character test.

Imagine you find yourself at a late night ATM, skateboard in hand, waiting for a friend to withdraw money to buy the next half ounce so you and the four people outside can have weed to smoke when you all take mushrooms the next morning. No-one else is around except your little gang and you’re only inside to try and warm up for a minute, but while he’s on one machine you glance at the other. The screen is blinking. WOULD YOU LIKE ANOTHER TRANSACTION? You don't say anything and click YES before you even know what you’re doing. It’s not illegal to push a few buttons right? So naturally, because you’re a badass, you check the AVAILABLE FOR WITHDRAW and boom. The screen lights up along with your eyes.

1500.00$

Holy shit. Holy shit! This kind of thing just doesn’t happen.

What do you do?

(I’ll tell you what I did AFTER you answer me)

UPDATED*

I looked over at my friends outside, looked at the screen again and withdrew 60 dollars, so if added to the 20dollars I already had, we could buy a whole ounce instead of a quarter ounce. I figured I was only repaying the karma for whoever was stupid enough to leave their card in the machine and decided if they had 1500 dollars available for withdraw at any time, they might just be thankful enough I didn’t take more and never notify anyone. I also took the card out and placed it beside the machine, so no one else could come along with the same questionable moral conscious. I never told anyone what happened, and instead proclaimed I had withdrawn the money from my own account and still to this day, nothing ever came of it. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do and the consequences are still waiting to seek me out and destroy - but I can’t change what I did and at the time I believed it was justified, so I don’t regret it, but I wouldn’t do it again.

dear david v...

You are an asshole. I don’t put up with assholes on my blog, or in my blog comments, so yes, I deleted your worthless criticism (twice now, and will continue to do so happily). Not because I care what you think of me, but because your opinion on how I look doesn’t belong here, and I don’t need to be reminded of one strangers bitter and resentful judgment. You emailed me and messaged me a few times and I never showed you the time of day, so you took it personally and are now trying to validate your bruised ego by attacking me. You don’t want to be here, and I don’t want you here, so do us both a favour, take a hint, and fuck off.

date me?

I got asked out on a date today. A perfectly nice, seemingly filthy rich man approached me at the Canadian embassy to report he was in town just for a few days on business from Singapore and was staying at the Shangri La hotel, which might just be the most expensive hotel possible in this city. He was dressed in a suit, carried a black briefcase that I'm sure was carrying some life changing documents with his name on them and shoes that probably cost more then my entire wardrobe. He looked richer then my Dad. Way richer, and younger, and very good looking. We made forced small talk as I waited for a taxi and tried over and over again to deny his proposal. Our conversation went something like this...
"Would you like to get a drink with me later"
"I don't drink."
"Well how about coffee then?"
To which I raise my eyebrows and gesture to the coffee cup in my hand.
"Dinner?"
"Sorry - I have plans tonight." (I dont)
"Tomorrow then."
And continued in this fashion for about ten minutes (where are all those damn taxis when you need them?). I could tell this particular man was not used to hearing 'no' so many times.... and truth be told, I'm not sure why I was so quick to refuse. He made me nervously bitchy... and in all my jeans and t-shirt glory I felt very out of place suddenly. I gave him my phone number before I left to tide him over and on the way home was contemplating why it seemed so damn scary to accept a date with that particular man. He obviously wasnt looking for a girlfriend since he didnt live here, wasnt looking for sex because there are a ton of clubs he could go to for that, wasn't looking to party since he persued me even after I said I didn't drink... so I'm assuming he was just lonely... and wanted to invite the random friendly lady who asked him for a light of her cigarette. I suppose I was just afraid he would take me to some fancy restaurant where snails were considered food and there were eight forks on the table. More then being indimidated though, I was very... out of practice. The last time I went on a date I did not have a good time. The time before that I went as a substitute with a friend who got stood up... and the time before that... I was 16. You could definitley say I'm not a date-me kinda girl and in fact, havent the slightest idea of proper protocol. I would end up ordering pasta or something equally messy and embaressing to eat... show up in flipflops and plaid or a bright pink tshirt that says Make Love Not War.... and whoever the unlucky sophisticated man happened to be... would be trying to hide his face the whole time and get away as fast as possible. Dating is scary. I intend to avoid it as long as possible... but I do feel bad for that man today, he's probably not feeling so great about himself right now, and I most definitley did not have to be that harsh. Maybe coffee I could handle... maybe he'll call me and be all elated that I changed my mind.

dieting??

For years now, every person at some point or another seems to jump on the bandwagon of every new ridiculous diet. From Weight Watchers to Jenny Craig to Dr. Atkins there is a smorgasbord of options to choose from. Every “expert” has their very own tips, tricks, cheats, theories and advice to offer. With that being said, I must warn you I have no diet education and no motivation to learn the standards and expectations of the weight loss world…but will preach out my personal (and permanent) eating habits anyways. This is not a diet plan, despite the title of this post, it is just simply how I choose to limit what I put in my mouth. Number One: I don’t eat sugar. It is not a whole protein, lacks any and all nutrients needed for your body to metabolize it into energy, will make your skin gross and put holes in your teeth. I am not fooled by diet sodas or “sugar-free” candy. If it contains aspartame or splenda or any other artificial sweetner then I stay far far away. If something says zero calories, that means zero energy. Its quite scary actually when you think about what the fuck is really there. Your tastebuds recognize it as sugar but it goes into your body and somehow… disappears. Not healthy. Now… I must add that I cant live without icecream or Hersheys chocolate kisses, but like every vice in our world, the secret is moderation. I don’t keep anything in the house so it is not readily available, but will indulge once in a while when I go out. Number Two: I Imagine I am living 200 years ago and eat only what would have been available back in those times before we started mass producing Nestle products and “enriching” vitamin additives into everything. I eat natural whole foods, unprocessed, unfiltered, unrefined un… everything. Number Three: I look to dental anatomy for the proper ratio of food groups that humans were designed to eat. We have eight incisors (four on the top, four on the bottom) used for tearing or sheering fruit or vegetables. A couple canines for shredding meat and the rest are molars. Exactly like cow teeth used specifically for grinding grain. Carbs do not equal death. The very first human like creatures evolved eating grass seeds. Bread, crackers, rice, pasta, corn, oatmeal (all whole grain) is what makes up at least 60% of what I eat. Number Four: Water. Lots and lots and lots of water. Number Five: I combine foods in the right ways. If I'm going to binge on a big steak, I'll eat a salad with some sort of acidic dressing (most vinaigrettes work great) to help digest that huge hunk of beef that will literally rot in my stomach. Number Six: I don’t skip meals but will substitute them with smaller portions if I have to. I hate breakfast. When I’m rushing to get ready for my day throwing in time to eat can be a hassle but I’ll grab an apple or some toast or even just a few crackers. I also eat my dinner in two sittings. Most at around 6 or 7, then later if I'm still hungry I'll eat what's leftover. Number Seven: For snacks, think salty instead of sweet. I love Pringles and Doritos and Corn Chips – which might have higher fat content then a handful of jellybeans… but are in fact way better for you in terms of real nutrition. Number Eight: I don’t have a number eight but I wanted this list to end with my favourite number.

I’d like to add that I don’t exercise regularly and will go swimming often enough and walk my dog every day – but it is for pleasure not weight loss and so, looking the way I do and having maintained my very good relationship with the bathroom scale… I can whole heartedly vouch for every single thing I’ve just written. For me, that is. You may be different. Like I warned you, this is not a diet plan, just an explanation of how I eat and what I would recommend to anyone who asked.

Blink blink blink

The words for my next scene of Rush Away remain caged in my head and my computer cursor is laughing at me.

blink - blink - blink.

(COSART) 2 = grace

Tripp, the all inspiring holy man who still makes me giggle when he says anything not usually associated with a pastors vocabulary, asked me a very simple, direct question a while ago. What do you think of grace? Being the often egotistical person that I am I tried to think up an answer just as direct, something witty and clever with beautiful contextual prose. But this time… unbeknownst to my now faltering ego, I came up with nothing. Not even a lame attempt. Not even an attempt at a lame attempt. There was too much to say. So after a few weeks of research and rewrites and frustrating sighs as I tried to make a glimmer of sense… I came up with this. I’m going to write it as if it was fact, just to avoid unnecessary “I think” and “I believe” statements – but it is just my opinion and not to be taken as the be all end all of knowledge. There are two types of grace. Keith Mathison once wrote “Unlike common grace, which extends to all mankind, the special grace of God is the unmerited favor that God extends to His people. By means of common grace, God restrains sin in the world. By means of special grace, Jesus Christ bares the curse and penalty of sin for His people. In common grace, God gives good things to all men. In special grace, God gives the very righteousness of Jesus Christ to His people.” So if this is true then, being the eternal agnostic that I am, I can concede in knowing that there will be no special grace enlightened upon me, but only common grace, which provokes the question of… which is truly more important? Too often grace is a term abused by the followers of the church. They use it not to help restrain from sin, but to excuse it. They do not avoid sinful acts because of grace, they simply avoid hell by rendering those sins they commit over and over as “forgiven.” Grace is not meant as redemption or liberation. It is meant as a catalyst to inspire order and protect personal righteousness. “I believe in the articles of the Christian faith” is easy to say but some are deluded into thinking that is all that is required. They are so effortlessly willing to take Christ as their Savior but never as their Lord. So does believing you are one of His people necessarily make you one of His people? Does believing you have been gifted with special grace for all of eternity make Jesus bear your penalty of sin no matter how evil you may be? If belief is not enough… then what is? Say… there is a man, a good man, who has accepted Jesus in his life but one day finds the one true love of his life cheating on him and in a blind rage murders her. Special grace permits the Lord to bare the curse of his sin. Then say there is another man, also good in nature but not Christian who does the same thing. Is he forced to forever bare the consequences of that sin himself, being only under the category of common grace? The man of faith is redeemed simply because he has permitted himself to believe in God while the other man, having done the same evil deed, is stuck forever deemed an evil man? Is one going to heaven and the other to hell? Is it not our own personal actions that define us? If Hitler had believed in God would he be given the very righteousness of Jesus Christ and absolved from judgment? These are all questions I cannot answer but have led me to believe that the all knowing God, if he does exist, judges not based on a religious title of Christian vs Not … but on each individuals moral nature. That special grace AND common grace are to be given to good men, regardless of the word they choose to place beside the Religion:___________ box.

"Grace does not grant permission to live in the flesh; it supplies power to live in the Spirit." -John MacArthur

ordinarily extraordinary

When I start feeling like too much of my day has been simply ordinary, I like to rewind and play it all over again in slow motion, realizing quite magically that there are many moments, hidden within the seemingly tedious regularity of my life that are quite extraordinary. I take comfort in the sun illuminating through my curtains. It makes everything seem a little like a gold plated dream. I take comfort in the bird sounds outside my balcony doors and my toes while I bounce down the stairs in the morning. Crick crack click clack. With each step I smile to myself and think I’ll miss my feet one day when I’m old and arthritic. I take comfort in the smell of my coconut shampoo and the way my hair feels when I rinse away the conditioner through the water that is always too hot or not hot enough and stops working altogether after 1pm. I like watching the bubbles drift around before being devoured by the drain. Sometimes I imagine their journey down the more then likely botched pipe systems of the Philippines, shoving rudely through anonymous hairballs and cackling for a moment, thinking they are so much better off being bubbles. Then life throws them a storybook twist when the arrogant soapsuds realize they are now stuck twined within those same hairballs they had just finished laughing at. The water that was carrying them has swooshed on and left them behind with the rejects. Oh how cruel fate can be. I take comfort in the notion that I am indeed crazy for personifying my shampoo and conditioner, giving them the ability to recognize irony. I take comfort in the single surprising tear that crawls down my cheek as I e-mail my Mom. Proving that even though I may be insane… I’m still human. I miss her more with every single morning that comes and she is still 8000 miles away. I sign the e-mail Love, Heather-belle. Something I haven’t called myself in years. Something she calls me when I need to feel like a little kid again. I’m going to phone her in a few hours… she’s sleeping now. And when I do I’ll tell her… “Mom. Today was ordinary. Ordinary yet overflowing with extraordinary. It just took me a little writing to realize how magical every moment really is.”

being STONED

I like being stoned. I really like being stoned.

I like the act of smoking weed. The way the white-corded clouds dance along the waves in the air, rising up or swirling around, or thrust forward. I like when they linger for a moment. One of those blink and you miss it moments when the smoke is completely still. Paralyzed for a millisecond before disappearing forever. Where does the smoke go? Was it really ever there to begin with?

I like the smell. It makes me imagine I’m living about 4000 years ago in China and have just discovered a “medicine” and smoked it for the very first time. I wonder what the very first stoners thoughts would be. No one would know you were high. No one would know what high was. Perhaps they would think you were a bit drunk. Was alcohol made before weed was smoked?

I like rolling joints. Backwards the way my sister taught me. The way my mom taught her. I go for speed over perfection. Practicality over aesthetics. Habit over innovation. Memory over sight. I could roll a nice joint blindfolded. This is something that makes me proud.

I like bongs. Not as much as I used to. But I like bongs because they bring me back to my insanely excessive days. I remember Duchess, the first bong I ever owned. I remember the one I cleverly named My Boyfriend. My boyfriend was huge and went with me everywhere. My boyfriend made me happy. Best boyfriend I ever had. I remember Mike 42 and The Lizard and The Magic School Bus and Vanilla Ice and The Nemesis and Yoda.

I like smoking weed alone. Watching movies and dissecting every bit of dialogue and character flaw and scene motivation and plotline and symbolism. I talk out loud to myself. This is something I can only do alone.

I like the art of passing a roach without burning your fingers. Devising some new fantastic grip with a clever flick of the wrist and outward motion placed gently in the groove of the receivers fingers. Then he or she takes a toke and burns their fingers anyways. Not everyone has mastered the technique just yet.

I like stoned conversations. About things that at the time seem so appropriate and logical but I know are somehow just a little beyond rational. Somewhere in a realm of my mind that makes more sense when I’m stoned. That makes everything simple. Achievable. A realm that makes everything possible.

I like smoking weed with first-timers. I remember Jay. The Korean who barely spoke English and arrived at film school completely unaware of the people he was about to meet. We crammed 6 of us in a tiny dorm bathroom and he asked to come too. After teaching him the right way to inhale… someone turned on Avril Lavigne. Jay started dancing, grinning from ear to ear and saying softly… “I’m flying.” I like that weed can make the Koreans fly.

I like that I’m the same person stoned as I am sober. Perhaps a few things change.… but I’m still me.

I really like being stoned. For a lot of reasons I wrote here, and even more that I didn’t.

lightning now.

Now, because of three words I can't even read scribbled on a page of my dream journal at four in the morning, every time the clouds start to swirl, every time the sky fades black and the stars go into hiding, every time a beam of static electricity shoots across the heavens and lights up my world… I think of him. Not that I need any more reasons to think of him. Not that I need any reason at all. Maybe one day we really will sit on the roof and tempt the clouds to bury us in a wave of thunder and lightning... but until then I'm going to sit here and smile just thinking about it.