to write. I want to put pen to paper, express myself through written prose. However you say it, I want to write.

I know absolutely nothing about writing; I know how to read and I know how to construct a basic matricular essay, but as far as being a writer, well...I know nothing. Hell, I couldn't even come up with a name for this blog.

This new revelation of wanting to be a writer is a scary one; I just finished a 2 year Culinary Arts degree, after 1 year in music school and many years doing nothing, and now I want to be a writer?! Margaret Atwood penned her first novel at 23 years old and I just turned 24. I am most certainly a couple paces behind those lucky few who have known their whole life that they were meant to do this. Despite that, I want to be a writer.

I suppose the key to being a writer is to have something to write about, the most logical thing would be to write about myself, it's supposedly the one thing I should know the most about; but I barely know me, no really, most days I am completely baffled on the topic of myself. The fact that I am about to quit my (really good) cooking job to write is absurd, but I am doing it. You see, this is the third job I have quit this summer, and it has become a bit of a running joke, but I happen to be very serious about this. I am going to write.

I haven't the slightest idea how the literary world works, do I go in search of outlets to write for? Do I write and wait for the offers to roll in? Do I take a class? I could very well be getting ahead of myself because I don't even know what to write about. They say that a writer needs a point of view, but where do I find one? Thus, I have created this blog as a self study in the art of writing. I wil write about everything and anything, as I am in no position to discriminate.

Dear reader (eventually I hope there will be many of you) bear with me, I am new, I am green and I know nothing, the only thing I know is that I want to write.

I hope you will read.