Rage against the machine

As I previously mentioned, sometimes the universe gives you what you need, far from what you want.

This week, it came in an epiphany regarding a socially perceived "dirty" state of being that I, and it would appear other female peers, often internalize: rage. Acknowledgement of this has slowly been building for a long time but it came to a hilt this weekend.

Let's back pedal a little, shall we?

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of attending a self-defense workshop at Chungs Martial Arts Academy in Markham, knocking off #57 on my list. It was truly an empowering experience. It covered the basic mental and physical preparation of how to avoid and react in an emergency situation. We learned how to break free of holds, how to dodge knives, and how to get our ass of the ground to stop a bad situation from getting even worse. To me, the most interesting thing about yesterday's course was wrapping my head around the psychology of self-defense. A lot of it has to do with deceiving your would-be attacker; letting them think they have control of the situation by playing into being a victim, until a surprise move throws off their intention. Looking confident with an everyday object in your hand, giving off the appearance that you're capable of using it as a deadly weapon. Striking first, feeling remorseful later. Always fighting, because you're only a victim when you think you are.

It wasn't pretty. The instructor showed us moves that would help us survive the most graphic of situations. They're moves I hope I never have to use but understand that as a female its a necessity to learn them.

Every muscle was worked. It was just what I needed. I'm reeling from a week of feeling both emotionally volatile and drained in my personal and professional life. I needed something that would teach me to mentally toughen up and boy did I get it in waves from this course.

Most girls partnered up with other girls but I was lucky enough to partner up with a guy (Hi Al!), so I got a chance to practice resisting against a masculine strength. But as adrenaline kicked in with practicing each move, I felt something emotional bubble up to my core: Anger. A lot of it.

I wasn't entirely surprised. On the drive to Markham,a girlfriend and I had a long conversation about the often confusing emotional meltdowns we experience. I came to the conclusion that I internalize a lot of anger because its usually not socially acceptable to be, well, angry. I usually choke back whatever upsets me and avoid confrontation, knowing that there's a risk it might escalate and someone will walk away (emotionally) hurt. Because of this, its usually a collection of minor things rather than just one main event that causes me to crumble. And God forbid I rage instead of crumble. Because then we are hormonal, then we are bitches, then we are stereotypes and stories to be swapped about.

But what could it be that makes me so angry? Particularly after waxing philosophical about things I like about myself? My paycheck, the cold, my weight, my loneliness? I'm not entirely sure. All I can do is acknowledge that I often don't express my outrage in fear someone will pat me on the head and tell me to go make them a sandwich. And as these realizations were rising to the surface with each jab and kick, they were coupled by the anger that I had to learn to fight to survive in these terrifying situations. Simply because of my gender.

Now, I'm not going to go start an all-female Fight Club to channel and expel my anger. It's not as if anger is the sole emotion the drives me, but I think its an emotion that women rarely talk openly about in fear of how they'll be perceived. Even in typing this, I get this sudden panic that people will think I have anger issues that will lead to kicking strangers in the face and vandalizing museums. But that's not for me.

It's just there. I need to not deny it when it becomes prevalent. I need to find tools to learn to cope with it and even learn to embrace it without fear.

I am woman. Hear me roar.

Also, watch me throw Al over my shoulder.

<3,

m

92. Identify 25 Things I Like About Myself

When I included this on my list, I thought it would be one of the easier ones.


I first attempted to write this at the beginning of the year, as a reminder to myself to start off 2011 in a positive mindset. When I got to it, I worried that its place on the list came out of arrogance and insecurity, so out of fear I put it off.


When I convinced myself that telling yourself that you like yourself is actually not a jerk move, I decided to work on the post for my 25th Birthday.


Except I couldn't think of anything. Well, I could. They weren't things of substance, though.


"I THINK I HAVE A GREAT ASS"
"MY HAIR LOOKS REALLY SHINY TODAY"
"BOYS TELL ME I'M PRETTY SOMETIMES AFTER THEY DRINK"

So I stopped writing down ideas and figured it'd be one of those items that'd just have to get done eventually.


Looks like it got done today.
So at the risk of sounding too self-involved, here it is. Things I like about myself. Backside-free.




1. I recognize my own bullshit (and yours too)

This is possibly my favourite thing about myself. I'm quite self-aware of all my flaws and shortcomings; there's virtually nothing that someone can say behind my back that I haven't already mentally expounded upon time and time again. The fact that I could have written a list on 25 Things I Dislike About Myself faster than this one is someho
w a sick comfort. I'm not throwing myself a pity party when I say this. By no means am I proud of certain unfavourable qualities about myself, but I recognize that they're unfavourable and actively try to curb them when I can. Except when that unfavourable quality is being lazy.


Being this perceptive also means that I've a finely tuned BS meter, carved out from my own poor choices. I might be nodding and smiling and being a complete idiot, but within five minutes of our conversation I can tell whether or not you got enough hugs as a child.

2. I'm open about my neuroses.

I can glide through life in a blissful state of peace until something minor throws me into complete basketcase-dom. I know that. And after I get all the emotional blathering and incessant apologizing for my behaviour out of my system, I'm back to relative zen. Then I'll crack a joke about that time I was a complete nutbar. Do you remember that time? Oh man. Such a nutbar.

3. I can tell you're not "just fine".

But if you don't want to talk about it, that's cool. I'll leave you be. But intuitively, I can sense when something's wrong and I'll always want you to know that you can talk it out with me. I'm a pretty good listener. I don't always have an answer, but I think that can be a good thing. After listening, I'll try and make you smile, even if it means I have to do the fake sexy dance. You probably won't want to see that. But at least I just distracted you from being upset.

4. My sweet, sweet dance moves.

See above.

5. My growing list of quirks.

Wearing the headset at work makes me sneeze. I use mixed CDs to communicate. I'm like that little girl in "Signs" that hoards glasses of water in my room.

6. I want more from myself.

I want to be happy but I never want to be complacent. By no means am I a perfectionist ( I think that requires a certain skill set I just don't have), but I have a need and desire to improve. I hold my behaviour to a high standard, which I think is why I'm so self-critical when said behaviour is not the greatest. Take this project. Making a New Years resolution wasn't enough for me, so I stumbled upon the dayzeroproject and have been trudging along with it ever since. I want to challenge myself because I think I can do better. I want to learn from struggle.

I must be a masochist.

7. I'm a hopeless romantic.

Oh, how shameful but so very true. Yes, please, by all means do hold up a stereo outside my bedroom window and blare Peter Gabriel.

This might be surprising as I can give off a very sardonic and guarded vibe. I wouldn't necessarily call it an "Ice Queen" mentality, but my defensiveness certainly comes close to it. Secretly, I want to believe in happily ever afters and Prince Charmings. I hope for the romantic fireworks and enjoy finding creative ways to express my love for someone. I believe in courtship and fun dates and walking a girl to the door and kissing her goodnight and sunset picnics and notes passed in class asking if you want to go to Under The Enchanted Sea '09.

Creative tokens of affection make me swoon. Sending me flowers is not cheesy. I want to wear pretty dresses and slowdance. I don't think I've ever taken a long walk on a beach....actually yes I have, it was really cold, but I still enjoyed it. I'm a big, gushy, romantic and that is totally okay.

8. I'm an idealistic realist.

But rarely do happily ever afters and Prince Charmings exist, and that's totally okay too. Knowing that there is a possibility of them happening somewhere to someone on this planet is good enough for me.

In the non-romantic sense, I like this quality about myself as it means that I know there's always a solution (or at least there can be). No matter how mess-deep I'm in, I can recognize that there is a way out and that nothing is impossible. It means I have a certain level of pragmatism but also enough hope to know that the solution to a problem doesn't always have to be a bad one, just a different one.

9. I like the simple things.

I get distracted by shiny things. Hot showers on winter mornings instantly perk me up. Stopping to smell the roses is indeed a fantastic idea. RetroJunk. Nice smells. Quality nail polish.

10. My wit.

Almost as sharp as my nails.

...

Okay, that wasn't witty but going into a history and the function of my own wit seems pompous (see #1) so the bad joke will have to suffice.

11. I've carved out my own understanding of my relationship with the universe. (deep, man.)

This is actually legit.

I've come to realize that all those little life cliches are true. Things happen for a reason. I used to think that if you put something out there into the universe, you'll receive it. Not true. The universe gives you what you need, not necessarily what you want. Sometimes the two intersect, hence great opportunities and happiness for all. Sometimes the universe gives us pain, tragedy, internal bleeding. Of course, this is not to say that people deserve pain, tragedy, internal bleeding, but a life without obstacle isn't a life worth living.

I know that my own little existence is only but a speck in the grand design of the cosmos and I think that is more than enough.

12. I'm fiercely protective of those I love.

I'm not sure that in this stage of my life I would call myself nurturing. I would call myself a harbinger of rage and violence if anyone mistreated someone I loved, though. So. That's...kind of being maternal, right?

13. I legitimately just want to get along.

Up until the age of 10, if I wanted to make friends with someone, I flat out asked them if they wanted to be friends. Usually before I knew their name.

Surely this was an awkward approach, but even at a young age I recognized the importance of camaraderie. I'm so grateful to have the friends that I do. It makes me hopeful in meeting new people. Because if I already know so many rad people, chances are there are even more rad people out there to get to know. If I'm meeting you for the first time, I want you to be awesome. I want you to be so incredibly awesome, we're high-fiving by the end of our meeting.

I get nothing out of hating on people. I want to give people the benefit of the doubt. I want to believe that everyone has the capacity to be amazing and hilarious and extremely likeable. When I first meet you, I want to find reasons to think you're a great human being because there's nothing worse than the realization you're talking to a douche.

14. I'm the first to make fun of myself.

I'm the best punchline I know. I don't say that in a hateful way. In fact, I embarrass quite easily, but it takes the sting out when I'm the first person to do it.

15. I'm a big, silly goof.

I can quote Dumb & Dumber. I dress like a hobo. I love nerdy things. Fox Mulder is my fictional dreamboat. I'm in a serious relationship with malapropisms. I snort when I laugh. I fall both up and down stairs.

16. Knowing what turns you on turns me on.

I have a group of friends who go rock-climbing. I once went with a couple of them because heck, if they can do it, so can I! So wrong. I hurt everywhere and could barely get five feet off the ground. When I asked one of them why he's so into it, he casually replied that it was the mental challenge of it.

Basically, my friends are masochists too.

Okay, that's not the lesson here. I find it fascinating to learn what people are passionate about. Whether it's a unique style of dancing, culinary arts, politics, base-jumping, if you have a love for something truly unique, I admire that. I thirst to know what makes people passionate and what takes them out of their everyday lives. I like knowing what makes you you.

17. I can't play hard to get and even if I could, I never would.

It gets me in trouble more often then it does me any good. As much as I'd love to be that seductive goddess who confuses the hell out of an interested man, I can't be. I either wear my heart on my sleeve or I shut it down early before anyone gets hurt. That's how I roll.

18. I choose my words carefully (when it counts the most).

I blabber a lot. When it comes to someone else and their emotions though, I'm diplomatic. I'm articulate. I pause a lot before I speak a single syllable. I never want someone to hurt so if I have to bring something up that's delicate, I want to make sure each word is effective, respectful and not frightening.

Obviously, it comes from those beautiful neuroses.

19. I just want to hug it out.

HUGS ARE AMAZING. CAPS LOCK CANNOT EVEN CAPTURE THE AMAZINGNESS OF HUGGING.

That whole "Free Hug" movement is on to something, I'm telling you.

20. I've got a soundtrack in my head all the time.

Not only that, but sometimes when something ridiculous happens, I mug to an invisible reality TV camera.

21. I don't hate what I see when I look in the mirror.

I've made some poor decisions in the past when its come to my body and my weight. Needless to say, I'm sure these decisions altered the efficiency of my metabolism now. Regardless, more often than not, I look in the mirror and go "You're alright, kid."

I'm human and female, so naturally there are days when I look in the mirror and see the reflection of a beached seacow staring back at me. More often than not, my rationale wins over whatever hormonal induced body-image upset is raging. I'm in a healthy weight range. If ever I feel like I am teetering out of it, I know what I need to work on to get it back on track.

Growing up, I struggled with how I looked, particularly with the birthmark by my mouth. Kids would accuse me of not washing my face and though I wouldn't ever say I was bullied because of it, certain remarks hurt growing up. I even tried laser surgery to get the mark removed but it failed as the mark goes deep in the skin. Guess it wasn't meant to be. I'm glad it didn't work because it's forced me to just accept it as part of my appearance. Nowadays when people say I've got dirt on my face, I casually ex

plain it's a birthmark. Then they feel really stupid. All I can do is laugh and genuinely say they shouldn't.

22. You can bring me home to mother.

I mind my p's and q's and not my wtf's. Mama raised me right.

23. I want you to be happy.

Obviously a no brainer. But seriously. I want you to be happy. I will be your personal assistant/cheerleader/coach/confidante to help you attain whatever morsel of happiness you are currently fighting for. Then hopefully, we'll hug it out once you attain it.

24. The fact that I really sat down and thought this list through.

25. My story is unique.

The first thing I did when I was born was sneeze. I once won a cake by doing the Beyonce booty pop. The late great Robert Goulet nearly got to second base with me on national TV. I've done years of ballet, tap, jazz, acro, hip-hop, swing, guitar, gymnastics, swimming, piano, and junior band. I've seen Australia, Israel, London, Paris , Barcelona, the Bahamas, Morocco, various states. I have scars from both surgery and blacking out into a wall. I communicate better in writing than in speaking. I've loved and I've lost and I've screwed up. I always find rare, amazing songs. I joke I am every part of the U.N. and I love playing the "Guess My Ethnicity" game with strangers. I have an abundance of amazing female role models. I have a great smile.


I don't always keep my head up and I can't always see the light, but I know that I have value and meaning and my differences make me worth knowing.









<3,
m

Yup.

The universe pulled it together and decided I would not spend V-Day in PJs, overdosing on Teen Mom 2.

I actually had a Valentine.

...

Shut up.

More importantly, this Saturday, I will get to cross something else off my list as I learn how to gouge out the eyes of would-be sexual predators! Yay!

Anyways, this:

The sun is starting to shine again.

-m

New Year, New Goals, New...Hair?

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

And of course, by "Happy New Year", I mean "Happy January 28th!" because I'm pretty much a month late in wishing the former.

So where have I been? What shenanigans have I been up to? Clearly, if I've been neglecting this blog, I must have a damn good reason. And I totally do.

I've been really busy fighting crime.

Saving the whales.

Fighting ...whales.

Writing acrostic poems.

Doing lunges.

Doing the robot.

Breathing.

Okay, I don't have a good excuse. Truth be told, I've tried writing this blog entry a few times only to delete what I've written and refuse to publish anything. I think it's because I know my writing has been suffering, and it suffers because I don't write as much as I should. Vicious circle what what! When I do get down to writing, I'm so mortified at the absolute horror I've created, that all I want to do is delete and refuse to publish. I almost wrote "Rufus" there which suddenly reminded me of that awesome movie "Hook" even though his name is "Rufio" and not "Rufus" but I'm still reminded because the movie is wonderful.

Rufus to publish. I smell a new indie rock band!

See what I did there? In an effort to blog more while sucking less, I'm going to try an d edit myself less as I type. Of course, I'll do a spelling and grammar sweep at the end of a post, but from now on no more judging the literary gold I spew. Okay, that was sarcasm. Suck it, sarcastic Marisa.

Still with me?

WHAT I'VE ACCOMPLISHED

40. Dye my hair a crazy colour.

Now, when I originally wrote this number, I think I had a flashback of ye good ol' adolescence, where I tried to Manic Panic my hair pink. The result was not fruitful and vowed that one day, I would make a concerted effort in expressing my kooky self through hair colour.

Then I grew up, got a job, and realized that "crazy" colour didn't necessarily mean looking like I was trying way too hard to relive that sweet sweet 90's raver age. Crazy could certainly mean unconventional, but for me. It could be different, but confident...and sexy. Okay, so confident and sexy aren't things you'd associate with me JUST SHUTTUP GUYS AND LOOK HOW NICE MY HAIR LOOKS NOW

And yeah, that's me totally drinking water on my 25th birthday. Now that I'm old and everything, I have to keep hydrated.

The lovely Peruvian woman who did my hair forgot to remind me that she'd need to strip the colour out first before putting the new colour in. Temporarily, I was blonde. It was a beautiful and horrific ten minutes.

Reactions to the new look range from "Oh, I like it!" to "You look even more confusingly

ethnic now".

48. Treat myself to a day at the spa.

I didn't end up treating myself but rather had my boss do it for me. I am that charming of an employee.

It actually came as an unexpected Christmas gift for myself and my co-worker. I am grateful for

many, many things....and just as grateful for free mani-pedis and massages. So the three of us

took the morning off from work and we were temporarily pampered. Granted, the place smelled

of sewage and I ruined my manicure twice but it was still a great way to spend the work day.

Prior to that day, I can't recall the last time someone made a serious effort to work out the kinks

in my back so it was a very welcome gift.

So was the bottle of Goldschlager I got but that's definitely another story.

WHAT'S IN THE WORKS

13. Learn to skate.

I already have great difficulty walking let alone gliding gracefully on ice so why yes this

challenge is relevant to my interests.

During a daycamp field trip, we headed to a skating rink where I decided to show off my cool

skating moves (re: none) and ended up falling on my ass. While my dignity was more bruised

than my backside, I had fallen and made a shallow slice into my palm. And thus, any potential

dreams of winter Olympic gold were dashed.

This is pretty much the theme with me. I have an interest in something. I maintain my interest

until I injure myself (epiphany: it actually usually involves me falling on my ass). I harbour

resentment towards said interest, forcing it to deprive me of conventional childhood/adult skills

and memories. I've attached a montage for those visual learners out there:

I was going to be real cutesy so I Googled "conquering lands". So many video game screen caps.

With the help of my best friend, I set off to conquer this list item. Before I could face the ice I would need a trusty pair of old skates , so I hit up a Play it Again Sports and got my hands on these beauts:

I know, you're so unimpressed, but owning these babies is half the battle. And they fit so nicely!

Now, as you could've guessed by the section I've put this topic under, the second part...the one involving the actual skating...hasn't been conquered yet. By the time I found a pair of skates that fit, the free skate at the community centre by my house was done. When we headed over to Mississauga City Hall, we learned the outdoor rink was closed for construction. Damnit. Had we been the Square One mallrats we once were in grade 9 we would have known that in advance.

So this number is still in progress and it will be until I have a night off from rehearsal and the regained enthusiasm to...you guessed it...fall on my ass.

#?? SOMETHING SOMETHING A PRIVATE NUMBER SOMETHING SOMETHING

Okay, it's not really private. I've already accomplished the only private item on my list. The goal in question is something I've already publicly mentioned on my list but to talk about it here might actually jinx the success of it. So let's you and me both agree that the one rule about number something something is that we don't talk about number something something. You just got to trust me that I'm working on it and I in turn need to trust the universe that it's being worked on.

Speaking of the universe sending me signs....

57. Take a self-defense course.

And by universe I mean boys named "Al" who invite me towomen's self-defense workshops via Facebook.Perfect! I'm sure in 2 hours I won't have obtained maximum Buffy skills, but it's definitely a start.

41. Take responsibility for my own taxes.

....Why the hell did I even....why...why would I choose this.

Kidding, of course this is something I need to work on. It's not very adult of me to shove all my receipts at my mom and peace out. Although, it is pretty ninja of me.

WHAT'S BEING REVISED

I now carry my list with me in my purse as a constant reminder to waste no time in tackling the goals. The more time I spend with the list, the more I evaluate whether or not the items are to my benefit. The difficulty in achieving them isn't so much a problem as is the question of

whether or not they're relevant anymore.

I had previously changed a couple of performance specific goals and I've decided to continue doing that. I still love performing - part of why I've been MIA as of late is because I'm in rehearsals for a show. But as I've previously mentioned, performing is no longer my main and sole passion. For that reason, I've made the following changes:

83. From "become a stronger singer and be involved in a musical" to "Take a kick boxing class".

84. From "Do a touring theatre show" to "Run a 5k".

Let's face it. I'm an emotionally fragile creature that lacks mental toughness. I'm not athletic, I've very little endurance, and I whine at any ounce of pain.

I started this blog (and frankly, most of my writing) after my diagnosis of endometriosis because I couldn't speak about how outraged I was towards my own body. I had to write it. The blog started out as a sunny way to distract myself from whatever physical turmoil my body was putting me through. Granted, it's now become more frank and a little bit sassy, (the blog, not my body, but some will argue both); however, the gratitude remains. If I truly want to get the most out of this "101 Things to Do in 1001 Days" challenge, I need to be honest about what I need.

These new challenges are tough, but I think they are necessary. In order for me to redevelop physical and mental strength, I would say they're pretty essential.

Oh, and they also scare the crap out of me. Forget internal bleeding, I'm also an asthmatic with bad knees and a hip injury. NERD ALERT.

Which is why I'm going to spice it up changing

94. From "Play Harper in a production of "Angels in America" to "Do a sexy, vintage pinup photoshoot".

Clearly, if I'm going to put myself through agony, there's got to be some sort of superficial payoff. Hiyyoooooo.

Okay kids, thanks for putting up with me. If you got through this blog post, I owe you a milkshake. And I promise, I'll be better.

<3,

m

EDIT THE FIRST: I just realized that because I started this entry last Saturday, it still says it was published last Saturday. Despite it being January 28th now. Great Scott!

EDIT THE SECOND: There seems to a wonky formatting issue. This is what happens when I neglect my blog. It becomes vengeful. I'll win you back, baby. You'll see.

46. Gather enough courage and do karaoke sober.

When I was about 4 or 5, I received a microphone for Christmas. I can't recall if the gift was from a family friend or from "Santa". If it was from the latter, then clearly both my parents were on the Naughty List because I would not shut up.

I sang my little heart out during one particular holiday gathering in an attempt to drown out whatever sort of intelligent conversation was going on around me. My parents would usher their friends into the house where I'd verbally assault them with song. It was pretty typical behaviour for me when I was younger. As an only child, I discovered that an extroverted (re: loud) nature won me friends faster than being bashful. Although, I did pull out the shy and cutesy "Will you be my friend?" approach on a few occassions. Okay, okay, so that's still how I cultivate friendships as an adult...

By the time puberty rolled around, I was smacked upside the head with self-consciousness. Delicious awkward, depressed, self-consciousness. My love of performing wasn't enough to distract me from the terror I started to feel everytime I was in the spotlight. Dance recitals, speech nights, school plays - yuck, yuck, and yuck. And while being a high school drama major taught me how not to corpse on the boards, it couldn't help shake that nauseating fear of public speaking and...well....singing.

DISCLAIMER: I am not a singer. While this does not stop me from indulging in the occasional/habitual shower performance, it definitely makes me self-aware that I shouldn't sing in public. Ever. Now in reading this, you might think this is another fine/poor example of my self-depricating humour, so I'd ask you instead to inquire about my skill to those who have had the privilege of hearing me sing. Oh wait. You can't. Because those people are still BLEEDING FROM THE EARS.

I digress.

My fear of performance surprises a lot of people as I enjoy acting and went to post-secondary for it. I can only offer this rambling explanation: it's much easier for me to be in the spotlight as someone else as opposed to myself, where I know that any public judgement will affect me personally. If anyone's going to ridicule me, it's going to be myself, and by jove, I'm going to the be the first to do it. How dare others get the opportunity to do it before I can!

Because I so clearly hate myself, I decided that a fantastic challenge for my list would be to not just speak in public, but to sing in public. Oh, and not just to sing in public, but to sing in public without a drop of liquid courage. Thus, in something of a last minute number challenge, I decided that I would tackle sober karaoke last Thurs., Dec. 30, 2010 - a day that will forever live in infamy.

Now if you're expecting a miracle and that I'll suddenly sound like an angel in the proceeding video, well.... you are just in for a treat!

The point is, no matter how many cats sounded like they were being strangled, I got up there, opened myself to criticism, and enjoyed the opportunity to look ridiculous and goofy. Most importantly, I discovered the fun in doing something that induces fear, vulnerability, and often, alcoholism.

I, of course, had a great support system of friends.
And a shot right after my performance.

<3,
m

Video courtesy of Kevin Munro, available for all your sound engineering and blackmail documentation needs.

#59. Throw a charity Christmas party.

Or a Christmas fundraiser. Or a good-will dance party. However you want to word it.

I previously blogged about the beginning stages of throwing what would become "Claus and a Cause", a fundraiser for the Canadian Women's Foundation. I fretted d that no one would show up and those that would were destined to quickly U-turn it outta there. (What can I say? I'm a natural at worrying.)

I once posed the question here, "If I throw it, will they come?"

And the answer is : Yes. In droves.

On Dec. 16th, 2010, I happily completed #59 with assistance from some of the most wonderful and generous people around. From the DJ to the poster-designer to the venue manager, everyone pitched in time, resources, and ultimately, the green, to ensure that national campaigns that aim to help women and children continue to get the funding they deserve.

To date, this number has been the biggest challenge and the biggest payoff, spiritually and financially. In a matter of a few hours, 1,134.60 was raised for the CWF. What's just as important is that everyone who came through the doors of The Boat seemed to have a rad time, which was just as important to me as raising funds for the charity. If people are going to open their wallets and their hearts for you, you better give them a blast!

It was greatly in part to the amazing music, courtesy of my friend Adam. Also, the abundance of sweets baked by Shannon and Chantal definitely contributed to the fun, house party feel of the night.

It's been over a week since the fundraiser and I have not stopped feeling so grateful for the friends I have. I could not have done this without their support and generousity. I was congratulated on throwing a successful night, but I know it could never have happened without everyone who showed up or helped out. This may have been my idea but the success of the night was due to every single person there.

If there is one thing I am consistently grateful for, it is the relationships I have with people. I know I get all goofy and gushy about it and am willing to vocalize it much more than is socially proper, but I can't help it. I love for my friends. Whether or not they realize it, they have helped me through many a trying time. They are truly the best and I owe much of my own happiness to them.

As of two days ago, the funds were couriered and received by the Foundation, who expressed their own gratitude. Erin, one of three kind women who helped to guide me through it, made my heart swell with her thank-you email: "Our work could not be possible without the support of people just like you and your friends."

It felt good knowing that I had helped to contribute to a charity who fights for the same things I do on a daily basis. One day I might take to here to explain what the personal connection is, but for now, it is enough to know that something important was done last Thursday. Something important AND fun.

So it is with great pride that I check off number 59. I will never, ever forget it.

Now, just which one should I do next to top this?

<3,

m

Mission. Accomplished.

Geez, when I say I'm disappearing for a few days, I really mean I'm disappearing for a few days.

OH HI EVERYONE

Please pardon the absence, I have spent the past month and bit splitting my time between working and focussing on the completion of a couple of list items. And oh boy, oh boy, were they accomplished to the extreme.

Before I begin to speak of a few successes, I think I need to publicly admonish myself first. I have been slacking on a couple of numbers, and #89 (publicly blogging about the progress of the list) has certainly been one of them. BAD MARISA. A half-assed post about Darren Criss will no longer suffice! It doesn't matter how dreamy he is!

Anyways. Just another moment of me kicking my blog caboose into high gear.

#44. Improve my French.

So I somewhat took this to the extreme. Who has the time and money to actually enroll in a language class when I can go to Montreal instead?

Okay, so financially, my decision didn't make the most sense, but it ended up being much more of a life-lesson than a chance to complete a number. Let's back up a bit though...

My French, c'est terrible. Embarrassingly so. The majority of my girlfriends are quite fluent in the language; and if not fluent in that one, fluent in another. I've always admired bilingualism and, while Pig Latin is a great party trick when you're 8, it just won't cut it when you're 24 and looking to become a little more cultured.

This realization aside, I decided to make a sudden announcement at work after a particularly hectic day of reading bad scripts: I wanted to get out of town for a few days.

"Oh fun! Where to?" asked the Boss.

I hemmed, and hawed. I didn't know where. I just wanted a break from the office routine, despite all the exciting calls from hyper agents and producers alike. I wanted to go be by myself and get out of my skin while all the while learning what's under my skin. Not a heavy order at all, right?

"MONTREAL!" I announced. Of course! Montreal. Amazing, fancy, freezing Montreal. It was decided. I would go by myself to have fun on my own terms while hopefully utilizing another conversational winner than "Ou es le biblioteque?" "Le biblioteque est dans l'enfant." "Quoi? L'enfant mange le biblioteque?" "Oui." ( Listen, I have weird friends, okay...)

Besides, Montreal is beautiful and so is everyone who resides there. Legitimately. With this knowledge, I knew I would have to pack my most luxurious winter gear (re: turtlenecks).

The Fairmont in Montreal was having a decent winter sale (y'know, since its Montreal...in winter) and I booked my ViaRail tickets well in advance. The prospect was all very well and exciting to me as I had never taken a mini-break by myself nor taken the train. And no, I don't live in a bubble, just there are a bunch of things I've yet to experience in life! I had visited Montreal plenty of times with family when I was younger but this would be the first solo visit without any sort of plan. Before I left, my friend Shannon helped me learn a few key phrases so I didn't look like a total idiot as I bumbled my way through the city, including Je voudrais pratiquer ma francais, donc, si vous plait, parle en francais pour moi and Ma vocabulaire n'est pas la meilleure- the latter of which I used quite a bit.

This was my room. I thought the hotel staff would soon discover I was staying by myself and kick me out, Home Alone style. Then I remembered I was an adult and had a real credit card and stuff.

I wish I could write here about all the neat, exciting, and life-threatening shenanigans I got up to Montreal, but to be perfectly honest, all I did was shop, eat, and sleep. By my standards, this was the vacation I truly needed. I didn't do any touristy things - heck, the only photos I took were of my room and a couple of meals. I wanted to immerse myself in the city, and if that meant shopping at Simon's and exploring the underground city instead of checking out the cathedrals and Biodome, then so be it. It also meant that as I walked into store (after store after store), I was greeted and told all sorts of promotional deals - IN FRENCH. That's right. They couldn't smell the Anglophone off of me!

For the most part, I found myself understanding what was said - it was the communicating back that was difficult. I stepped into an American Eagle one morning and after the initial bonjours were exchanged, the peppy salesgirl spoke to me in a flurry of francais that seemed to last for 5 minutes. Embarrassed, I hung my head in shame and admitted "Sorry, my French is terrible. C'est terrible." She laughed and surprisingly looked embarrassed herself. "Oh! But your accent was so good!"

I beamed. Sure, I know it's probably because she wanted a sweet commission, but it still made me feel great!

I learned that I'm shy in new social situations where there's a potential communication barrier, a fact about myself that I didn't consider before. Shy. As in, crippling shy. Perhaps this is why I often choked on Shannon's phrases and resorted back to English. Luckily, those I talked to didn't mind speaking back en Anglais and were happy to shut down any theory that I was making a total jackass of myself.

All in all, it was a great, beautifully quiet trip. It gave me enough time for a lot on introspective thinking as well as the chance to look at all the pretty in Simon's. I was also blessed to meet up with a dear friend and see him act in some amazing theatre (www.igettowritemytripoff.com)

Montreal is just what this little soul needed. I'm not quite sure if my education of the French language improved, but I'd say throwing myself into an unfamiliar scenario and learning how to express myself, in either language, was success enough.

Do you smell that?

Hmm..it smells like..

A BONUS POST!