So I’ve been contemplating getting a temporary roommate for around 9 months to a year because when I start working in tattooing full time I won’t be rolling in the $ for the first year while still learning, honing my skill and building up a client base from scratch. Which has been freaking me out a bit… slash a lot. And if I split my rent/Hydro/internet I’d be paying like $400 max a month total.

I’m just hesitant. I love living alone, I have for years, and I have had previous bad experiences living with friends/roommates.

But if I do decide to do the temp roomie thing either I can do it with someone I know or some friends have suggested just renting the room to a stranger because it gives me more control without any “friend” awkwardness. However, I’m also bit hesitant about having a stranger as a roomie because 1. can I trust them to pay up and with my stuff, and 2. because of Helo.

I hate sacrificing living alone… but this may be kinda perfect solution so I don’t have to stress and panic as much about money come tattoo shop time.

I should suck it up. It’s a small sacrifice for my dream job I guess in the long run… and the lease is in my name only so it’s MY apartment in the end.

Gah decisions!

Friendly, fun, nice, outgoing, easy going, comfortable, ridiculous, rambunctious, hilarious, kind, caring, compassionate, nerdy, crazy, artsy, edgy, tall, really tall, too tall, smart, confident, stoic, alpha female, intimidating, emasculating, total package, consuming, hot, pure sex, addictive, a drug, magical, someone you could fall for but… deserving of something better, too nice to you, too good to you, too good for you, not enough for you, not what you want, it’s not me it’s you.

of all of these words used to describe me… none are what I would use, none are what I wanted to be and none of them really are me.

All I wanted to hear you say was “mine”.

Ha!

I do have tattoos, but none in scadalous locations and surprisingly less than one may expect for a tattoo apprentice. Mostly due to having worked in the corporate world for the last 13 years

I only got my first tattoo when I was 27, on my foot… a doodle that I did for my little sister and she wanted us to get it tattooed together.

My second one I got 3 years later, another doodle I did for my bestie Kdog, and we ended up getting that one together too, and that’s how I met Erika.

then I got my third one which was inspired by a Jose Pulido piece (with his permission), that I got again by Erika and with Kdog

and the fourth one I got was my pet AT-AT inspired by a piece by Chiara Bautista (aka “Milk” and with her permission). That was when Erika offered me the apprenticeship and I decided to leave Toronto and move to Montreal for my dream job :)

My next tattoo that I’m starting in the next month is a custom full sleeve by my mentor Erika Doyon… I’m beyond stoked to get that one going!

I’m a lost ship, baby

I drift around 

I call it being free

no anchor, no direction

until I’m tempted by your beacon

teasing me close to delicious danger

until my used up soul

is nothing but a battered wreck on your shore.

I’m a ghost ship, baby

I’ll haunt your heart

even though I was never really there.

When the strings of a banjo tug my heart hard
When I feel the warm lick of sunlight slowly moving along my skin
When I see something so fucking beautiful I skip a breath and it’s forever branded behind my eyes
When I smell warm baked bread and freshly ground coffee grains
When my dog curls up tight against my ribs and lets out a puppydog sigh
When I smell coming rain or salty sea waves and flowers heavy with dew
When I have a perfect bite of cheese flavour-kicking my tongue into ecstasy
When I sneak my cold toes under your bum to warm them
When I look at my friends and hurt from loving them so
When I get paint all over my fingers in a beautiful mess
When I squint my eyes at fairy lights and they become star bursts through my lashes
When I can’t help it but spin and dance and dance and dance because that beat won’t let me go
When a thunderstorm half wakes me up and my bed never feels quite as comfy as that moment
When a sip of good whiskey makes you warm in the most delicious of places
When a movie or a book or a song or conversation leaves me lusting for more
When you touch that one spot just so that always makes me shiver
When I can’t get enough of you no matter how much I indulge
When I know I made you cum so fucking good right then
These things make my soul breathe deep, my lungs expand and blood hum.
These things turn me on, make me tear up and light a fire in my heart.
They make me feel things there are no words for. No way to explain.
Maybe by sounds, murmured and whispered and moaned, sweet notes sung, or screamed at the top of my lungs.
These things are the music to my life song.

After leaving work yesterday to find that some douchenozzle had locked his bike to mine I ended up having to leave it there and Metro home to walk my dog. I then headed back but it was still locked so I went to Foufs with friends for beers before the Punch Brothers show.

Luckily the concert hall was close to my bike but I wasn’t able to get the damn thing finally unlocked until after the show… and a few beers.

Now I do not advocate drinking and bicycling, and had I been completely drunk I would have never biked home. However I was just a tad gibbled… and may have had a toke 2 hours before (which I hardly ever really partake of so it affects me quite easily). So I figured I’d manage. Not the smartest… I know, I know.

The thing is, because I was feeling a tad gibbled, I immediately became THE MOST CONSCIENTIOUS AND RESPONSIBLE CYCLIST IN THE WORLD.

I had my helmet (naturally) and then proceeded to clip on all four of my red blinking lights… two on my bike and the others on my person. I looked like the red light district on a bike. err on the side of caution, no?

I then proceeded to bike with ramrod perfectly straight posture and anytime I changed lanes or turned a corner my signalling consisted of overtly obvious gesticulating and well in advance.

never mind that there wasn’t a single car in sight the ENTIRE ride home… or person for that matter.

Which I started to clue in to as I was sitting in the dead silence of a red light intersection.

That’s when I kind of had a panicky moment… and may have convinced myself that a zombie apocalypse had happened and everyone was either dead or a zombie and I was going to die. So, I proceeded to bike the rest of the way at break neck speed, lights a-flashing, because quite frankly you’re pretty exposed on a bicycle and although I’m more of a shuffler-zombie fan I’m not going to discount the possibility that there could be runners too.

I realize how ridiculous this all sounds but I may have succumbed to a brief interlude of paranoia.

Anyway… so basically my bike was back in my possession, I got home safe and sound, and no zombies bit me.

the end.

I made the decision to move to Montreal and start apprenticing as a tattoo artist.

The day before, on my birthday, I was getting an AT-AT tattooed on my back by Erika and arguing with Kara who was trying to convince me to move to Montreal for the millionth time.

When I was finished, Erika just casually said “well you have to just move to Montreal…”

I replied “I know, I know, but…”

She interrupted me with “Because if you do I’ll give you an apprenticeship and you’ll have a job at my shop.”

I was dumbstruck… and stammered something about taking a few days to think about it. By the end of the 6 hour bus ride back to Toronto I already knew I was going to take her up on it.

I was unemployed, had just gotten dumped and was struggling with myself about what I actually wanted to do with my life. Although I love Toronto, and always will, I was feeling soffocated by the city and felt like it was time to move on. I was never going to get an opportunity like this again… The timing couldn’t have been any more perfect.

I emailed Erika the next day. and two months later had sold all of my stuff, packed what remained in the van Kara had come to pick me up in, and I was off to Montreal. My new home.

I can’t believe it’s already been a year since this all started.

I can’t wait to see where I have yet to go.

It’s because of those holes that never quite fill up and only just the right person can fit to make it all whole again.

I miss Andrea, who I only just said bye to this morning.

I miss my buddy Nilton, even though I am the worst at calling him, or texting, or email chatting… I miss him hard.

I miss my kiwi mates Marc and Nadia, who quite frankly are the raddest couple I know and the best accidental friends I’ve ever made.

I miss my brother who I get along with so much better now that we aren’t kids fighting over, well, everything.

I miss his wife, who is the sweetest, most patient, most loving person I know.

I miss his two minions, the older who is determined to become a paleontologist and the younger a Disney princess.

I miss my brat sister and her little man… ball of energy and grins and shrugs and giggles and dancing and hugs.

I miss those who I never saw often but when I did, it was magic times of amazing fun.

I miss that person who will make my tummy do flipflops and make me feel all fuzzy and giddy and cuddly n shit… like all the cheesy feelings of a vomit inducing romcom movie. I haven’t met them yet but I will.

I’ve let this here blog slack off into a boring oblivion of reblogs and Instagram photos… I’m terrible I know. I even missed naked reading day. 

I miss lurking the Tumblr dash and creeping all of your blogs properly.

I need a laptop… badly. This will have to wait. Right now any costs tattoo-related are a priority (machines, Montreal tattoo convention, fruit and pigskin).

Getting a laptop, proper-sized fridge, washer, dryer… those are all luxuries right now.

Moving to Montreal and having to settle for a job I’m overqualified and underpaid for while also doing my apprenticeship has taken its toll on me. I feel socially disconnected from friends, I’m neglecting my fitness, I’m living from paycheck to paycheck and still barely make ends meet.

This is all been a huge adjustment. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss not worrying about money, making twice what I do now, just going to the movies whenever I wanted or buying new clothes, eating out at restaurants and not only buying groceries that are on sale in the flyer. I miss not having to keep track of every single fucking dollar and make it count, spending all of my money on rent and bills before I even get paid. I miss having an active social life, having oodles of time to run errands or go to the gym. I miss being able to afford a gym membership. I miss being able to afford to only buy organic food for myself and my dog instead of the crap I’ve been feeding us. I miss not panicking about how to pay this month’s phone and Hydro bills and freaking out that my rent check will bounce. I miss not feeling embarrassed and cheap and having to keep turning down invitations from people to go out because I just can’t afford it. Having to explain again, and again, and again that I’m broke and I just can’t afford it… because they don’t seem to get what broke means…

I miss not having to precariously balance on this tightrope while juggling too many things.

But I don’t regret making the decision to come here. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

And I am so excited for what I know my life will become soon… I can almost touch it, so soon. So exciting, so inspiring, so hopeful… it keeps me going.

I don’t regret one bit of it… it is going to pay off. It will be worth it in the end… so worth it.

I had a fantastical weekend.

My friend was in town and it was so good to just hang out, catch up and get gibbled while swapping ridiculous stories.

It made me a tad homesick for Toronto again.

But then we spent the day by the river which made me fall in love with my neighbourhood all over again.

I’ve avoided my dating site venture like the plague…

Every time I log in I get inundated with messages, 90% of which are awful so I’ve just stopped checking all together.

I don’t have time to date anyway, I don’t have time to have a social life right now.

I’m also finding myself to be a tad too skeptical yet.

I’m still overly wary and expecting the worst of people.

I can’t help it. I’ve been led on and burned one too many times.

It’s left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Even though any residual feelings are long gone.

I’m still on guard and cautious.

And that pisses me off because I’m not naturally a pessimistic person. I don’t want to be.

But I can’t help keeping that stubborn wall up now.

I expect them to eventually ditch me for someone else anyway…

They always do, so what’s the point, right?

Which is so fucking stupid. I know it’s stupid.

I know I shouldn’t let a few shitty people I’m better off without still affect me.

It’s not the easiest to ignore when you know mutual people though.

And annoying little fucking reminders keep popping up.

Constant little reminders not to trust people.

You were lied to, you were played, and god you were ever so stupidly gullible and trusting…

I really don’t need to see that anymore.

I don’t need that negativity.

So I have to figure out how to clean it out of my life once and for all.

But hey, I got to eat peanut butter and white chocolate chip cookies today.

They were delicious.

Seems like it’s a proper Monday after all, eh?

you know when you hear a familiar song with lyrics that are heavy triggers of nostalgia and make you miss a past you never lived?

like the end of summer, hazy days swinging off tires into watering holes shared with the cows. stealing sugar beets to suck on from a nearby farmer and driving into a field with wheat and grass so high it swallows you up. lying on the roof top of a muscle car watching the stars play peekaboo in the dusk. shoes kicked off and toes free to kick the sky. when his hot hand slips under the shirt and up skin beaded with sweat, across your ribs until it quietly cups your breast and rolls your nipple with lazy fingers. luke warm beer in sweating bottles that tastes like piss but still gives you a buzz and the radio blaring that song that will always take you back there even if you never really were.

the Menzingers does this to
me.

this little image.

we’ll drop everything and run away in that van, if only for a little while.
we’ll cram it full of delicious snacks like dried apricots and banana chips, only necessary essentials and our dogs.
we’ll drive across the country from end to end and only eat at diners that look like they are still stuck in another decade.
when there’s a fork in the road we’ll take the one that looks like it will it will get us lost.
we won’t stay in hotels, motels or inns because we’ll find an off road area to park, build a blanket nest in the back and fall asleep watching the campfire go out.
when it gets chilly at night I’ll wiggle my cold toes against your warm calf to wake you up and then we’ll fuck in the dark until the windows are all foggy.
we’ll play tic-tac-toe and hangman games, drawn on the fogged up glass with our fingertips after.
we’ll canoe down any river we come across and try not to tip over when the dogs freak out over the loons.
we’ll stop at all the small towns and always try a piece of homemade pie whenever a menu says it is.
that will be the only rule.
you won’t mind that you do all the driving and I’ll play with the maps… being a navigator is important, you know.
I’ll call you Iceman and you’ll call me Goose.
we’ll stick our hands out the window so our fingers can ride the wind waves and wave frantically at everyone we pass.
we’ll belt out along with the tunes on the radio, especially when they play Jack and Diane.
after we make it end to end we’ll be sad and the way home will be quiet, subdued with our hands touching often.
we’ll stumble through the door, laden with more than we left with, exhausted and maybe a little stinky.
the dogs will scramble and bound through all of the rooms excited by familiar smells.
we’ll grab two beers and get into the shower together slowly washing away the remnants of our roadtrip and massaging tired muscles.
we’ll sleep the bestest, deepest sleep since we left and you’ll even softly snore a little. I might too.

I haven’t quite met you yet but I’m looking forward to stories we’ll tell like these.

My dad is an incredible musician. At 14 he taught himself how to play the guitar by ear, before he could even read music. If he heard a tune he could mimic it perfectly within minutes. He then taught himself the banjo, ukulele, fiddle, piano and drums. He was in bands that would play the dirty rock bars of Yorkville, Toronto… long before that area became the yuppy-saturated, nouveau-riche, elitist neighbourhood that it is today. He jammed with Buddy Guy once, and the back up musicians for Jimmy Hendrix… they would often show up at those dive bars just to unwind and play whatever they wanted after shows in the 70’s. He likes to tell those stories.

He used to smoke and would roll his own cigarettes. It was a ritual that fascinated me, not because I found smoking alluring or particularly remarkable, but because of the care with which he performed each step of the process. Pinching just the right amount of tobacco from the blue pouch he carried, carefully spreading it evenly in the rolling paper, rolling it tight and then licking it to stick after which he’d always take a few seconds to admire his work before lighting it. It’s a weird thing to remember, especially since he quit by the time I was 3.

He was mostly a quiet man, content to just sit in silence with the exception of his fingers drumming a rhythmic beat that only he could hear the music to. He would give the best swing set pushes, pushing me so high I’d swear I was going to flip right over the top. Sometimes he would do under-doggy pushes where he’d duck and run completely under me as he pushed, which always made the swing jerk unevenly on the backswing, flinging my legs willy-nilly. Those were my favourite.

He’d take my brother and I tobogganing in Blantyre Park, dragging the toboggan back up to the top as many times as we wanted. He’d encourage us to go down the steepest part of the hill and then laugh his ass off when we’d fly off on the way down and eat snow. No coddling, he couldn’t even fake concern with a straight face. He also taught me how to ride a bike at that park. Running behind me while I screamed “don’t let go daddy!” in terror. He let go. I biked all by myself. But I didn’t even care because I was so mad he had let go when he promised not to. The other time I was utterly disappointed by him was when he told me that Santa didn’t exist. I didn’t care about the whole Santa thing; I just couldn’t believe that he had lied to me. He had sworn to me that one night in a snowstorm he had spotted a red glow outside and then saw Rudolph perched on a street sign. My little 5-year-old brain just couldn’t process that he had lied to me. That disillusionment stuck with me for a while. It was the first time I saw him as flawed.

He still would play on his guitar whenever he could escape to his little “studio” room, but that would never be for long. My mom would eventually nag at him to help out with us kids or dinner or the dishes or something that absolutely couldn’t wait and had to be done that very moment… he’d be lucky to squeeze in a half hour. I remember feeling bad for him and resentful towards my mom for not just letting him play. It was like he could escape into his own world when he played. He’d lose track of time, forget to eat, forget anyone else was in the house… it’s when he was happiest. I think my mom was always a little jealous of that world she wasn’t a part of.

He always understood me for liking my solitary moments. He also completely understands the choice I recently made to leave the security of a well-paying corporate career and chase a non-conventional dream job that most think me foolish for going after so late in the game. He never criticised me for not “settling down” or pushed me to “start thinking about finding a good man because I’m not getting any younger and you know, children”…

Instead he told me “Do what you want Rian, because if you just go through the motions because you’re expected to, it’ll suck the life out of you”. That one sentence hit me hard. Because I’d always known my dad wasn’t happy. Yes, he loved us, but I’d always sensed that he was caged, restrained. It wasn’t the life he had wanted, it was the life he resigned himself to. It made me sad for him. I’m now even more acutely aware that he sacrificed a hell of a lot for us.

That picture I posted is my favourite photo of my dad because it’s my dad that I never knew. He’s 5 years younger than I am now in that picture and had just met my mom… I wasn’t born yet. And he’s doing what he loved. It’s a snapshot of who he really was, before he had to give it all up.

I got an email Friday.

The kind that brings back memories and makes you wistful.

He always did have a way with words. using the prettiest ones and writing them all down in the most attractive sentences that you want to read over and over while mouthing them silently because the way they make your tongue play in your mouth reminds you of kissing him.

I want it again. but I don’t. I remember it all. and wish I didn’t.

There’s no bad feelings. only fondness left. it was a brief moment years ago where time stood still in the most clichéd of ways. and it’s not that I wish I could go back to that time or that it had a different ending either. but I still find myself reading those words on repeat. and wondering all of the what ifs. and missing what could have been. even though it never would have been possible. and that weird happy-sad feeling of remembering something gone sits like a little tight ball in my chest if I think about it all too long.

I don’t know how to explain that all in an answer.

So I just reply “I’m glad you’re doing well” and never hit send.

I biked in to work today! it was a nice ride with the exception of an insanely steep hill right at the end before I get to the office… I had to walk my bike up. Give me a few weeks and I’ll pedal the hell outta that hill.

I finally made the decision to combine my outstanding debt into a consolidated loan so that I may be able to pay it off more efficiently. I resisted doing this for a while, but it really is the best solution. Granted, it will force me to make larger monthly payments than I am comfortable making, and I will be stretched thin financially. But it’s now or never.

I discovered someone I haven’t spoken to in over a year had posted a reply to an etremely old message I had sent, making it appear like I had messaged them and like we were still talking… I’m slightly creeped out by this, but it happened months ago so whatever, letting it be.

I have watched every single movie I own in the last 4 months, some twice. I need to get Netflix… and getting the internet might help. I also still need a proper sized fridge, washer/dryer, laptop… fuck.

Speaking of movies, I need to replace my Clue movie. This is the 3rd time I’ve had to replace it.

I can’t wait to feel settled and normal again, without overwhelming financial anxiety… soon.

I’m still open for Avenger mini-painting commissions! feel free to hit me up if you want one.