New England style buns.

Dave and Sierra came up for a BBQizzle a couple days ago which is quite an event. Dave hates coming to my house as I live in suburbia and he considers himself to be a "downtown skeet" to the core. I tend to agree.

Since my backyard is not fenced in, my neighbours had the pleasure of watching us get very, very drunk well into the night. They also had the pleasure of hearing us. Dave sang to them of course.

We spent the whole night talking and Dave explained to me how I was a bitch. And I loved it, because I love to know these things. He told me that anyone who knew me really loved me because they knew that I was not a bitch, but in fact just ridiculously honest.

And I knew this already, but nothing is better than having yourself explained while both parties are intoxicated.

I never apologize for my honesty. And I'm sure I've stepped on more than one pair of toes over the years. But the whole reasoning behind my truthfulness is not because I am some sort of highly evolved being, but simply that I cannot be bothered to fabricate delicate lies.

And I think that's why I have such amazing friends. The kind of people I am surrounded by are the ones who don't need justifications or simplifications. They are the highly evolved. YOU are highly evolved. Isn't that exciting?

I'm just trying to tell you that I love you too.

Gentle lentil.

It seems everyone is moving to my city.

This beautiful wonderful person moved here this week and I am loving every second with my third generation S'ville family.

Last night we welcomed McKayla with vegetarian cuisine (mmm, Sprout) and lots of drinkz. I'm totally feeling the grown-up vibe more and more. And accepting it.

It's never a dull moment with Dave, as he is the kind of person who will casually invite strangers on the street to his home. The best part is they actually came and were kind of awesome, mango treats and all.

Here is Dave busking.
Not really, here is the actual busker eating half of my lentil sandwich. Dave just couldn't resist playing for the people.

I love life.

Clutching mickey mouse.

The idea of Guantanamo Bay has always confused me. The whole putting an American prison in the same country they refuse to take sugar from is... funny. In that flabbergasting kind of way.

The rest of it just pisses me off.

The Omar Khadr tapes released last week have caused a frenzy here in Canada. Imagine, a Canadian citizen, jailed at fifteen and tortured. He is the youngest prisoner and the only Westerner left within the prison as Australia and Britain have already said "give us back our citizens and let us try them!"

Shit. I'm getting all shaky angry. Calm, Sarah. Finish what you have to say.

This is a matter of politics pure and simple.

In any other country, in the poorest countries of the world, a child soldier is told "it is not your fault". We as a people accept that a child's mind is too susceptible to the rantings and ravings of lunatics. So what's the problem here?

Khadr was arrested for allegedly throwing a grenade that killed an American soldier. Except the Pentagon accidentally leaked documents earlier this year saying that it was in fact another militant who did so. Oops.

But still Khadr sits in a prison cell six years later. Well, not in the same prison cell since he is moved to a different cell every three hours so that he is sleep deprived and more willing to talk.

Our government refuses to do anything. And though some would suggest it is a matter of race or religion, I would wager a guess that our PM has moved back into his perpetual state of fear. Go against AMERICA? Not on Harper's life.

Canada's indifference to this young man is a slap in the face. That these political games are allowed to continue in one of the freest nations on earth with absolutely no consequence for the players involved is a slap in the face.

And I'm wondering when people are going to wake up and see this country for what it really is.

Let's count some more.

I don't remember Sesame Street being this cool when I was a kid...

Domestic bliss.

Sometimes I get in these “mommy moods” where I spend the day being super domestic. It usually happens when my family is out of town (which they are) and the house becomes an unbearable state (which it was) and it’s a nice day (twenty degrees! Because who can do housework when it’s raining?).

So I slept in until 7:30, which is only sleeping in for people who get up at 5:30 every other morning for work. Sick, yup.

OH! Random story time.

So yesterday I got off work at three and promptly fell asleep thirty minutes later. I woke up at 5:40pm thinking that it was the next morning and I was going to be late for work. So I booted it to the bathroom stripping along the way and grabbed my uniform to change into.

It wasn’t until the spray of the shower hit me that I realized I had the day off.

And it wasn’t until thirty minutes after my shower that I realized it was 6:00pm and not 6:00am Sunday morning.

My inner clock is so shit.

Anyway, back to my summer clean day.

I’ve done three loads of laundry and have two currently hang out on the line. I spent twenty minutes trying to spray the spiders off my bedroom window area and the back patio.

I was shocked at the millions of spiders that are around this year, until I realized I haven’t really seen spiders since I lived in Stephenville. Iqaluit doesn’t do spiders.

I baked a batch of oatmeal chocolate chip muffins… ate two… then loaded the dishwasher (for the very first time!).

I was going to vacuum out my car, but it’s too hot in there. So I’ll settle for swiffering and mopping my downstairual area.

MMMMM, PINE-SOL.

Being greedy.

I have been thinking about acquiring two things.

The first would be a new computer. Poor me. I have a Dell. And for those of you who don't know (because I didn't when I first purchased it), Dell is synonymous with shit. Really and truly!

And so I really really really want a MacBook Pro. Really. And I have a feeling I'll get one before the summer is out, just because my current laptop is being held together with like superglue. And I love how you think I'm being hyperbolic, but seriously, superglue.

Are we okay with the Mac choice? I don't think any of you guys have Macs, but Ashley does and she is coming to me this fall and could help me with any questions I have. I'm told it's easy to catch on. Although I'm seriously hung up on having only one clicky thingy on the mouse.

The second thing I would like to have is a tattoo. I know, what a jump. I have been bitching about getting a tattoo since my first semester of university. I've made three appointments with the tattoo place in Stephenville ('cause the dude at Peek-A-Boo is the shit), canceled one and missed two.

But now I really know what I want to get and where I want to get it (גם זה יעבור). And I know what place I want to go to (Trouble Bound). And their booking is like a million years wait so I can save enough money and confidence before then. And if it is a long wait, shouldn't I book it now?!

GRRR. Indecision! I really want it. I honestly don't think I'll regret it. Feedback?

And as much as I'd like a slammin' new SLR like my favourite peep has just been given (did you see that super cute pic of her, awww, darlin'), it is simply not necessary at the moment. My point and shoot is the shit.

Man, don't you love these posts where I just go on about the most boring kind of stuff. IT HELPS ME WORK THINGS OUT IN MY HEAD, OKAY? Plus I like getting your guys' two cents, lord knows why.

It's like the night is taking sides.

I am so totally in love with this song. Plus dude is sexy as hell. Though he dates that Much VJ chick who is such a hussy. Egads.



And I'm afraid to sleep because of what haunts me. Such as, living with the uncertainty that I'll never find the words to say which would completely explain just how I'm breaking down.

Mister anchor assure me.

I caught the tail end of the CBC news tonight and it was that part where they do the “here’s what our viewers have to say” thing. There were a great number of responses to a piece that had aired on Friday about a protest in Kelligrews against a 64 year old sex offender who planned to move to the small town. The man had been convicted for two sexual assaults against children, acts he committed over a decade ago.

Okay. I can pretty much guarantee I know more about sexual offenders than your average adult, simply because I’ve taken several classes for my criminology certificate on the subject.

So when I see something like this, I get about 20% mad and 80% frustrated. Ignorance irks me!

Pedophilia is a disease. This man will always be attracted to children and I am not saying that a couple years in prison have fixed him. Probably made it worst.

But Canada has been labeled a sex offender's “heaven”. We have the lowest legal consent rate like EVER. And our sex offender registry is s-h-i-t. I really wish I could convey to you how pretty much non-existent it is. It would scare you.

So when a convicted offender registers with the police in hopes of bettering his life, I can’t help but have respect for him. You might say “Sarah! You can’t respect a person like that!” But he is human.

And think about it: a sex offender who doesn’t register could be living in Kelligrews right now. But we wouldn’t know it. And he isn’t getting any help or therapy because he isn’t registered.

At least this man is trying to live his life the right way. And what do we do? Protest a man with a proven mental condition? Would you protest someone with AIDs on the off chance they might spread it to you?

I’m going to tell you what will happen here. This man will stop checking in with the RCMP so that he can live somewhere with his wife in quiet without the neighbourhood being notified. His neighbours will befriend him and his wife, taking them to be a retired old couple living in rural Newfoundland.

And it might work for the first year or two.

But after awhile the man will become sick again, there is no cure for pedophilia. And he will have no access to therapy or guidance because he will be too scared to face the penalties for not having kept the registry updated.

And he will slip and fall like any other human. Except it won’t be an extra piece of cake for dessert. It won’t be a few bottles of beer wrecking his liver. It will be a child.

And I cannot believe that these adults who are protesting this man in Kelligrews cannot make this connection.

There was a FANTASTIC article in Maclean’s a few months ago about Canada’s sex offender registry. And you can read it online here. And it might seem long or gory, but seriously people, educate yourself. Before you go out protesting something you don’t even understand.

Almost 1,300 of the 16,000 people listed on the national registry (eight per cent) have disappeared. That may seem encouraging. After all, that means 92 per cent are doing what they're told. But remember, thousands of convicted offenders are not on the registry - and that number gets bigger every single day. Where those people are living right now is anybody's guess.

See like me.

My name is Sarah.

I live in the oldest and most easterly city in North America. The same city I was born in. And though I say I hate it, I think the place is tres pretty. You can tell by my obsession with photographing it.

My favourite colours are earth tones. This means I will always choose to buy a grey or brown shirt over a pink or yellow one.

I come from a long line of bread makers and tree cutters. But I’m pretty sure I could never do either thing adequately. I have one mom, one dad, one brother and no pets. I once had a fish named Hubert, whom I loved with a fiery passion. But he died.

I’ve never been to a wedding. Or to Europe. I’ve never swam a lap around a pool. Or gambled in a casino.

But I’ve been to a funeral. And I’ve lived in the Arctic. I might never have swam a lap, but I could probably run across the pool faster than you with my awesome water shoes. And although I’ve never played the slots, I’ve spent an afternoon sitting on a bench with my best friend pulling lotto pull-tabs.

Whenever I walk through the refrigerated section at Wal-Mart I am extremely tempted to buy cookie dough. I consider peanut butter toast a healthy and nutritious meal. I think bread with visible grains or nuts are gross.

I have more papillae on my tongue and less iron in my blood than the average person.

I brush my teeth in the shower, drink apple juice before leaving for work in the morning, and own more pairs of jeans than any person I know.

I don’t dream of owning a mansion, but a little old lady cottage complete with ugly flower patterned chesterfields.

I can’t spell "usually" without second guessing myself. Funny thing is, I can spell "antidisestablishmentarianism" without blinking an eye.

I like ponies, white calla lilies, Christmas lights all year round, clear cream soda, Icelandic music, vintage Molly Ringwald, Inuktitut, my gameboy, Emily Dickinson, stickers, rubber stamps, and any painting ever painted by Frida Kahlo.

I have friends that would make you jealous and a car that can take me anywhere I want to go (provided I fill her with $1.47/litre gas).

I strive to be honest and funny, loving and gracious, quiet and loud, respectable and respecting as well as thin.

Extreme Makeover House Edition makes me cry.

Just one guest.

I have been doing nothing but sleeping lately. Like seriously.

I don't craft or paint or venture outside or read or watch television. If I have to work I get up, go to work, come home and nap for a few hours, watch a movie, sleep. If I have a day off I'll sleep for like EVERZ, get up and watch a movie, and then sleep FOREVERZ again. I am a sick individual.

Speaking of sick, my grandfather is in the hospital. This would be west coast poppy as east coast poppy is no longer FTW. He was diagnosed with anemia and dehydration.

First of all, he lives in a retirement/nursing/old peeps home. Don't they have people to take care of supplying a sufficient amount of H20 to their residents?

Second, so it's my Mom's side of the family who cursed me with my weak blood! Grrr.

I'm all over the place. And so is my internet. And I really want to see a psychiatrist or something. And I want to go on ADD meds, that shit seems wicked.

Here are two and a half minutes of my new favourite song.

Pharrell is way hot. He's like the Matthew Bellamy of hip-hop.

Yummy.

Miss you alreadyness.

I was asleep for all of that.

Wednesday morning my brother left. And I cried. A lot.

Not just because he was leaving, but because I knew what it really meant: I was alone again.

I spent my entire Wednesday shift in a superfunk, trying to work out how many days until fall semester.

And then I got home, logged onto MSN (appearing offline, of course) and saw in Holly’s name “Sarah… coming to St. John’s the weekend, message me!”

Holly and I are brain twins. When one is in extreme distress, the other will receive the upset airwaves. It’s magic. Don’t pretend you understand.

And though only a temporary band-aid on my gaping wound known as loneliness, planning an entire weekend with my bifizzle, sure pulled me out of the darkness. But that is not all...

Enter Ashley.

Ashley, for those of you not recognizing the name, would be my oldest friend. We met in grade two, bonded over my rock collection and her squid hat (true story), and the rest was history.

We shared lockers every year. We went to each other’s birthday parties. We gossiped and giggled. We co-editored the school newspaper. We went on band trips. We had sleepovers. We baked with our Easy Bake Ovens (… right up until grade twelve, heh). I witnessed every single one of Ashley’s boyfriends. Loved, hated and ranked those boyfriends (Winner: Jared… sorry Joey. Last place: Though I know most want me to say Evan for his pure douche bagginess, you know I’m going with the love-to-hate-him, John).

I think she is the only friend I have never ever had drama with. Like ever. Our biggest fight was over who should get the single hook in the locker during grade eleven. And we have been friends for a decade.

Ashley e-mailed me yesterday to inform me that she got the biochem nerd job I begged her to apply for a few months ago. Why did I beg her?

Because this job is not in no-name-Nova-Scotia. It is here. In my St. John’s.

Ashley will be with me for the entirety of this coming fall semester.

Love is a many-splendored thing.

And brown to white.

Six years is a really long time.

You could get a couple degrees in six years. Get married and have a bunch of kids. Have countless meals and holidays and relationships and jobs.

You can grow up in six years.

This whole Ingrid Betancourt thing has me over analyzing everything from this summer to the entire human population. I'm sure you've all heard of this "stellar" rescue operation, but if not read about it here.

But what I really want you to do is watch this news clip on mute. Seriously, turn off the sound, the newscaster is dumb and ruins the moment. The clip was taken right after Betancourt's kids stepped off the plane. The first time they've seen their mom in six years.

Just watch them and start thinking.

Blonde hair to brown.

Today in pros and cons:

Pros:

Paid time and a half for working on a holiday. Paid DOUBLE time!
Working a later shift so that I can "sleep in" (aka waking up at 8:30am).
Banana pancakes.
Eighteen degrees (Iqaluit has had higher temperatures than SJ everyday this week).

Cons:
Working on a holiday.
Working late and missing the fireworks at Quidi Vidi.
Darryl's last day.
The power going off three times last night (and waking me up with a resounding beep of the fire alarm every time).
Having to reset all my clocks because power went off.

Happy Canada day, folks!