ben

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

bored teenagers in the suburbs will get into all sorts of things. this is why the suburbs are bad. this is why vancouver has a raging crystal meth problem. it's totally gay.

when i was in high school, i got into a little trouble of my own. one evening, my friend krista (real name) and myself were tired of calling 824-YODA and asking to speak to yoda. we wanted to orchestrate a 3-minute, city-wide bedlam. consider the following scenario:

you would be listening to some evening radio and "ben" by michael jackson would come on. "ugh! i hate this song." you'd say and change the station. the next station you tune in to would also be playing "ben" by michael jackson. you would be driven mad.

we started calling all the radio stations in the city.

"hi! can you play "ben" by michael jackson?"

"wow. that's not a request i hear every day... i think i can dig that up for you."

our plan was coming to fruition...

at least we weren't high on crystal meth.

lowering expectations

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

about three years ago i was traveling across the united states with a broadway show. we visited several different cities and portland, oregon was by far a popular favorite. it's got old stone buildings, great restaurants, and an overall liberal, intelligent vibe. i tried to reconstruct that great vacation during a side-trip on this current jaunt in vancouver.

i yet learned another one of life's precious lessons: never try to recreate a good time. you had a blast in tijuana and purchased a large sombrero that didn't fit into the overhead bin? that's great. don't do it again. you met a really bright guy in a jazz club in paris? fab. he's no longer there.

it started really well in portland. i walked into the room i booked for half its price on hotwire and instantly declared that i loved it. i browsed at powell's until it closed and then went back to the hotel and took a bath. i was finally relaxing away 5 months of 7-day work weeks.

the next day my sister saw my room and usurped it. i moved into their room that had a reminiscent smell of toad. i bucked up and had a talk with myself: i was going to be spending most of my time outside, exploring the city, right?

it rained the entire weekend and i'm convinced it was only a few degrees above freezing. i moped my way over to an old high school friend's work.

"you're underdressed again!" she said as she swathed me in polar fleece and draped me in ponchos.

"it's almost june." i rebutted.

i walked around looking for the memorable times i had on my first visit. i accepted my smelly frog room, the rain falling on my head, and the fact that i was missing my boyfriend. the sun eventually came out for about 45 minutes. and that's when some guy forced me to pose for a picture with his dalmatian, i witness a man wearing glossy stretch pants a-la-olivia-newton-john in grease (boots included), and i got into a skirmish with a band of pimply pre-teens wearing bible-quoted t-shirts in a pro-life rally.

sometimes in the pacific northwest, you gotta walk softly and carry a huge umbrella. you may come across a heron, who is also walking softly looking for a little lunch.

OR you may see a burly guy walking down the street, with great intent, wearing a tutu.

vancouver baby

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i'm trying to muster the wherewithal to compose a blentry while on vacation. but all i do is walk and tucker myself out.

pls stay tuned for a mystery guest blogger...!

this is my new niece. she looks like a cross between my brother in law and my dad.

she and i designed a new game - that i haven't yet demonstrated to my sister. it consists of me grabbing her cheeks, one with each index finger and squishing them together to form, of course, fish lips. this makes me laugh, and then she laughs, and then the cheeks become taut and the game is not longer possible.

happy birthday to the caped wonder

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

several years ago my best friend made a movie that received a good amount of buzz around town and made it into the montreal film festival. this was the year that i finished grad school and was moving to new york. i was in between homes and shacked up for a few weeks with said friend. we lived in the old servants quarters behind a mansion. we woke up every morning and gazed at the mansion's tenant. "would you sleep with him?" my friend would ask me. "yeah, totally. would you?"

"totally."

it was a lot of fun living with my male best friend. there was only one thing that got on my nerves, however. every morning, at around quarter to nine, the guy who played the lead in his movie called to complain that his newly-acquired model girlfriend would not let him have sex with her. this was my first exposure to girly "guy talk", and i didn't found it very cowboyesque. i'd get up, give my friend the evil eye, he'd shrug his shoulders, and i'd start brewing the coffee while watching the neighbour putter around the garden.

i left for new york before the film's premiere. i called my sister to see how it went.

"oh really well. everyone seemed to love it. the lead guy though... he showed up wearing a cape."

"what?"

"yeah, he walked into the theater - it was all flowing and stuff."

"what an ASShole."

"totally."

so whenever the lead actor was mentioned again, i'd say, "capeboy?"

one evening, when i moved back to montreal, i was getting antsy and trying to coax my friend to go out for a beer. i noticed him pause and think for a second, and then he agreed.

as we were walking up the street, we passed by a bar and my friend said, "oh, let's just pop in and say hi to george."

"capeboy?"

we sidled up to the bar while my friend proceeded with the introductions. "george, you remember krista?"

"yeah sure. how was new york?"

"great." i said.

my friend continued, "krista here needs to get laid."

[slight pause]

"well, let's get some drinks going then!", he replied.

the rest, as they say, is history.

a few years later, something jogged my memory and i blurted, "my sister saw you wearing a cape!!"

we searched through his wardrobe for a cape. nothing came up. he steadfastly declined ever having owned a cape.

"well, maybe you rented one for the premiere?"

the ultimate verdict is that he was had his overcoat draped over his shoulder. "look, it's billowy!" he said as he pranced around the living room.

"yeah, i guess. it's billowy..."

happy birthday, capeboy.

if you said goodbye 20 minutes ago, why are you still here?

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

"you better start speaking more."

this is what my parents would always tell me, year after year, when they came back from meeting with my grade school teachers. "you're going to be held back a grade or put into the 'special' class if you don't participate more." fear struck the core of my being, but i still could not bring myself to speak more in class.

being quiet has haunted me into my adult life. i always hear the communist whisperings of others who think i'm too shy, too quiet, too withdrawn, too bitchy (see april 30 ). it usually comes from boyfriends' friends who sit them down and ask, "what is it you see in her?" i've beaten myself up for not being the perky, chatty, convivial girl. i've tried to alter my character, but always made an arse out of myself in the process.

acceptance of my alleged defect was solidified when a girlfriend told me how she used to chide herself for not being more "chit-chatty", like the girls sitting behind her in her industrial arts class. so one day she turned around and said, "you're wearing transparent nail polish - that looks really nice." the girl and her friend looked at each other and said, "we would have said 'clear', but then we're not smart like you." so my friend just turned back around in her chair and waited for the class to begin.

as much as I disconcert chatty, blathery people; they annoy me just the same. a few days ago an LA screenwriter wandered into our midst. and there he remained prattling on about relative nothingness, his shoulder-length locks blowing in the wind. we looked at him in disinterest, but he'd just move on to a new topic, equally as uninteresting as the last. "it's pretty unreal that i just got a parking ticket."

"yes. yes it is."

the art of the graceful exit is gone.

not realizing that he had interrupted our conversation, and seeing that there was no saving it, i decided to depart. he continued to talk, broaching new subjects. as i inched away, he advanced forward, "hey, i really didn't mean what I said earlier. what i really meant was..."

where have all the cowboys gone?

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i've always been fascinated by the notion of the cowboy. someone who is able to hold his own, and looks great covered in dust. someone who takes no shit, especially when it comes to his gal. my dad once kicked a goose that had bitten my achilles tendon. and i guess that's where that ideal was born. the standard was set. i want someone who'll kick the toothy geese.

but my paltry life experiences have shown me that having ideals generally lets us down.

case in point:

my ex-boyfriend and i would have sunday brunch with neighborhoody friends. julius, who coined the term "discount models", was a staple.

one sunday, julius recounted his previous night's encounter with a cowboy. they met at "rawhide", a leather bar. "he had an accent and a 10-gallon hat and eeevverrrything", julius purred.

"ooh." i leaned in, eyes widened. "he's not from here? a real cowboy?"

"uh hmmm.... i never had a real cowboy before."

me neither. "sooo...?"

"well, i brought him back to my place."

"of course. of course."

"and we were getting all hot and heavy."

"right. right."

"and i went to freshen up. brush my teeth and wash my face and stuff."

"sure. yeah. uh huh."

"and i came back and he was lying in my bed wearing nothing but a diaper and sucking on a pacifier."

"oh no."

"oh yeah. he was no COWBOY. hmphf." julius turned his head in repugnance.

"what did you DO?"

"i kicked him out! what do you think i did? he was telling me he wanted daddy to change his diapers, all with the pacifier in his mouth. baby talk. that was NOT what i signed up for." julius sat back in his chair with his arms crossed. "that was no cowboy."

or was it? is that what lies underneath the roughed and tumbled?

"if i wanted 'joe any-fruit', i could have just done what i do every saturday night - walked out my front door. look, there's 13 twinks right there."

he was right. but this was chelsea.

"i mean, this guy was from wyoming," he said in between sips of his cran-orange.

how to e-nnoy me

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

1. Don't answer my queries.

Examples:
Q: When is your parent's anniversary? I must send a card.
A: I had some really great sushi on Saturday.

Q: Where did you park my car?
A: I'm going to bill my client for my dogs' airfare.

2. Offer me a job and then become electronically unavailable as soon as it comes time to discuss money. ("I'll be in Burquina Faso for the next three weeks.") Be sure you communicate this to me via "out-of-the-office-auto-reply".

3. Tell me you're going to link my site and then not do it. ("I get a 1,000 hits a day - all from me.")

4. Pretend you didn't get one of my emails and then later use that very email to reply to me on a completely unrelated topic.

who's on first?

i got an email from my friend in new york asking me which color shoes he should get.

i replied, "the beige ones. they're more you."

"Thanks... the beige is the brownish earth one right?"

i didn't reply quickly enough before i got the next email: "There is no beige. They only have it in the colors I sent."

"well the ones that are not grey then."

and then i got a voice mail. "Krista. You're driving me crazy. Which ones do you mean? There's an earth tone and a black pair. I'm assuming you mean the earthy ones?

i confirmed, "yes - the NOT black ones."

"The taupe? That's what i thought too. I just wanted a woman's opinion. Thanks."

ode to wo

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

rising gas prices are a hot topic these days. small car/no car drivers laugh at big car drivers when we hear that it cost $110 to fill up their tank; and big car drivers barrel through red lights like they and their thule outdoor sports utility transportation racks have something to prove.

when i was in high school, my first big crush was on rich banks. he spelled his name rich bank$. he was so hot. and then i fell for warren beattie (real name). he was hot too. the best thing about warren was his looks. the second best thing about warren was his lada.

i remember sitting around warren's house one lazy summer afternoon, deciding what to do with ourselves. we threw some towels into the back seat and head off to the beach. we never found the beach and got lost. the radiator in the lada was broken and we had to drive with the heat blasting. warren would stick his foot out the window and scream, "MY FEET ARE ON FIRE!!"

warren would get despondent, usually when drinking. he would wander off in a very dramatic fashion. "what's wrong with wo?" someone would ask. "kevin must be over." his closer friends would postulate.

warren and his million siblings were raised by a single mom, myrna. and myrna was dating a truck driver named kevin. kevin would visit when he was in town and warren was driven mad by the sight of that 18-wheeler parked along the front of his house.

one night warren stole ronald mcdonald. he shoved him in the back seat of the lada. he was too big to fit and his upper torso and waving arm stuck out of the window. the headline in the community newspaper read: "ronald mcstolen!"

i moved to rome and myrna shipped warren to the prairies to live with his grandparents. we wrote each other for a bit, but it petered out. the next year i was forced to move back to ottawa, where i decided to work in a department store to make enough money to move back to rome. there i spotted myrna. she was a manager. "warren's back." she said. "he's coming to pick me up after work tonight. you should say 'hi'".

my mom grew up in winnipeg and coincidentally one of her friend's sons or something like that got some kind of pleasure of relaying the message that warren had been dating someone named "diane".

warren pulled up. my co-worker looked concerned and grabbed my hand. "are you going to be ok?"

i took a deep breath. "yeah."

i grabbed the door handle to the not-lada and slid into the passenger's seat. "hey." i was glad it was a good hair day.

he turned down his beastie boys cassette, surprised not to hear his mom's voice. "hey... what're you...?"

"where's the lada?"

"no more."

"how's diane?"

"uh..."

it's a good thing warren didn't have the same kind of ammo that i did, or he could have fought back with names like "maurizio" and "stefano".

he was a good kid. the last i heard he was into cabinet making.

aren't weddings great?

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.