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Three Hundred Sixty Six.

I know what you’re thinking.

Nope. I still don’t have any answers. And I still don’t feel like a grown up. Maybe slightly closer, but I still don’t even want to have to take care of a houseplant.

SIDENOTE: Somehow I manage to keep my dogs alive and happy. I don’t know how that works. Life Math is weird.

…Maybe I’m just not a green thumb.

Anyway.

My BFF Jo texted me yesterday and said, “It’s your last day as a 26 year old.”

At first I kind of panicked. Holy shitballs. 26. It’s over. I feel like it just started. I know it sounds like a super cliche, but in some ways, it really was like the blink of an eye.

I started this blog a year ago as a challenge to myself as a writer. Early in 2012, I kind of lost faith in myself. I hit a major rough patch and thought wow, maybe I’m actually a terrible writer. Maybe I have no idea what I’m doing. Maybe I don’t want to ever write again. Of course, I eventually came around and realized that writing is the thing I love the most. And in the same vein, I knew that if I wanted to be a writer, I’d have to write.

But I was kind of scared.

So I promised myself I would write something every day.

I wasn’t really expecting that forcing myself to write a blog post every day – a story that somehow led to me learning a life lesson, no matter how small – would help me be happy. I saw it as much more of an exercise than anything else. And an opportunity to maybe be funny. But I have to say, writing this blog has given me a completely different outlook on my entire life. It’s helped me understand how my past has made me who I am. It’s helped me work through a lot of difficult times and put a positive spin on things I would have never otherwise laughed at. It’s helped me approach life in a much more open, accepting way.

Like, happen to me, life: I’m ready to learn from you.

That was a disaster. Oh well, next time will be better!

I can’t believe that just happened. I am mortified. Also, that was hilarious. I can’t wait to tell people.

I did it! Someone pat me on the fucking back!

I hate everything right now. Surely someone will understand.

I am hurting. I need to know it’s going to be okay.

This is weird. Does everyone feel this way?

Did that just happen? SRSLY?!

At the same time, I had come to a bit of a crossroads with myself. I had hit a self-love low. I was feeling depressed, defeated, discouraged, you name it. I decided enough was enough: it was time to make the active decision to be happy.

I also discovered that Jayne Mansfield had stretchmarks. And my world was turned upside down. In a good way.

To quote myself (is that totally pretentious? I’m trying to recap, shut up.):

Jayne Mansfield, the American actress, singer, Playboy playmate, and all around drop-dead gorgeous bombshell, was flawed in a way that has been the root of much of my self-consciousness for all of my teenage and adult life.

So…all of that got me here.

SIDENOTE: It’s really hard writing the last post of a 365-day blog.

It’s going to be difficult to let this blog go. I know I’m going to wake up tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that and my first thought is going to be, “What can I write about today?” or, “Oh shit! I still have to blog today!”

But I’m looking forward to channelling my creative energy into a number of other projects that I’ve already either started or am about to. So I guess what I’m saying is I’m not going anywhere. Maybe there will be another blog. Maybe not. But I promise there will be something.

I was trying to think of a fun way to commemorate the end of this blog.

Here’s what I came up with.

Jayne Mansfield had stretchmarks.

jayne

And so do I.

Image2

xA

P.S. It’s hilariously ironic that in the majority of the pin-up photos I took, my stretchmarks aren’t that visible. Because they’re everywhere.

But I guess there’s a life lesson in that, isn’t there?

I’m probably the only one who really notices them.

Image7_2

P.P.S. Things I meant to write but forgot: Happy Birthday to me! Also, here’s to 27! I’m crazy excited for it!

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Three Hundred Sixty Five.

I know this is a 365-day blog, but this is technically the penultimate post, because it’s a birthday to birthday thing. And tomorrow’s my birthday!

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SIDENOTE: Have you bought me a birthday present yet? We can’t be friends if you didn’t because all I care about is material possessions.

Anyway, I thought what better way to spend the second-last day of my crazy year-long blog than looking back on some of its best moments?

SIDENOTE: Maybe that should say best/”best”…

Think of this, if you will, as a flashback episode of your favourite TV sitcom. With the help of a couple friends, I’ve compiled some categories I think you’ll enjoy.

Without further ado…

Top 5 Stupid Kid Moments

photo(1)

Oh boy. Where to even start with this one?! Well, okay…

1. Pressing buttons was (OKAY, STILL IS) a thing I loved doing. See examples A and B.

2. Of course, there was the time I electrocuted myself

3. The day I put scissors through my finger

4. Setting fire to things is never a good idea.

5. Neither is writing a hate letter to your childhood friend.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

I have to give honourable mention to the day I learned that “bastard” is a bad word. Oh, and also to the combination of shaving off my eyebrows and getting hair extensions.

And guess what?! It’s your lucky day. I found a photo of teenage Andrea with hair extensions and no eyebrows. And apparently I have no shame because I’m gonna post it on the Internet.

Extensions

Boy oh boy oh boy.

Moving on!

Top 5 Most Awkward Moments

If you haven’t deduced by now, I am the QUEEN OF AWKWARD. This is quite the random assortment, but I feel it encompasses who I am pretty well…

1. The day a goat ate my t-shirt. (Enough said.) (Stupid goats.) (Seriously, why would she do that to me?!) (Ugh.) (I fucking loved that t-shirt.) (SOB.)

2. The day I learned about orgasms in sex ed. (Is anyone else craving cake?!)

3. Barrel-chested. That is all.

4. The day the National Poet of Scotland called me stupid. Which I really should add to my resume.

5. My elementary school “boobies” moment.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

There are so, so many, but I feel like my Pilates FAIL and my Zumba BARF moments were pretty grand.

Top 5 “SRSLY?!” Moments

You know those moments. The ones that make you go, “what the fucking?!”

1. People and my tattoos. Why are people so weird about my tattoos?

2. That time a guy threw a book at my face. No big deal.

3. NO I DON’T WANT TO TAN.

4. Nothing says “what the fuck?” like getting pepper sprayed!

5. Also charming: when people tell you how to pronounce your own name

HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

I have to give myself a shout out for fucking up my neck by making fun of someone on a Zumba DVD. Because who the fuck does that? This girl, right here.

But the greatest honourable mention in this category goes to Glasgow, Scotland, where I experienced so many WTF things, including…

Finding a tooth in an ATM.

Finding a used tampon on a bus.

And buses in general.

Among so many others. I fucking love you, Glasgow. I really do.

Top 5 Workplace Blunders

It’s a wonder I still have my job. It really is. It’s also a wonder I still have any self-confidence after all of the stupid humbling things that have happened to me at work…

1. My friends still bring up the day I parked on the sidewalk.

2. Also charming: locking yourself in a stairwell on your first day of work.

3. Or, you know, getting caught dancing in the bathroom.

4. Similarly, walking in on your coworkers in the bathroom.

5. Or traumatizing them with your hair colour.

BONUS PHOTO:

Getting caught taking a selfie at work.

Work selfie

At least I know my office mate loves me and doesn’t judge me.

Top 5 Relationship/Sex Fails

Look. I’d prefer we don’t dwell on how much I suck at relationships, okay? OKAY?!

1. I have been known to throw myself at guys I like.

2. I’ve learned the hard way that spin the bottle will only break your heart.

3. So will going after guys who don’t care that you exist. (But you can keep trying to shout “LOVE ME! LOOOOOVE MEEEE!” at them. Trust me. Guys SUPER love that.)

4. I’m good at ending up in awkward sex situations.

5. And awkward kissing situations, sometimes.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS AND A BONUS PHOTO:

Okay, well, first of all, heartbreak, right?

I think I also screwed it up with this guy, because he was clearly paying me a compliment.

Let’s not forget all of my failed marriages. Sigh.

And the time a MONSTER RASH ruined my potential Scottish boyfriend.

And hey, since I’ve already shown you how great I looked with hair extensions as an eyebrowless wonder, here’s a photo of me in the midst of the MONSTER RASH attack. This was after I managed to get my eyes open, because they were swollen shut.

Photo 130

Good lord…

Top 5 Accomplishments

I didn’t screw up everything, though. I’ve done some stuff. Yeah. I do things! I TCB every once in a while!

1. I’ve gotten over a lot of fear to become a Zumba instructor.

2. Then I stuck with it for a year and changed my life.

3. I grew back my eyebrows, guys. I fucking did it!

4. I got over some serious “I can’t!” bullshit and also tried wall climbing.

5. Oh, hey, I also learned how to embrace myself sometimes. I think that’s pretty huge.

HONOURABLE MENTION:

I BLOGGED EVERY SINGLE DAY FOR 365 FUCKING DAYS.

A year, guys. A YEAR.

I’m excited to celebrate my birthday with you all tomorrow.

xA

P.S. I know what you’re thinking. There totally should have been some sort of crazy travel category. But I just couldn’t narrow that shit down. So you’ll just have to re-read my entire blog to enjoy.

Three Hundred Fifty.

Speaking of crazy shit that happens while you’re in a vehicle and there’s someone crazy outside of it, let’s talk more about the buses in Glasgow.

first-bus-glasgow

SIDENOTE: That’s the bus I used to take almost every day! The good ‘ol 62. Partick represent!

SIDENOTE TO THE SIDENOTE: God, I’m a nerd.

What, you don’t remember my Glasgow bus adventures?

Like, the day I walked across Glasgow?

Or the day a woman on the Glasgow bus followed me off  the Glasgow bus and then tried to kiss me?

Or maybe that day I found a – OMG WTF. Yeah, that.

So one day, I was on the bus in Glasgow heading back to the west end from city centre. It was the middle of the afternoon, when you don’t really expect weird things to happen. (Well, I guess I sort of do at this point. Especially after living in Glasgow. But also this.) The bus stopped at…well, at a stop, and no one got on. But a few seconds after it stopped, a guy ran up to the bus and took a jumping karate kick at it. He slammed into the side of  the bus, and despite the intense impact, he seemed unshaken.

The bus driver, on the other hand, was not impressed.

“What the – get tae fuck!” he started yelling out his open window.

But the guy outside of the bus – just a regular looking 20-something – did it again. He jump-kicked the bus.

What followed was a yelling conversation that had a lot of “FUCK” in it, and then the bus started to drive away.

And then the 20-something proceeded to chase after the bus, all the while running, jumping, and slamming into it.

Eventually the bus picked up enough speed that he gave up.

So that was interesting.

On another night, I was actually on the same bus – well, the same bus route – but this time, it was late at night because I was leaving a play I had just been to see. Once again, the bus stopped.

Wait a second.

It was actually at the same stop.

Maybe there’s something wrong with that stop in particular…

Anyway, we were at the stop, and there was also a red light, so we had nowhere to go. And then a guy walked up to the side of the bus, and he started making out with it.

“He whaaaaaaaat!?”

YES THAT’S RIGHT.

He smushed his face into one of the bus’ windows, and he started straight up French kissing it.

I feel like maybe he had just said goodbye to his girlfriend, who had gotten onto the bus, and so he was actually kissing “her” goodbye through the window? But also, I may have made that up to explain the sheer fucked up-ed-ness of the situation.

I think my BFF Mags was with me. Perhaps she can confirm or deny the above statement. But I promise you the makeout happened and I promise you it was as slimy, disturbing, and gruesome and it sounds.

For the rest of the ride home, I couldn’t stop staring at the wet patch left behind.

Of course, there were numerous times that I was on the bus and people would spit on it, but I don’t have any good enough specific stories about that.

Then there was the day I was on the bus in Glasgow going through city centre and we drove past Robert Carlyle standing on a street corner waiting to cross the street.

Robert-Carlyle-robert-carlyle-30286523-2049-2560

ROBERT CARLYLE!

That was crazy in a good way.

No, I didn’t wave. But I really wanted to.

Lesson learned: There are a lot of crazy people out there. Specifically riding and/or waiting for the Glasgow transit system.

And also, never lick the side of a bus. You have no idea where it’s been.

xA

 

Three Hundred Twenty One.

I’m reading a book called The Demonologist, which is about the career of Ed and Lorraine Warren. They’re the couple who inspired the film The Conjuring, and they’re also the couple who were called in to help the family who inspired The Amityville Horror.

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All of this reading and talking about the paranormal with friends has me remembering some of the crazy experiences I’ve had. I know I told you all about one of my weird moments down in the Edinburgh Vaults, but now I’m going to tell you about something that happened in Ireland.

When my mom came to visit me in Scotland, we took a trip together to Ireland. I know I’ve mentioned this before. When we were in Killarney, we went on a ghost tour that was probably one of the best I’ve ever been on. It was fun and campy, but it was also rooted in a lot of fact. Yes, we did horror movie trivia on the bus, but we also learned a lot about the city and its (sometimes very dark) history.

The last stop on our tour was Muckross Abbey. Here’s a short Wikipedia blurb:

Muckross Abbey is one of the major ecclesiastical sites found in the Killarney National Park, County Kerry, Ireland. It was founded in 1448 as a Franciscan friary for the Observantine Franciscans by Donal McCarthy Mor.

It has had a violent history and has been damaged and reconstructed many times. The friars were often subjected to raids by marauding groups and were persecuted by Cromwellian forces under Lord Ludlow.Today the abbey is largely roofless although, apart from this, is generally quite well preserved. Its most striking feature is a central courtyard, which contains a large yew tree and is surrounded by a vaulted cloister.

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In order to get to the abbey, we had to park on a street and walk through quite a bit of forest. As we made the trek over, the sun was starting to set. By the time we got into the abbey, it was pitch black – the only light we had was one flashlight, held by one of our guides.

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At first, I was a bit annoyed. The only other people on this tour with us were a group of teenage girls and their mom or aunt or whoever. So they were squealing at everything and being generally SUPER annoying. They were so loud and obnoxious that our guides had to ask them multiple times to calm down.

It was totally ruining the mood. While the building was really beautiful and certainly eerie in the darkness, we were mostly just trying to stay away from the teens to save our ear drums. I tried to focus on ignoring them and snapping photos – the flash from my camera was one of the only ways to see the actual building.

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And it was a super cool building.

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SIDENOTE: If you’re a believer in light orbs, my god, I caught so many on camera, it’s not even funny.

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So, while I was having a fascinating time in Muckross Abbey, I wouldn’t say I was having a creepy ghost tour time. Until we got into this one room.

“All right, everyone. This the the room in which we conduct an experiment.” our guide was getting down to business.

I assessed the surroundings. We were in a long, narrow room, somewhat like a hallway. One wall was solid stone, the other was an outside wall, with numerous slit-windows cut into the stone. It was so dark inside that the darkness of the yard outside seemed brighter, so the windows were very visible.

“In a moment, I’m going to turn off the torch [translation: flashlight]. I want you all to line up against that wall. Spread out so you can’t grab each other or scare each other, because this isn’t that kind of ghost tour. Once you’re ready, we’re going to turn out the lights and just take a moment to feel the room. All right?”

After much squealing from the teenagers, we got lined up. I looked at my mom and rolled my eyes. I wished they would just shut up.

And then our guide turned out the lights.

I stood there, staring out the slitted windows, wondering if this actually was one of those ghost tours and a guy in a gorilla mask was about to run in screaming at us (I went on a tour like that in Edinburgh – what a load of shit).

But then I saw something. And it wasn’t outside.

The light coming in from the slitted windows started to be blocked out, as if someone was walking by them. Then it happened again. And again. A row of shadows walked by me.

And then the row of shadows stopped.

Here’s the part where if you don’t already, you may think I’m totally nuts.

Although I didn’t see any faces turn and look at me – what I saw was shadows – I felt one of the men standing in front of me turn and look at me. And what I felt was a sense of judgement – a sort of shame on you – so strong that without even being to process it, I burst into tears. It was as though my heart was being squished by an iron weight. I couldn’t help myself. The sadness and shame and fear took over my entire body and my body panicked in response.

“Turn the lights on.” I started to say, “I need someone to turn the lights one. Turn the lights on!”

How did I get to be the one freaking out?

The guide complied and I promptly grabbed hold of my mom and told her what I saw and felt. She agreed about the shadows blocking out the windows. She had seen them, too.

After that, I couldn’t wait to get out of Muckross Abbey. It was unfortunate that we had to walk back through forest in total darkness (and in the rain) in order to get back to the bus with only one small flashlight for our whole group, because I spent that entire walk fearing that I was going to be attacked by whatever had been so angry at me in that room.

Oh, and if you were wondering, that room we were in was the room in which the Franciscan monks were imprisoned and led to their death. Often chained together.

Comforting.

That was one day (of a few I’ve had in my life) during which I learned that the history of a place is often 100% palpable, no matter how much time has passed.

It also solidified my belief in ghosts, or the paranormal, or whatever you want to call it.

xA

P.S. Tell me your ghost stories.

Three Hundred Five.

Have you guys ever heard of Irn Bru?

Irn_Bru_500ml_FS

It’s Scotland’s “other national drink” (after whiskey). It actually outsells Coke in Scotland, which is a pretty crazy accomplishment. If I remember correctly, that hasn’t happened anywhere else. But I might have made that up. Or a very proud Scot told me so and I took it for the truth. Either way, it’s popular stuff.

I only tried Irn Bru once. I don’t actually know what it’s supposed to taste like. It’s not orange, despite its appearance. It’s almost like North American cream soda, except way, way sweeter. Apparently, it may have a slightly ginger-y after taste? I think it burned my taste buds off. But that’s honestly not saying much; I’ve never been a fan of soda.

Anyway, I will never forget this one day in Glasgow. I was crossing a bridge in Kelvingrove Park on my way to university and I happened to pass by a young mother with a number of children. That in itself wasn’t surprising, but her youngest child was. The little girl, who could not have been older than 6-8 months, was sitting in a stroller, sucking on a baby bottle…that was filled with Irn Bru.

How can I be sure? It’s neon orange, y’all. It looks like toxic waste.

I have to admit, my first reaction was to think, “Only in Glasgow,” and tell like, everyone I saw that day about how horrified I was.

But lately, like in the last few months, I have seen so many parents buying their kids coffee that I don’t even know what to think. Just a couple days ago, when I was “working” at a Starbucks, I saw a dad buying his 6-7 year old son an iced coffee and I was kind of floored.

I know what you’re thinking. Starbucks has a lot of non caffeinated beverages that could be kid-friendly. Yeah, that’s absolutely true. But this kid was drinking one of these:

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Straight up iced coffee.

I’ve heard lots of parents say their kids genuinely love the taste of black coffee. I just hope that when they comply to their kids’ requests, they’re at least ordering decaf. Because (A) kids don’t need an early start to caffeine addiction, and (B) who wants to parent a caffeinated child?!

Lesson learned: I may be one of “those” parents. You know the ones. They don’t let their kids eat sugary cereal or processed foods.

Combine this post with this article from Jezebel and once again, I’m leaning toward “NO” on the “Are you going to have children?” scale.

xA

Two Hundred Ninety Two.

2010, Ireland.

My mom had come to visit me while I was living in Glasgow and we took a nice long trip to Ireland with lots of time for tours and exploring. I had been to Ireland before – as you may remember from the day I cried at Burger King or my recap of bathrooms in the country – but I was happy to be back, because Ireland is one of my favourite places on earth and we were going to visit a couple of towns I hadn’t gotten a chance to go to.

One of those towns was Dingle.

Funny name, adorable town.

Dingle

It was pouring rain while we were there (RAIN?! IN IRELAND?!) so we ran around trying to find something fun to do indoors.

That’s when we found this guy.

Pirate

“Arrrr,” he said to us (in my mind), “Welcome to Ocean World!”

For a girl who is terrified of the water, I love me a good aquarium. I think part of it is the anticipation of sheer terror. Kind of like when I was five and I was TERRIFIED of Harry and the Hendersons, but I watched it on a loop. I’ve seen that movie so many times, I could reenact it for you right now if you asked.

Okay, not right now, I’m busy blogging.

SIDENOTE: But that one scene where you see an extreme close-up of Harry through the viewfinder thing on the gun? GET OUT OF HERE. Scariest scene. I used to have to watch it through my hands. Scratch that – I probably still would.

The aquarium was awesome. Not huge, but it had a large variety of species. They even had sharks, which was cool.

Sharks

I could be scared and marvel at them from behind glass. Great.

But then we got to the end of the exhibit and we hit a huge road block.

A shark tunnel.

You know what I’m talking about, right? When aquariums have huge tanks with tunnels built into them that you have to walk through?

They’re one of my biggest fears. Because I’m terrified of the water AND sharks (and fish, really) and standing under glass makes me panic because I feel like (A) I’m in the water, and/or (B) the glass is going to break and we’re all going to die.

“Where’s the exit?” I asked nervously.

“Through there,” my mom replied, “Let’s go.”

“Are you kidding me?! I can’t!”

I scanned my surroundings. There was no other way to get out of the aquarium, save going all the way back to the entrance, which felt like it was miles away at that point.

“Shit!”

“Just walk through. It’s no big deal.”

(THANKS, MOM.)

I took one look at my mom, took a deep breath, and I ran.

Shark Tunnel

My mom thought it was super funny that I was running, so she walked behind me and took a photo.

I honestly didn’t breathe until I got to the other side. Then I waited for like, 10 minutes while my mom casually perused EVERY FISH IN THE TUNNEL.

Lesson learned: I have my brave moments.

OR

Maybe our fears only exist until we have to face them.

JUST KIDDING. Still 100% scared shitless of sharks and water.

xA

Two Hundred Ninety One.

Did I not at some point say on this blog that I’m not a big crier?

Yeah, that’s total bullshit.

It’s funny how you don’t really notice things about yourself until you start a 365-day blog and start making statements about yourself and then you realize sometimes they’re just not true.

I sobbed this morning watching this video that my friend shared with me and then I started crying this afternoon because I was tired and feeling generally blue.

Soooo…oops! Sorry about that!

ANYWAY.

I also tell people I don’t really collect shit, except I totally do.

I did a lot of travelling while I was living in Scotland. It was easier and cheaper because I was so conveniently located. Here is a list of things I collected from almost every place I visited:

Coasters

Okay, handy. Coasters are very useful, right? So why not have a very random, very large collection of them?

I DON’T USE THEM.

Maybe I will one day. That’s what I keep telling myself. That’s why I have like, 100.

(Jesus, Andrea…)

Magnets

I just like magnets. One day when I’m not a starving writer who lives with her parents (thanks almost entirely to the very expensive second degree I acquired in Scotland – irony!) I will have a fridge of my own and it will be entirely covered in magnets.

Key Chains

Great, except you can only have so many keys…and I do not have enough keys to justify the number of key chains I own.

Switch them up often, you say?

TOO MUCH WORK.

Playing Cards

Specifically, creepy playing cards. Like this bizarre deck I got in Sweden that has really scary trolls on them.

That one’s fine, I guess. I like playing card games.

Queen_playing_cards

NOTE TO SELF: Become magician. Learn card tricks.

Lesson learned: I do collect shit. I’m sorry if I ever tried to tell you otherwise.

xA

P.S. What do you collect? Don’t say nothing. That’s a lie. But don’t tell me if it’s your toe nail clippings or locks of hair from every guy/girl you’ve ever fucked. Because ew.

Two Hundred Eighty Five.

STORY 1:

About eight months into my 12-month Master’s degree, I got a phone call from my dad.

It wasn’t the first call I got from my dad while I was living in Scotland. You just needed to know it was eight months in. And that my Master’s is in Playwriting and Dramaturgy.

We were having a perfectly normal conversation – how are you, how’s the weather, how are your classes, etc. – when a silence fell between us for a moment.

“So…what is Dramaturgy, exactly?” My dad asked me with his most bashful of tones.

I did the best I could to explain, though at that point, he probably could have just waited until I had finished my degree and moved back home to ask.

STORY 2:

Last week, I took part in an event called the Slow Flash Mob. It was a very cool all-day event that offered a variety of free activities and was targeted at multiple generations and getting seniors involved in park life in Edmonton. I was honoured to be asked to teach two Zumba workshops.

Photo by Mack. D. Male, @mastermaq on Twitter.
Photo by Mack. D. Male, @mastermaq on Twitter.

Because it was a free, family-oriented event, I decided to invite my parents. My mom is an avid Zumba participant who comes to almost all of my classes, but my dad had never seen me teach before. I thought it would be a great opportunity for him to catch a glimpse of one of my jobs.

After one of the sessions, I was on a break and having a wander around the park. I crossed paths with my dad, who approached me very seriously.

“You have excellent dance moves.”

“Thanks, Dad!”

“But seriously.”

“I appreciate it. I love teaching. I have a lot of fun!”

“You should be a professional dancer.”

“Haha! Yeah, totally, right?” I laughed, “I think I’m as much of a professional dancer as I’ll ever be – I teach Zumba and it’s one of my jobs, right? So I’m a professional.”

“No, but you could pursue this professionally. Like in music videos or something.”

And then my heart melted a little.

Lesson learned: Dads. They say the darndest things. (Thank goodness.)

xA

P.S. If I were ever going to be in a music video, I would want it to be Run DMC’s “It’s Like That” vs. Jason Nevins. I understand that I can’t turn back time. I’m just saying.

Two Hundred Sixty Five.

In the near impossible case that you haven’t realized yet, I’m not always the most easy going person in the world.

I don’t mean that I’m difficult to get along with or anything, but to use the example my BFF Mags and I always use, I’m not the girl at the house party who’s going to strip down and jump into the pool in her underwear. Sometimes I admire that girl. Sometimes I roll my eyes at her. Regardless, she’s not me.

I’ve never seen myself as much of an outdoor music festival girl for the following reasons:

– A lot of sun (I’m super white, it gives me a rash)
– Potential of rain and mud
– Bugs
– Outhouses (Oh dear god, outhouses)

Over the last four days, however, and yesterday in particular, I can tell you I braved all of the above. (The bugs were minimal, thank goodness.)

By the time yesterday rolled around, I felt fully prepared to battle the sun. We had spent parts of Thursday and Saturday at the festival in weather so hot and humid that you pray for a giant gust of wind to make you feel somewhat human again and you resign yourself to the giant sweat spot on your back. I slathered myself in SPF 45 and started thinking cool and refreshing thoughts.

SIDENOTE: Cool and refreshing thoughts are bullshit. They don’t work.

We also thought we were prepared for the rain. We packed an umbrella and raincoats. No problem.

So when it rained, we were fine.

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But then it RAINED.

It rained so hard you could barely open your eyes. It rained so hard that I had to wring out my dress every couple minutes because it was weighing me down. It rained so hard that a couple girls in front of me were filling their empty beer bottles with the rain dripping off people’s umbrellas…and they were filling up in just a few minutes.

While we tried to fight the rain when it first started, we eventually gave in entirely. There was no staying dry, so there was no point in trying.

It wasn’t long until the ground looked like this:

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And my shoes looked like this:

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(RIP, shoes.)

And that was only about halfway through our day at the festival. Soon the grass disappeared into pools of water and mud. We all discussed our plans for showers and throwing away our shoes when we got home. We all had the lovely experience of using outhouses and having to peel our wet clothes off and back on again to use them.

Basically, it was everything I feared it might be.

And you know what?

I learned yesterday that Belle and Sebastian were entirely worth all of it.

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I still can’t believe I saw one of my favourite bands of all time. And not only did they sound impeccable, they were friendly, chatty, and hugely interactive with the audience, too.

It was perfect.

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As soon as they started playing, I forgot I was soaked and muddy and I DANCED. And I never wanted it to end.

Thanks, Belle and Sebastian.

xA

P.S. Shout outs to all of the other amazing bands who played at TURF as well! She & Him, Camera Obscura, Kurt Vile, Whitehorse, Neko Case, The Cat Empire – everyone was dreamy-wonderful!

P.P.S. Shout outs also to showers and laundry. Oog.

P.P.P.S. Wow, only (ONLY) 100 posts to go! Is this the homestretch?!

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