Bye Bye Belmont

Dare I say it? At what point does an addict merit the moment to exclaim “I QUIT!” Perhaps it’s not in the moment, but the decorum. My ideal is to defeat this mighty task with dignity - meaning the absence of a relapse of course - but who can predict the future? Like anything we wish for, plot and plan, a segment of completely unaccounted for circumstances seems to bud its cunning little head. In my world anyway. So, being true to the possibility of anything, I’m already fawning as I write this entry.

This week, for the first time, I quit smoking. Forever.


Pause. Are you kidding me? A song lierally just came on my internet radio signing out “I’m jealous of your cigarette.” Who writes that garbage?!!

It’s been 11 hours and 5 days since you took your love away.
I stay in every night and busy myself all day.
Since you been gone I eat whatever I see.
I can go wherever I choose.

But nothing
I said nothing can take away these blues.

Farewell Belmont Ultra Slims

Behind the Scenes

We went, we watched, we clapped on cue and wondered the whole time, “did the camera just catch me making that face!” Thanks for the tickets Phelps!

And yes, the guys look as plastic in person as on television.

Poll Clerk Duo

If I could know more about one thing, without having to do homework on the subject, I would definitely elect international politics as my winning topic. I’ve tried at a few different junctures to educate myself on political matters, predictably around the time of an election, but always find it somewhat cumbersome to really get into. It all seems a bit of a day time soap opera; a corny dramatization spilling with ego and insincerity. He screwed her and they said that and blab bla bla. I know ignorance isn’t serving me, so I shouldn’t complain.

Anyway, for the first time ever, I decided to do something “political” (tee hee). I signed up to works the polls.

Soon after completing the online application (requiring only my name and address) I was scheduled for a drawn out 3 hour training session where I was given a 120 pg. how to handbook and instructed on every bitty detail of a day in the life of poll clerk. Feeling more than ready, I showed up to manage my appointed poll on October 6th, 2011 with my colleague for the day, 70 year old Vera. We were stationed in the games room at a Polish Retirement home in Parkdale. Amazing. We had 200 electors on our list, 75 of which bothered to brave the elevator to visit us and cast their vote.

In the 15 hours that Vera and I hung out, we got to know about each other quite well. She shared some Trinidadian recipes and didn’t mind when I took a nap. I played the organ for her and didn’t mind when she insisted we recount the ballots every 20 minutes or so. Most of the time we just laughed at how sneaky we felt to be getting paid nearly $200 each to just sit around. Then, we got angry at how stupendously wasteful and offensive it was for us to be getting paid $200 to just sit around, especially after learning there were 2 other polls on the same street!! What the F?! How much money can one government throw away?

As we parted ways at the end of a long day, Vera and I hugged and agreed to both keep in touch and get more involved in the next election. Neither are very likely, but what a delightful first (and last).

Derby Downer

All right, I confess. I saw the movie and was drawn in to the idea of being a rebellious punk rock misfit on wheels. Only in my better-than-real-life imagination though. An old neighbor of mine was on a RD team and used to invite me out to practice, but I never went. I bruise easily and have never broken a bone. Truth is, I’m no misfit. Despite having a wicked derby girl last name “Power”, the most realistic option for this first was to go see a game. So I did.

The Toronto Roller Derby has been around for some time. They’re well organized and seem to have a loyal following. At the beginning of October, I recruited some friends to join me in seeing CN Power vrs. Hammer City Eh! Team. When we arrived however, (punk rock rebel late of course), I was immediately deflated by the scene and found myself slinking into the bleachers to avoid eye contact with my friends. The venue was an oversized, brightly lit warehouse that echoed wildly as the announcer shouted out the good and bad plays that really didn’t make much sense to anyone.

“There goes DefiCaitlin knocking over Sin D Drop-Her and Mia Culprit as she whizzes past Sail Her Poon on her way to knock off Lady Gag Ya. But watch out! Sinade O’clobber is coming up behind and it looks like Panty Hoser is going to join her in taking down Miss Carriage!”


The score board was something of an overhead projector and the track was a confusing mess of spray painted lines on cement. Had I better understood the game, maybe my impression would have been better. Sorry TRD, I think what you’re doing is fundamentally a good thing, but to me it felt a lot like watching a cheeky cheer squad in a high school gym. I almost wished my can of Coors were a bag of Whoppers. At the end of the night, we all drove back to the city pretending that it had been worth checking out a bunch of chick on skates knocking each other down. And then we went dancing. A bunch of chicks jumping around.